Memento Mori 08.15.10


“Piss off!  The hell should I care about some journal?”

“Moira dear, everybody dies some day.  Don’t you want to leave something to be remembered for when that happens?”

“Time enough to worry about dyin’ when I’m doing it.”


Down some lonely country road, a motorcycle speeds along, two figures riding it.  The driver, a severe figure clad in black leathers, tightens her grip on the handlebars.  The figure behind her, a softer figure in a grey dress holds on for dear life.

“You bloody well know the tell of it already, Aithne, why say it again?”

The driver powers through a turn, making her passenger wince, which causes her to grin.

“Because people in your line o’ work have a funny way o’ dying off, and your Ma wants it done besides.”

“Feck it.     I think it’s daft, but whatever.         I was born during the Troubles, me folks dead from the fightin’   I was raised in orphanages, goin’ from foster home and back, cause I got into so many fights.  Wankers in charge didn’t get it.     Orphange, Schools are like life.   You got the strong, and then you’ve got prey, ‘n be buggered if I was going to be prey.”

“Me only friends were the Ravens.  They listened, they understood that you needed to fight for yourself or get fed upon by the strong.   I spoke to ’em like mates, and one day, they spoke back.     I figured it was a bit o’ the sacramental wine I nicked from Father McPoofter at first, but they were real.    Told me all sorts of legends, about Cu Chulainn and the washer at the Ford, about the Fair Folk ‘n such.    Then they tell me about the Raven queen herself, and how she took a shine to some soldier, ‘n stayed long enough to know he’d be dyin’ like the rest, and left her kid up for adoption.   What’s more,I was the kid.”

Moira’s knuckles tighten on the handlebars as she continues.

“No’ much after, she shows up to talk to me ‘herself.  Suprised the hell out of ‘er when I took a swing.  And why not?  She left me to grow up in a pile o’ shit.    Well, she gave me me lumps and a few broken bones n’ I was glad to get the hate out of my system.    We talked into the night, about the war, about how a lot o’ other gods were spreadin their legs for mortals, tryin’ to get soldiers to fight the battles.  told me I was likely to die just because o’ who pushed me out.      I told her that I I’d be glad to fight her war.   That way I may die, but at least I’ll get to take a bunch o’ wankers out with me.”

The figure holding on behind her listened, saying “But that’s not the whole of it, Moira.”

“Feck off!    Moira’s a name for some soft whore who can’t fight her way out of a wet paper sack.   Call me Morrie!  An’ I know I didn’t tell the whole tale.  They don’t need to know how we hooked up or wha’ we did.    Even the yanks me Ma wants me to hook up with don’t needto hear all that.”

“Moi, Morrie, you know it bothers me when you’re so dismissive..”