Robin Goodfellow and the arms of Azrael

THAT TITLE WAS MADE UP ON THE FLY. The only thing relevant is that the girl's name is Robin. Action and sword battles await!

I was the product of a former English scholar father and an artist mother. Sure, it sounds like a pretty sweet gig, but my dad left us when I was still only a baby. The SOB even had the gall to give me a Shakespearean name before he ran for the hills. That's right, Robin Goodfellow Lark at your service. Lucky for me, Robin is a unisex name. I shudder at how close I was to being Hamlet or Othello, and those are not decent names for a chick, not by a long shot.

Right, sorry for babbling. I live in a small town by the name of B---- with my single mom, Janice Lark, and a sickly houseplant due to my unlucky tendencies. Ever since I could remember weird things have happened around me. Electricity going haywire, glass breaking, cats catching fire; you name it, it inexplicably happened while I was around. Of course I didn't have many friends, but I had mom. And that was all I really needed. She seemed to understand my weird disaster causing better than anyone, especially those counselors who chalked it up to my need for attention; just because I don't have a father everyone jumps on the ‘poor misunderstood waif' bandwagon. I will only say this once so you better get it fast.

I do not need a dad. Screw fathers, who needs them?As long as I have my mom I will get by. I like to think I'm a relatively stable kid most of the time. I don't smoke, don't drink, don't practice promiscuity (Not to mention that I can SPELL promiscuity, mind you), and my grades are mostly above average. I would like to think that I've got my head on straight. If not for this pesky unexplainable crap thing I have going for me, life would be peachy.

So one day while I was in school, I was called into the office. Instead of mom busting me out for one of her random rest days, it was her friend Julia from work.

"What's wrong, Julia?" I scanned her face and was met with worry. That didn't bode well.

"It's your mom, kid. She collapsed at her desk."

Julia drove me to the hospital where I met mom's doctor. He was a real sleaze of a guy; don't ask me why I thought it at the time, but something about him, no everything about him, just didn't strike me as right. The doctor shook my hand and gave me his name. I reluctantly mumbled mine and immediately forgot his. Dr.Whatshisface took me to mom's room and I gasped. She looked horrid! Mom's usual peach skin was pale; her eyes had a heavily bruised look about them as well. Even though she looked ready to drop, she still managed to give me a bright smile. I pulled a chair over to the side of her bed and took one of her hands.

"Hey," she said, her usually lyrical voice only little more than a whisper.

"Hey, what's the diagnosis?"

"They say I've overworked myself and they'll need to keep me overnight. I'm so sorry honey, and on you're birthday too."

I snorted. Who cares? My birthdays were never stellar. It had gotten to the point where my birthdays were just another day. Sure, a day that involved cake, but still.

"It's ok mom. I just want you to get better."

I snuck a glance at the sleaze of a doctor. His smile was too wide, it was almost carnivorous. His eyes were too blue. There was something just subtly off about his face and it made me instinctively bare my teeth. I hated to leave mom in the guy's care, but what other choice did I have? I leaned in close to my mom, the one person who actually listened to what I had to say in this world, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Be careful, that guy can't be trusted." I whispered as I brushed a few strands of honey-colored hair off her forehead and kissed her there too. Mom smiled weakly and nodded. Her eyes were unbearably sad for some reason.

"I will, honey. When you get home there's a present waiting on your pillow." She gave my hand a final squeeze and then laid back in bed. That horrible doctor grabbed the curtain that ran around mom's bed on a track and pulled it closed as we left. I turned as I left to take one final look at her silhouetted form and then followed Julia to her car.

If I had known that was the last time I was going to see her, I would have said more.

The End

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