Manny Worlds
Dawn had broken hours ago, but the low-lying cloud cover had finally shifted enough to allow streaks of golden light to pierce the smoky haze, casting dancing shadows down onto the field.
“It’s beautiful,” Sheila said, pausing to appreciate the pale and streaking light.
“What?” Manny glanced up from the body he was mangling.
“The sky, sweetie. It’s a nice contrast to the blood and gore we’re standing in.” She wasn’t irritated with him; he could only obey his nature.
“Contrast?” He asked, finally tearing the head from the body he was working on. Blood and gore spattered as he wrenched it free, and Sheila found that she didn’t even flinch. It had been too long.
“Maybe its time for a change, Manny. We’ve been doing this a long time.” It would fall on deaf ears, she knew, but she had to try.
“Of course we have!” Her husband roared, throwing his dripping prize on to a pile with a dozen others. He loved to make monuments to his ferocity, and while they were grotesque, they did get the point across. “It’s what we do! It’s what we’ve always done!”
“No,” she said quietly, “it isn’t.”
He didn’t know that. Couldn’t, for all she knew, and how she’d been made party to it was still a mystery. It was only the in last six months that memories had started to surface, murky images of a different life and a different world.
They had come in dreams at first, shuddering things that left her sweating in her tent while Manny snored soundly. She has assumed that dreams were all they were and tried to shrug them off, but they began to come more frequently, and came especially clearly after a large battle or violent encounter.
It had taken a particularly intense battle to convince her that they were more than just fantasies; she had woken to find her head full of lives, full of feelings, full of information that she could not possibly have known given her current circumstances. It was disorienting in the extreme, but it served to demonstrate that she was far more than she had initially realized.
Manny went on happily, hacking and slashing his way through fight after fight, no idea that his wife was quickly losing her taste for being the barbarian queen of Azlanda.
She still raised her sword and met the charge; she had responsibilities to fulfill, but it felt less and less like what she was intended to do. Despite her best efforts, Manny remained steadfast in his devotion to the idea of a barbarian nation, with he and Sheila at the head, and she began to feel as though she was trapped.
Even trying to convince Manny that slowing down their expansion might be a good idea was difficult. The man was nothing if not focused, and Sheila was certain that if she attempted to tell him what she had experienced it would make no difference.
At first, ignoring it was easier than dealing with the complications it brought, but as time went on Sheila found that she could no longer manage. Dreams were weaving into reality, and after one especially violent encounter, she found a sense of clarity that left her gasping.
This was not her life.
For the moment she had been confined to it, but she could see a vast expanse of other lives and other times in front of and behind her, each one with Manny by her side. She could see only corners and edges of them, but knew for a certainty that this was the first time she had discovered the secret, the first time she had been exposed to the knowledge.
She also knew that each phase of her life had been triggered by a very specific event; her leaving Manny.
Sheila loved him, and his love for her was unquestioned. In each of the lives she remembered, he had never been unfaithful, never sought comfort in the arms of another woman no matter how rough their arguments became or how little time they spent together.
It was always her that did the leaving, and from what her half-memories could show her, it was never for a particularly good reason. But each time she did, the world around her shifted, forcing her back into Manny’s arms and altering their circumstances enough that she had no recollection of what had occurred.
Now, she faced that choice again, only this time with the knowledge that her choice would mean a new world for them both, one that could be far better or far worse than their current circumstances.
Manny swept her into his embrace, forcing her thoughts off of their path, and she was overcome by the sickly sweet smell of blood on him. She met his kiss, but barely managed to keep the little food she had down. Anything would be better than this life of constant violence and the threat of death. Anything.
She left the next morning, wandering into the woods before Manny woke. He always slept well after a battle, and didn’t stir as she made her way out of the tent. Unsure if it was distance or intent that made the difference, she wandered aimlessly until the grassy landscape turned to hills, and –
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked across at Manny, still in his suit from the night before. They had both been working late, and had passed out in bed after dinner, neither of them bothering with their nighttime rituals.
She felt – aggressive – for some reason, and could sense the wisps of dreams slipping away from her as she came fully awake. Specifics escaped her, but she was certain that blood had been involved. She hated blood.
The alarm called and she frowned; she had been hoping for a few more hours of sleep. At least it was almost the weekend; she and Manny had plans to get away.
***
Manny heard his wife stir and felt his heart race. She was human, but that didn’t mean he loved her any less for it. Someday, he would find a reality that suited her. Someday, she wouldn’t leave.
- D
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