9. Broken

Brooke's heart cracked as the man said such horrible words to her that crushed her like a mountain. How will Brooke recover from this setback?

Brooke followed Master Guardian Kirin through the lounge, into a hallway, and up some stairs that led to another hallway. The master guardian had not said anything the entire way, but her complement echoed in Brooke’s head and she was hyper, her muscles still twitching. She exhaled and decided to relax, rolling her shoulders and popping her knuckles. Satisfied by each crack, she caressed her mother’s ribbon, rubbing her finger against the silk blonde strands.

            Master Guardian Kirin and Brooke approached a metal security door. The master guardian opened it and they stepped into a dark room with a lighted window on the side of them. The male master guardians and an old man wearing a shiny white lab coat stood before the two fighters. He held a clipboard in his left arm and wore thick square paned glasses that hugged his wrinkled face, its earpieces curling behind his rounded ears. He was human and he must be the royal staff psychologist. Master Guardian Dill grinned and crossed his arms, “Good fight, huh Kirin?”

            Master Guardian Kirin nodded. The old man, however, stared at Brooke, glancing from her face to her sheath. He arched a brow and looked at a piece of paper clamped to his clipboard, lifting it and clearing his throat. “Um, your name is Brooklyn Emily Keeper, correct?” Brooke met his eyes that seemed too intense, a stern hazel in his irises and nodded. The man frowned and turned to the master guardians. “Conference.”

The master guardians nodded and left Brooke alone in the dark room, standing addled. She blinked twice before trying to see if she could hear anything through the door. She heard nothing. Brooke shrugged to herself and waited.

            The master guardians and psychologist returned. The master guardians leaned on the wall as the psychologist continued to flip through the papers on his clipboard. He finally looked up, tucking it to the side of his arm. “Admission denied.”

Brooke’s eyes widened and Master Guardian Kirin appeared shocked, her mouth agape, and her eyes just as wide. The master guardian said nothing and remained passive against the wall, sucking in her cheeks. She was just as confused as Brooke was.

Brooke’s eyes shifted from the glass windowpane back to the psychologist, the man that said the words denying her entry to the one thing she wanted. Her arms quivered and her throat went dry. She thought back to the master guardian complementing her. She gave the woman a good fight. How was it that this man rejected her? Was it something in her mind? Was it something subconscious she had not noticed? Maybe it was that. She had not thought about her mother, Dad, Rogue, or anyone during the fight; she only thought about what was in front of her, and that was her opponent. What was it?

Her fingers rolled into a clench, still by her sides. The psychologist turned to walk away. Wasn’t he going to tell her why? She needed to know why. Where did she go wrong? What did she miss that she didn’t see? His posture spoke of a man in haste to leave. She stepped forward, then back releasing her fingers. She did not want to seem like she was going to attack the man. “Why?” she asked, her voice thick with desperation and anger. She worked so hard for this. She had come so far. All the progress washed away by her failure. She didn’t even know what she failed to do. She grabbed the tip of the psychologist’s lab coat and the master guardians snapped to preparation, but they did not attack her. The psychologist turned to her, cocking his grey brows at the woman. “What was my mistake?” Brooke bit her lip. “What did I do wrong?”

The psychologist swatted her hand away as if she were a fly who’d nestled on his shoulder, scoffing, “Shoo, you’ve been denied, now go home.” Home? She couldn’t return home like this, with no proof of her dad’s foolish behavior. All that training was not for waste. It’s not for waste, but that’s how it seemed here. All that practice, all that effort, all the blood and sweat effaced before her eyes. And shooing her? She wasn’t a dog; she was a human being who impressed an elfin woman with top-notch speed, unmatchable to anybody Brooke had ever faced. What was the problem?

“But, but, but, why, why am I being denied, sir, I need to know.” Her pattern of speech dissolved into a muffled cry. She turned her face away from the psychologist. She felt pathetic and shame and angry. “I trained my a*s off, sir, even your master guardian bowed to me in admiration of my strength; tell me why you are rejecting me?” As the words came out, she felt a sense of injustice.

“I owe you no explanations.” The heat of his glare scorched her. No explanations? His words were of a cowardice man, a man who hid things.

“That makes no sense!” she yelled, a tear escaping her as she shook violently.

“Fine, you are being rejected due to mental issues I’ve noted.” Brooke averted her eyes to look at the man saying things that made no sense. Rejecting her because of mental issues? It was too bland. Something was wrong. What was the prejudice? She searched for one. He was human just like her. He had about the same olive tone of skin color as her.

“Like what?” she demanded.

“Look, it’s been a long day, take your sword, and get out of here.” Brooke’s arm twitched and Master Guardian Kirin restrained the chagrined woman. Brooke gritted her teeth, feeling hope drain out of her, leaving an empty flame, crushed and extinguished.

It had begun to snow by the time Brooke was out of the city. The sole of her shoes felt like cement beneath her feet and her shoulders felt like they’d been down forever. She shivered in the cold. How had the night turned so cold after such a hot morning? Then again, the entire day was an oxymoron. Her sheathe felt heavy and like something she grew exasperated with holding. The yellow ribbon drifted amongst the air dejectedly and reminded her that she had not entered the academy. How long had she trained? She remembered nine years she spent preparing for this and….it meant nothing. She grew exhausted of running it over her mind. She had a long walk after all. