Free She Lies Twisted by C.M. Stunich Page B

bench. It had been nice once but neglect and time had taken their tolls.
    “ Why are you doing this to me?” I asked her. She didn't look up until after she'd finished her song, tucking the harp beneath her right wing. Her face was sharp in the moonlight and her yellow lips shone like a beak. I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off a chill.
    “ I've done nothing to you, Tatum,” she replied, folded her delicate hands in her lap. “Fate and circumstance chose you, not I.” I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying something I'd regret.
    “ But why?” I asked. That seemed to be the million dollar question and nobody was willing to answer it.
    “ I cannot help you with that,” she replied, tilting her chin up to meet the stars. “I can only assure you that I will do my utmost to guide your soul to peace.” I wanted to tell her that she sounded like one of the new age books that Boyd had liked to read where everything was flowers and love and kindness. It was all bull, of course, but I'd let him tell me about how we'd be reborn in the next life and things would be good. “Karma's a bitch,” he'd say. “But she's also fair, Neil. We've served our time. Next round's ours.” I guess he really believed it.
    “ What was that thing?” I asked instead. I needed a distraction, I was starting to drown in pain again. I'd been treading water for way too long.
    “ Just think of it as a lost soul,” she said simply, her voice tinkling like a wind chime. “And it's your job to guide it.” She folded her wings beneath her and disappeared into the night leaving behind a sea of feathers and the harp.
    I sat on the bench for awhile, watching the trees sway in the breeze and waited for clarity to dawn on me, for some lifelong revelation to hit me in the face like a truck. The void of emptiness inside of me yawned, stretching wide enough to swallow me whole. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe. Nothing happened. I wasn't ready for that first breath yet. It was still too soon. I opened my eyes and stood up.
    The harp beckoned to me in the silence, begging to be strum by expert fingers. I couldn't grant its request but I did pick it up. It was lighter than I'd expected, like it was made from aluminum instead of wood. I traced my fingers across the grain and wondered how they'd gotten such a dark, almost silver stain. It reflected my face like a mirror, the moon silhouetted behind me like a spotlight. The universe is watching you, Tatum. I plucked one of the strings and closed my eyes.
    The sound was pretty but that was it. Nothing special had happened. I opened my eyes and frowned. Where was the magic? The mystery was there, that was for sure, but where was the hope that always accompanied a hero's journey into the unknown? I started to set the harp back on the bench when I noticed the inscription.

    She lies twist'd, twist'd, twist'd,
    On the edge of gray cliffs mist'd.

    A shiver traveled down my spine as I moved into a brighter patch of moonlight to read. Where have I heard this before? I wondered as I finished the poem. It was only eight lines long but the message was pretty clear. “This is about me.” It was more of a statement than a question.“That fucking harpy as a lot of explaining to do,” I snapped at nobody in particular.
    I tucked the harp under my arm and stomped up to my room. I didn't worry about waking James or Grandma Willa. In reality, I almost hoped that one of them would wake up, join me in the hallway, and push away the loneliness that had crept back in like a fog. I needed a light like I needed air. I laid the harp on the windowsill next to the crows and wondered if I'd ever have one again.



 
    I adjusted the hem of the skirt I was wearing. It was too short for a funeral but it was the only 'dress' that I had. I tried to ignore the stares of the old people in the aisles, their gray hair tucked under veiled hats or combed over to hide bald spots. Their glares made me feel like a fucking