Skin Deep

   “David, eat it while it's hot.”

   A young man sat at the kitchen table. His plate filled the room with delightful aromas.

    “I quit football, Dad."

   Dad stopped chewing. His eyes flared wide for a second but quickly regained their carefree gaze. Dad nodded, watching David, trying to discern traces of his son in the figure sitting across the table. "Sure, ok. What do you want to play?”

   David shrugged.

   “The coach says you're pretty good. What's wrong?”

   “I’m tired,” David said, prodding at his scrambled eggs.

   His father sipped a rich, black roast. Side by side you'd have a hard time telling them apart. “If that is what you want, then by all means. Will you please eat something before your mom catches us? You know how she gets when I don't feed her child, her growing boy, the fruits of her…”

   “Guts?" David asked, lifting his gaze from the floor. He sometimes forced his eyes to find faces in floor tiles, in the pattern they formed.

   “Loins, son. There's hot sauce in the fridge."

   David reluctantly rose. His body was strong. He had a perfect practice presence since middle school. “I have to go,” David said, grabbing a muffin from the counter.

   “I can give you a ride,” Dad said, spilling a few drops of coffee on his chin.

   “I'll walk."

   “Alright then. After school we can visit the fish shop. What do you say?" Dad gently squeezed his son's broad shoulders. Seeing David grown up, his father’s eyes lit up with pride.

   “That sounds great. I'll catch you later." David forced a smile. He grabbed his backpack and slipped out the door.

   “I like your shirt," Dad said, left standing alone in the kitchen.

   The hallways had become nothing but noise to David over the past few weeks. It dulled his senses; it left him feeling bleak and uneasy. A faint voice echoed through the hall. "David, what the hell?” A young man wearing a sports jacket  approached him, his physique mirroring David's. "You disappear for two days and don't even text? Where were you?”

   David's gaze drifted towards the end of the hallway. "Nowhere. Just stayed home, nothing special,” he said without interest.

   "What's going on? You know you can trust me, right?” Sam’s teeth flashed in a wide smile.

   "I didn't feel like hanging out, that's all,” David said as the two locked eyes.

   "Something's up, my guy. Just talk to me.”

   David frowned. His body went rigid. "Don't worry, I'm fine. I might be coming down with Covid.”

   "Is that why you stopped coming to practice, why you ghosted the crew? Since when do you wear black?” Sam said, his voice drawing attention to the two. "What about Alice?”

   "What about her?” David's guttural voice hit Sam, and he snapped.

   "She loves you. She cries for you all the time. Since when do you treat her like trash? This isn't you."

   David's hazel eyes glinted like his tempered shard. “I'll see you around." He gave his friend a quick once-over before rushing down the hallway. David couldn't hear Sam calling out, not anymore.

   David's thoughts flowed effortlessly. The haze cleared once he sat down. He'd stripped away most of the decorations, leaving a tiny, clean space with just a few pieces of furniture. David sat brooding, his fingers resting idly on a book.The circulatory system in all its complexity captured his attention. For the past weeks David found comfort in human anatomy. It used to disturb him. That was until he found the metal fragment.

   A shard of steel engraved in Latin lay in his muddy palm. David pulled it from the river. It caught his eye just as they were about to drive off.

   “Let's go, my mom will kill me if I'm late again," Alice said nervously, preening her curls.

   David rubbed his thumb on the steel object. His blood washed away the dirt, revealing an inscription.

   "Jeez, are you ok? Tie this tightly and throw that thing away. We need to get to the ER before you catch rabies or something.”

   "I'm fine. It's just a scratch,” David said, pocketing the cold steel. The executioner's blade found its new master.

   David learned he'd stumbled upon a medieval executioner's blade. The shard fit in his palm having once belonged to a much larger sword. A quick search using an uploaded photo was enough for David's phone to reveal an article detailing the means and methods of public execution in the Middle Ages. Part of an inscription, written in latin and roughly translated to "the time of reckoning” stretched across the steel piece. When David got a chance to study the object he'd found that it was imbued with powerful magic. The blade laid bare one's innermost self. David could see layers of muscles, tendons, intricate blood vessels, hearts, and lungs with astounding detail. He could hear the pleas and death cries of those whose heads the blade claimed, distant kin to the people David knew from school, football, etc. To his surprise the descendants of those touched by the executioner's blade were everywhere. The metal vibrated ever so gently. It hummed a tune of twisted metal, like a thousand steel rods strained to the breaking point. In David's hands it changed temperature reaching freezing point or warming up. It spared David, never burning his hand, never drawing blood even when he'd force a cut on himself. The few drops that flowed the night it resurfaced sealed David's fate.

   Flesh. Animal carcasses slamming into each other. For David, football was reduced to a grotesque display of meat. Still, other darker thoughts troubled David. It was the hypocrisy of the sport: simulated violence, obedience and self-preservation portrayed as grit, bloodlust, or ruthlessness. The rules took away so much from the visceral experience a public execution offered. David's interest in football faded. His mind was too well in tune with the shard's song.

