Tincture (1000 hits)
Category: UberMadness!Rating: 0.23 on 47 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by UberMadness! (View user info) at 2006-11-07 11:11:14 EST
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Entry 1
"Oh my God, she looks like death," my friend Jamie said to me.We were sitting in church, and I looked up from my missalette to see who she was talking about. My friend, Dana, was running down the middle aisle of the church, her skin so white it almost seemed transparent.
"Yeah, she doesn't look good," I said.
I went back pretending to pay attention to what was going on, just like I had every other Friday morning during Mass. It was a freezing winter morning, so cold that by the time Mass was over, the church didn't even have time to warm up. One by one, we genuflected in front of the altar and made our way back into the school.
When I turned the corner, I saw Dana sitting in front of the secretary's desk. I looked at her and mouthed, "You ok?"
She looked at me and shook her head, "Yes," but her facial expression told me something completely different. I walked into the office and put my arms around her and whispered, "Feel better."
For a moment, we embraced. She held onto me tightly, but didn't say a word.
That was the last time I saw her alive.
In the following days, I would replay that moment and many others that I shared with Dana over and over again. Apparently, the doctors thought she was simply dehydrated, when she was actually fighting off a massive infection. Because her immune system was already compromised due to a birth defect, the misdiagnosis proved to be fatal.
She didn't have a chance.
At the age of seventeen, I walked into a funeral home to say goodbye to my friend. To this very day, I can still see her lying in the casket. She had on a purple corduroy jumper, with a multi-colored striped turtleneck underneath. Her hair was parted to the side and clipped back, just like she had always worn it.
I looked at her mouth, the mouth that had whispered secrets into my ear about boys who she liked, the mouth that had cheered at basketball games, the mouth that concealed a gap-toothed smile that always made me feel warm inside.
The mouth that would never speak another word.
Her lips looked as though they had been clamped shut, all curled and bunched together. I could not take my eyes off of them because they looked so wrong. They were too severe, too wrong.
It was all so wrong.
I don't even think I said a word to anyone in her family. I stood there, staring at her, feeling as though an electric current was running through my body. There was a burning inside of me, an aching from the helplessness I felt in that moment. Tear after tear rolled down my face, carving tiny rivulets into my cheeks from their wearing on my skin.
I turned around and ran.
I ran out of the funeral home and out onto the sidewalk, where my feet wouldn't let me stop running. Maybe I thought that if I ran away, that I could escape the despair that I felt. Maybe I thought that if I ran away, I'd come back and she would be alive, that it would all be a mistake.
My throat was ripped to shreds from all the sobbing I had done that that day. At the funeral, it was even worse. An entire church full of people wailed over the death of this child, some of whom didn't know her the way some of us had.
Many of those people didn't teach her how to do a cartwheel. Many of those people didn't count pennies with her so that they could share an ice cream cone. They didn't write her notes and slip them in her locker. They never slept at her house, they never quieted her tears when she was broken hearted, they never shared little joys with her. They didn't do any of those things.
But I had.
Members of our class carried her casket out of the church and pushed it into the back of the hearse. In a strange way, I never wanted that moment to end. It was too final for me. As the hearse drove down the street, our entire school and the grade school that we had both attended lined the road in an honor guard. Hundreds of children wiped their eyes as the hearse became a pinpoint in the distance.
It took me five years to be able to visit her grave. My hand was wrapped so tightly around the fistful of daisies I had picked that by the time I had set them down on the ground, they were completely crushed. I collapsed on the ground and sobbed as I thought about what the coldness must have done to her body. I pictured her hair having grown past her shoulders and her fingernails being very long, something she had always wanted in life.
I thought about her mouth, how she had looked in the casket, how she had looked before she died. I wondered if she knew when I had hugged her the day she died that it was going to be the last time we'd ever see each other.
There was a picture of her they put in our yearbook. It was a picture she had taken of herself, and her smile was wide. That was the way her mouth should have looked, and no matter how hard it was for me, I would have to remember her that way.
That was the first and only time I visited her grave. It's as though my thumb is on the corner of the page of a flipbook and I'm reliving those memories in rapid succession, haunted by every recollection.
I remembered my mom telling me on the day of her funeral that all I needed was a good dose of the "Tincture of Time."
She said, "In a few years, you won't be this sad. You'll never get over it, but it won't hurt as much."
It has been ten years since she died.
Ten years.
And I'm still waiting for the medicine to take effect.
- VS -
Entry 2
The strongest memory of my childhood was that of being beaten by my father. I was told, time and time again, to attend to my lessons in sword and strategy so that I would become a man worthy of bearing our family's name. I was the eldest son, heir to the family tradition, and reputation.I never thought my place in the world would be something I'd have to question.
It all seemed so simple back then - I would become a great knight, like my father, and his father before him, and the generations before him; do amazing noble deeds, and proudly bear the family colours.
