Whole Blood - I. Crystal by Alika Yarnell

The fountain of lava churns and splashes in its oval pool surrounded by stands of cotton candy and toy syringes. Fluorescent signs for Charged Obsidian flash with arrows pointing to stones small enough to wear around a little finger or big enough to display in a living room window. I am sitting on an island facing the water and the floating fairground lights which curve along the shoreline in the middle of twilight, my favorite time. Half light, half shadow, the pink neon and blinking bulbs pop against the fading backdrop. A Ferris wheel spins yellow-white, a giant seahorse blinks one giant red eye and everywhere strings of electric bubbles glow with a green moon on the horizon. How is it that these lights look so different this time of day? Ignited with all their parts showing, they are richer, fuller than in direct sun or encompassing shade. But twilight only lasts a moment: a walk to the other side of the shore, a turn of the head, and the day will turn to night.

But first, before the sun disappears, the girl, a woman now, approaches. I’ve never met her but when she tells me her mother’s name, I know. Crystal. She sits by me on the stone bench with the colored lights reflecting in her dark eyes and we talk about her mother, despite my reluctance.

“I want to show you,” she says and I shake my head. After all these years, what does it matter. But a fire burns in her charcoal eyes and before I can stop her, she pricks her finger with a pointed seashell. I close my eyes, not wanting to see, not wanting to know the truth about her blood.