   The young man found himself mirror gazing. As his breathing steadied, his mind cleared. David could push aside the death visions by narrowing his focus. He ran his fingers across his throat, ear to ear. A thin red line, a wound in healing, a crimson necklace draped around his neck. It wouldn't go away no matter how much David avoided contact sports, action packed movies, tense conversations, and stressful situations. It marked him. For what exactly, David had no answer.

   In just a few weeks time David went from being a popular football player to a quiet loner. He spent most of his free time reading, studying history, and anatomy. He felt the blade had chosen him for a purpose but its true intent eluded David. The time for executions had passed. If the blade intended for David to light the embers of its legacy, the young man flat out refused to do so. He saw strength in life. David experienced what it was like to be a powerful tool, to be the hand in service of those with power. To serve law, authority, and royalty. Colors faded into shades of gray, black. Gossip, partying, and human contact-it all destabilized David. The executioner's blade flushed out something deep within him, anchored ever since his young mind began to form, guiding his path. A sense of virtue perhaps? The mark on his neck, the thin grim necklace, didn't raze his spirit. It tuned him to a higher frequency.

   One day David walked a forest path. He used to drive up there with his friends, with Alice. The morning sun slowly soaked up the dew. Its warm light brought comfort to the young man as he sat on a rock, his eyes shut.

   “Hi." A soft voice snapped David from his dreaming state.

   “Hi." David said, his heart sinking.

   “Can I sit here?" she asked, smoothing her pale-blue dress.

   “It's all yours," he said, trying to stand. Her featherlight touch was all it took to ground David.

   “Please…” she whispered, her words a heavy plea.

   “I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I'll leave you be.”

   "Don't, David. I'm here, stay with me. Like we used to, remember?"

   He saw Alice's pearly phalanges wrapped around his wrists, her supple tendons arching beneath her see-through skin.

   “Remember the cold nights? The way you'd pull me close?”

   Red waves rose and crashed through her arm, pivoting at the shoulder. Her blood poured in a pulsing, smelting crucible. David winced at the fire that threatened to consume him.

   “When an owl’s cry spooked me, you’d hold me tight, and I’d rest my head against your neck. At that moment nothing could hurt me. You'd drive out all my stupid thoughts. You'd tell me everything will be fine, how I should trust myself.”

   Her muscles stretched an acrobat's net, pulling tight against the bonny corners of her shaking, fragile frame. It pulsed, resonating as Alice's anger rose.

   “That you believed in me and how we would get through our last year of school together. Did you mean any of it?" Her voice cracked. “And we’d spend all summer traveling. We would see the world, the two of us wandering out on the road. We could end up in the middle of the desert and I'd be fine because you'd be there to take care of me, David."

   Her face glowed white. Carotid threads of light flashed up the sides of her neck feeding a plexus of nerves, a skymap that stretched inside her skull.

David reached for her. Warm tears smeared his palm. Cradling her spastic cheek, he felt the salty trail down his forearm. David never knew a softer touch, the silky stream sending tremors deep in his core. Her gentle sobs made his ears pop, overpowering his balance, making David lean into her. He saw the breath of life escape her cellophane lungs through a row of pearly teeth. Alice appeared as a cellular masterpiece.

   As David pressed up against Alice, he sensed her entire structure quake. Her frame seemed to give way. David felt his chest brush against her crucible heart, sending waves of heat throughout his body. He heard a rumble, a metallic thud -rising steadily. As they kissed, the thud shifted to a grating moan that sounded like a giant iron gate pivoting on crooked hinges. The sky shrieked, boring rocket-fire down upon them. Seconds turned to minutes as the flames died down to a glow. Their bodies gradually morphed into familiar shapes. David's heart slowed its pacing. He watched Alice's body calm down, the network of veins and nerves fading away.

   “I'm sorry,” David said, squeezing her palm.

   “Don't leave, whatever's wrong we can fix it together. Please, don't shut me out.”

   “I broke my promise once. I won't do it again. I can see clearly now." As he said it, David realized Alice was whole. Silky skin covered her body. “I wish you could see through my eyes.”

   “Describe it to me. I never saw you scared of anything. What do you see?”

   “Nothing now. It's gone. It will be back, I'm sure of it. How can I explain? I can see inside people… inside you.”

   The silence grew heavy until Alice spoke again.

  "So, how do I look?"

   “You've gained a little weight."

   David earned a mock slap on his cheek. They laughed wrapped in each other's arms, their clothes soaked in dew as morning slipped into mid-day. Alice held David's face in her palms. They stood transfixed, gazing into each other's eyes. Their young love kept them in the moment. She ran her fingers down his cheek.

   "When did you get this?” she asked gently, tapping her finger on his neck. “Oh, David, it feels like your throat’s been slit!”

   Alice snuggled against David’s chest, her eyes fixed on the scar on his neck. David's heart stopped for a moment. None of the others saw the executioner’s mark, just Alice.

   "Will it ever go away?” she said.

   David's gaze drifted towards the riverbed. “No, it feels ancient. And so cold.”