Seventy Two

Ever since she was a child, Bird had a little voice in her head that reminded her that she had to do things. It usually had a lot to say about laziness and what sort of person she would be if she let any sort of idle moments into her life. Recently, it changed its tune. These days, it rarely said things like stand up straight or chew with your mouth closed. It had moved on to larger issues like, don’t forget to save the world.
She kind of missed the old simple litany of reminders about her menstrual cycle or keeping enough wood on hand to survive an unseasonable cold snap. This new voice in her head was her connection to Mycellus.
He had managed to hijack the space in her brain that her mother’s voice used to haunt. Her mother hadn’t raised her to be a proper little lady. That concept died very quickly after the end of the world. What she had been raised to be was useful and polite. While she rarely had reason to be actually polite, she knew what it entailed and gave it a shot every once in a while. Usefulness was something that had stuck with her though. She couldn’t abide being useless.
She had seen that trait in other people that she had known and usually found that it was synonymous with weakness or some sort of moral failing. She had spent all of her teenage years and a good portion of her twenties strolling around her little world trying to be useful. Until one day she asked herself the question, useful to whom? If there was anyone in her life that she should be useful to, wouldn’t the most important person be herself?
So, she packed up her shit and found a spot out in the woods where she could exercise this newfound philosophy. She had built a cabin in the woods where she and the voice of her mother could properly battle over the concept of usefulness. When Fyndraxis had appeared in her life, the battle had been going pretty well. Her mother’s voice would only pipe up for a couple hours in the morning, a little bit in the afternoon, some of the evening, and only a few hours while she was trying to get some sleep.
The biggest problem she faced with this voice was it was rarely wrong. This was annoying. She found herself whispering an exasperated, “I know,” to herself at least a couple times a day. Objectively speaking, it was a good thing to stay busy. It was a good thing to have a mental todo list that was always ticking away in the back of one’s head. That didn’t change the fact that it was exhausting though.
Being a woman, people tended to need things from her. The voice liked this. Early in her life, the voice in her head and everybody in the world had a cozy little relationship. A need would be broadcast into the universe and the voice would hear it and pipe up. Bird would then be compelled to fulfill this perceived need, not wanting to disappoint the ghost of her mother and the balance of the universe.
Bird came from a long line of tough women. Her mother was tough. Her grandmother was tough. Presumably her great grandmother was tough and so on all the way back to the time when Mycellus came skulking out of the ocean. She had only met her grandmother a couple of times. She lived to the south not all that far away, but some sort of vast rift separated her from Bird’s mother. This was probably due to the fact that her grandmother had inhabited a similar space in Bird’s mother’s brain and lived there rent free.
Bird was brought down and presented to her once when she was around eight or nine, and then again after she got her first period. Bird got to observe in one glance, the girl that she was, the woman that she would become, and the crone that would greet the grave. There must have been an unbroken chain of tougher and tougher mothers going back to the ultimate matronly badass of all time. She just didn’t know how they did it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she felt pretty tough, but she also felt everything.
After her parents had disappeared, Teeroy’s family had taken her in. This was a kindness that she would never get to repay. She loved Teeroy as a brother. Though it was obvious to her that he had other intentions, he kept things civil and had always had her back. The pain of constantly breaking his heart became too much to bear after a couple of years and she had to set out on her own. The perceived obligation had become too much to handle. That coupled with every man in the village wanting to use her as their own personal cum rag sent her running for the hills.
Waiting for her in the forest was Solomon and the G. At first glance, they were a breath of fresh air. Their outlook on life and love was refreshing. The voice in her head could be quieted and sated by giving in to the rhythm of the seasons. Summers were spent constantly involved with preparations for the winter. Winters were spent worshiping their god. It was neat and tidy.
Solomon had a way of shouting louder than the voice in her head. It was intoxicating to be with somebody that could quiet her mind and fill that space in her head. Solomon had one true love though, and it wasn’t Bird. It took her a long time to figure that one out.
He didn’t love her, he loved how useful she was. The voice had claimed another victory, much to her chagrin. She made sure his bed was warm and she had her fill of pennyroyal and parsley. She became the queen of excuses, making apologies for his behavior or absence. She became regent in his stead when he was out on diplomatic missions to bed some shepherd girl or farmer’s daughter that he took a fancy to.
Until one day she asked herself who she was doing all this for. So she packed her shit, borrowed some very useful books and headed back south to rebuild her life with the express purpose of getting her shit together. She had a couple of peaceful years on her hillside arguing with her mother’s voice, until Fyndraxis came along.
He certainly scratched an itch that she didn’t really know that she had. He was a man with needs like the rest of them, but they were different needs. He didn’t want a new hot mommy or someplace to put his dick, he merely wanted to save the world. He didn’t know that at first. At first, he just wanted company, but things changed after they both met Mycellus. All of a sudden she was wrapped up in larger matters. It was like being with Solomon all over again, but the stakes were higher and she didn’t have to clean up vomit.
Soon, she too wanted to save the world. She had found a way to be actually useful, instead of merely being used. So the voice in her head now, whispering to her about unfinished tasks was almost a comfort. Almost.