Aligned by Rashelle Workman Page A

Don’t be silly, child. I won’t eat you , you’re too small . Your tiny carcass would get stuck in my teeth.
    Promise? I asked, though I knew she wouldn’t.
    Promise . Now . . . She lay down and began licking one of her paws, her midnight-blue eyes focused on me, thoughtful. What shall I call you? Mmmmmm . She closed her eyes and I thought she’d drifted to sleep. I’d about decided to do the same when she said, Sticks.
    Sticks? Why sticks? Braver, I reached up to touch the side of her face. She was soft as chinchilla fur.
    Because child, you’re so small I could use you to pick my teeth.
    From then on, we were inseparable, Mithrith and I. She’d explained she was the last of her kind, so I did my best to keep her from getting lonely. She took care of me; taught me her language, and told me about her life ( Mithrith was old). She even let me fly with her a few times so I could search for others. She said she’d never seen creatures that resembled me. Still, she helped me explore.
    It’s been seven hundred and eighty-seven days since Mithrith died. I burned her remains, as she requested. The fire devoured her body. Pain consumed my heart. I miss her terribly. No, “miss” isn’t fitting. When she died, a part of me died with her. The ache has lessened some since my visions of a girl.
    The girl.
    When I’m awake, she’s there, a comforting phantom. Her presence is stronger while I sleep though. I don’t know who she is or how my mind has imagined her. But I’m grateful. I’d be lost to loneliness without my dreams. The girl has become the thread that holds my life together.
    Her body is fashioned after a human’s (probably because that’s all I know). Her hair is downy white. Sometimes she wears it in a long braid, the blunt ends reaching her waist. Other times her hair isn’t confined, but flowing, and it shines like a thousand stars. Her skin is metallic white, and smooth as glass. And her eyes, by the Heaven’s, each a blazing silver flame.
    She is the light to my dark. When our fingers entwine, everything is exactly right. A part of me doubts she’s real, but my heart, my soul, tells me otherwise. So I hang on.
    Waiting . . .
    I don’t know what else to do.
    ***
    Near my cave is a pool of fresh water. It’s part of a river that rushes down the mountain and over a cliff, into the sea. I’ve been here almost eight years and a trail has been worn through the lush vegetation to the pool. A canopy of branches, heavy with shiny leaves and wild orchid flowers dangle over the water. I use the pool for a variety of purposes. One of which is bathing.  And that’s what I’m doing when I see the girl , the one from my visions.
    One second I’m washing important guy parts, scrubbing good , and thinking about her. The next I hear a branch snap, so I whip around, prepared to wrestle a creature I’ve name Fluffy (a cross between an irritated grizzly-bear and a gray elephant—that’s Fluffy—and he thinks this pool is his) and the next she’s there. Only not as a ghostly apparition, but solid.
    Do I act cool, or nonchalant? No. I gasp in surprise, drop my homemade soap, and plunge under the water.
    “Hello? Hello. Are you coming up?”
    Her voice is melodious. Sweet. I wonder if I’ve gone mad, if my years alone caused my brain to crack.
    I poke my head out of the water, just to verify she hasn’t disappeared. Nope! Still there, and with hardly any clothes on either. She’s wearing a gauzy . . . dress, which is shorter than her hair. It has a strap that goes over one shoulder. Another one binds her slim waist.  On her feet are black boots that come to just under her knees. Her hair is down, a slight breeze lifting the ends.
    The dress is very, very tiny. She is very, very gorgeous. And it’s the first time I’ve seen a girl—with womanly parts (or any parts, for that matter)—up close. My body knows it and reacts. I take a deep breath to calm my heart, working to acknowledge she’s real. But,