Our history shines in those tinctures - the red and purple, our courage and dignity awarded permanent status, crowned by a gold Griffin bravely clawing at the sky. Our entire bloodline is known for our bravery and our wisdom, in one way or another - and it's not only that. Our family always seems to excel.
My grandfather was a commander in the last crusade; his skill at fighting and dedication to his lord earned us our title, and our family home. If that wasn't enough, my father is strategy advisor to the king! His cunning has ensured our respect throughout the land; our name is said with awed reverence.
It goes without saying; I have a lot to live up to.
So far, I've been nothing but a disappointment. The meagre coordination I have comes from practiced, conscious effort - I had no grace or balance as a boy. I also had no love of the sword - I used to sneak away from my training to go and watch the wise women in the village preparing their herbs and potions. They always held more fascination for me than the dusty tomes filled with ancient, pointless wars I was meant to be studying. And that is why I was beaten. I tried; I wanted to be a good son, but being a warrior never appealed, and I could never see myself excelling at it in any way.
I wish I could say time has changed that, but I still have not found my place. My fighting is just about as good as any man who has trained for twenty years; certainly no better. I have no head for strategy, and my tongue flounders at any attempt of diplomacy. I almost expected to be the first squire in the realm to reach my twenty second year without being dubbed, but I scraped through somehow. I can't even manage to be noticeable in failure!
And now my father is ill; his health has been failing for the past year, but if the latest note is to be believed, he has very little time left. I was given leave from court at once - I would hardly be missed - and I've been travelling hard these past few days to make it back to him. I travel with the well wishes of the court, more advice from physicians than I could ever hope to remember, and a desperate prayer in my heart.
I can't lose my father; I'm not ready to stand alone.
There's a crack of branches overhead, and dark shapes tumble down to surround me; bandits. My horse, a true warrior, rears up, lashing out with hooves and teeth, but I'm too slow to react and an arrow digs into my arm before I can ready my shield. My armour might have protected me - if it wasn't back at court.
Cursing the bandits, and my own stupidity, I draw my sword, but it's too late; they've realised I'm not the easy prey they first thought, and are already retreating into the trees. Saved by a horse! I would give chase, but blood is already soaking across my shirt. I can do something to bind the wound, but I'll need to get to civilisation quickly. Hurling one last insult at their retreating backs, I urge my mount onwards.
It's hard to believe the years haven't rolled back somehow; there's the same smell of sage and lavender in this hut as there was around the wise women of my village. She's already prepared a poultice for my arm... charcoal and comfrey and something else - Lobelia I think - and now she's mixing a tincture to help ease my father's suffering.
I've told her what I know of his symptoms; the unnatural yellow tinge his skin has taken, the swelling of his legs and stomach, the spider webs of veins that have started to spread across his skin and the latest, most worrying development; his sharp wits and energy have all but gone, giving way to confusion and leaving a drowsy man who sounds like a stranger.
The rocking of the pestle is methodical, soothing... I can here her muttering to herself as she crushes the leaves.
"Milk thistle, and dandelion, and thyme. Rosehip syrup to make it easier to take."
It makes a strange sort of sense to me, and I find myself nodding. She looks at me, eyebrow cocked.
"You know apocathary?"
Blushing, I shake my head. Seeing her stare, I mutter to the floor "I'm a knight."
She frowns, and continues to crush the herbs, straining the liquid into a small vial. Then, watching me, frown still knitting her brow, she hobbles over to a collection of small bottles. She takes three of them, and drips tiny drabs into a small bottle of something amber.
She hands the two vials to me.
"This one," she holds up the first, milky mixture "Is for your father. It should help, a little. It would be more of a help if you had convince him to take less alcohol. And this one," she indicates the second "Is for you. It's a simple tincture - Almond, celery, and violet. It'll help you find your way."
Confused, I take them, and offer her a gold coin, but she just shakes her head at me.
"Glad to be of service, m'lord" she croaks, dipping into a surprisingly elegant curtsey. I manage a bow back, and leave, head swimming.
"Help me find my path?" I ask my horse as I wrap my father's medicine and tuck it into the pouch. He stares back, stoically. Potions and lotions don't concern him.
It can't hurt to try it. I twist the lid off, hands shaky and fumbling. At the first taste, I recognise the base - mead. It leaves a warm trail as I drink. I close my eyes and wait.
There's no sudden flash of realisation, no booming voice telling me the answers. I open my eyes sheepishly, and climb back into the saddle. Well, what did I honestly expect?
But, riding along, I can't prevent my mind from turning the list of ingredients over and over in my head. Almond, celery and violet; prosperity, mental clarity and peace. If anything should have cleared my head, and made my future clear, it should have been that. I know it was the right mix...
It's odd - I've always had more of a head for herbs and their properties than any facts or logistics I was meant to remember. The way they could be blended, to bring out their inner strengths, always made sense for me. The right combination could do amazing things - if you applied them correctly...
And it's as easy as that. Half formed thoughts and ideas suddenly match up, and I realise why I've felt so out of place for so long. I've always done as others thought I should; never considered my strengths and how they'd be best applied.
But to turn against my father, my duty, is almost unthinkable. This is all he's ever wanted for me. Can I truly place my own crazy wishes over everything else? As always, when I look for guidance, my eyes fall to the colours on my shield.
The tinctures there spell my family's identity.
But the mix isn't right for me.
I have no idea what lies ahead; maybe I never truly will. But this time, as I ride forward into the unknown, I feel I'm on the right path.
Entry 1:
AsshOly
Axolotl
Bigmike
Coleslaw_Murphy
coley
Crystle
DrogoRoch
EchoBoxing
foster
FunnyAsCancer
ghola
gravitas
JMG114
KindaNews
Magicaddict
MandaPanda
nrduncan
Orgasmatron
Pentameter
professorfuckface
rad1101
Sacrilicious
SPECIALk
Stagger_Lee
TheUniter
WingedFoote
25 eligible votes (26 total) *
Entry 2:
darko
helbling
Hirilnara
HotWillie
Impassive-Digressive
indoninja
Jack_McCallum
JoeyG
JonnyX
pujaemuss
sparkle_pink
St_Jimmy
stevie_says
supadupapupa
12 eligible votes (14 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2006-11-10 12:46:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-11-09 07:57:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked number one, but for some reason I couldn't get over this comment made in a reply:
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-08 02:49:19 (#)
Ranking: 0
She had on a purple corduroy jumper, with a multi-colored striped turtleneck underneath.
...Do people actually wear these sorts of clothes past the age of 4?
Dead people don't choose their clothes. Their loved ones choose for them. Most often, a loved one will choose clothes that hold fond memories. I am not saying that was the intent here, because I don't know. This post hit home for me and that's why I liked it so much.
When you get to be my age you see your share of dead bodies lying in caskets. Most people don't realize that at wakes we are celebrating a life while mourning death.
Nice piece of writing author one.
-------------------
Thanks BigMike. And yes, sparkle_pink, people do actually wear those kinds of clothes past the age of 4, because my best friend Dana wore that exact same outfit in the casket that she was buried in. As many people suspected, this story is non-fiction.
Her parents chose her clothes, and I'm betting they chose that outfit for her because she was their BABY GIRL. My only hope is that you never, ever, ever experience what they did. That you don't have to look at the face of a dead child, because I can tell you, I'm sure the last thing on your mind would be what kind of fucking outfit they were wearing.
Hirilnara, thanks for an awesome competition. Good luck to you in the next round, and thanks for your kind words.
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-11-10 12:39:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Pentameter, that was an absolutely amazing piece of writing. Congratulations on an extremely well deserved victory. I hope your winning streak long continues!
Submitted by Coleslaw_Murphy (user info) at 2006-11-10 11:53:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2006-11-10 11:53:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-11-10 10:32:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2006-11-10 10:28:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-11-10 10:16:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I thought the main character in #1 was too dismissive of her best(?) friend's condition at the beginning. It made her extreme mourning over the death inconsistent.
#2 Could have ended quite a bit better, but I like knights, so you got my vote.
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-10 05:21:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-11-10 04:56:23 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-10 04:42:53 (#)
Ranking: 0
Thank you, Bigmike, for I was under the impression that dead people weren't really dead until after the ceremony and stuff.
For what it's worth, I simply had found the clothing chosen to be hilarious, and made obviously a very unsuccessful attempt at expressing that.
=====================
S_P, a better retort would have been
"NO SHIT BIG MIKE, NEITHER DO 4 YEAR OLDS! THAT WAS KIND OF THE POINT."
I am full of vitriol tonight, and wish to ostracize myself from those of you who might actually be able to tolerate me.
so sorry.
---------------
Hahahahahahahaha! Oh man! That would have been ultimate! Too bad I do not nearly rival the level of fierceness that you have obtained.
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-11-10 04:56:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-10 04:42:53 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-11-09 07:57:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked number one, but for some reason I couldn't get over this comment made in a reply:
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-08 02:49:19 (#)
Ranking: 0
She had on a purple corduroy jumper, with a multi-colored striped turtleneck underneath.
...Do people actually wear these sorts of clothes past the age of 4?
Dead people don't choose their clothes. Their loved ones choose for them.
-------------
Thank you, Bigmike, for I was under the impression that dead people weren't really dead until after the ceremony and stuff.
For what it's worth, I simply had found the clothing chosen to be hilarious, and made obviously a very unsuccessful attempt at expressing that.
=====================
S_P, a better retort would have been
"NO SHIT BIG MIKE, NEITHER DO 4 YEAR OLDS! THAT WAS KIND OF THE POINT."
I am full of vitriol tonight, and wish to ostracize myself from those of you who might actually be able to tolerate me.
so sorry.
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-10 04:42:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-11-09 07:57:41 (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked number one, but for some reason I couldn't get over this comment made in a reply:
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-08 02:49:19 (#)
Ranking: 0
She had on a purple corduroy jumper, with a multi-colored striped turtleneck underneath.
...Do people actually wear these sorts of clothes past the age of 4?
Dead people don't choose their clothes. Their loved ones choose for them.
-------------
Thank you, Bigmike, for I was under the impression that dead people weren't really dead until after the ceremony and stuff.
For what it's worth, I simply had found the clothing chosen to be hilarious, and made obviously a very unsuccessful attempt at expressing that.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2006-11-09 23:08:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by gravitas (user info) at 2006-11-09 22:46:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2006-11-09 22:03:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
cue the "that's not a real word" bullshit.
Submitted by WingedFoote (user info) at 2006-11-09 21:57:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
rough title...
Submitted by pujaemuss (user info) at 2006-11-09 09:59:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Entry 2 was good, because it was well written and actually used the title. Entry 1 barely even had the remotest connection to 'Tincture'.
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-11-09 07:57:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I liked number one, but for some reason I couldn't get over this comment made in a reply:
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-08 02:49:19 (#)
Ranking: 0
She had on a purple corduroy jumper, with a multi-colored striped turtleneck underneath.
...Do people actually wear these sorts of clothes past the age of 4?
Dead people don't choose their clothes. Their loved ones choose for them. Most often, a loved one will choose clothes that hold fond memories. I am not saying that was the intent here, because I don't know. This post hit home for me and that's why I liked it so much.
When you get to be my age you see your share of dead bodies lying in caskets. Most people don't realize that at wakes we are celebrating a life while mourning death.
Nice piece of writing author one.
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-11-09 07:51:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by rad1101 (user info) at 2006-11-09 06:07:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2006-11-09 05:36:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Medieval mischief rules the roost on this one.
Submitted by supadupapupa (user info) at 2006-11-09 02:56:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
couldn't decide, both of these were short and sweet, though I liked the medievel theme a bit better
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2006-11-08 20:40:14 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
I hope you are both eliminated. Is this possible?
Submitted by coley (user info) at 2006-11-08 18:42:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
One was good and I think it is real. :(
I couldn't stomach the weird usage of the title in 2.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-11-08 14:13:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2006-11-08 10:47:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm in no doubt that Entry one is winning this hands down, and it deserves to. That was an amazing piece of writing!
I just have a soft spot for Knights in slightly dented armour.
Submitted by Magicaddict (user info) at 2006-11-08 09:09:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
If #1 is real, I'm so very, very sorry. If it isn't, it made me question whether it was, and that's enough. #2 ended slightly abruptly, but had lots there and would have won many matchups. Pity it came up against what it did.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2006-11-08 08:23:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Both of these had similar strengths and shortcomings. Entry one hit the nerve a bit harder, so it earns my vote. Still, they were both enjoyable reads.
Submitted by helbling (user info) at 2006-11-08 08:17:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by DrogoRoch (user info) at 2006-11-08 08:00:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
#1 gripped me more. #2 Never really got anywhere for me.
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2006-11-08 03:04:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-08 02:52:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Oh yeah, this title is almost as bad as Abattoir Blues, but doesn't quite get there. 2nd place for the Worst Title Ever award.
I also feel I should add that I thought both of these were good.
Submitted by sparkle_pink (user info) at 2006-11-08 02:49:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
She had on a purple corduroy jumper, with a multi-colored striped turtleneck underneath.
...Do people actually wear these sorts of clothes past the age of 4?
Submitted by KindaNews (user info) at 2006-11-08 00:08:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by thorpe (user info) at 2006-11-07 23:29:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Worst title ever.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-11-07 22:57:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2006-11-07 21:13:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Good knight.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-11-07 20:26:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-11-07 18:35:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
huzzah.
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2006-11-07 16:24:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Both were really well written...I just happen to like entry 1 better.
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2006-11-07 15:12:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by MandaPanda (user info) at 2006-11-07 15:10:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-11-07 13:49:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-11-07 13:44:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Entry 2. Kind of so-so, but having a knight interested in the art of the apothacary was quite new.
Was that girl really buried in a turtleneck? How awful.
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2006-11-07 12:40:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by EchoBoxing (user info) at 2006-11-07 11:53:37 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
read 5 words from each
Submitted by professorfuckface (user info) at 2006-11-07 11:44:56 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
both shit, but one had swords in it so it loses
Submitted by foster (user info) at 2006-11-07 11:29:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2006-11-07 11:22:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment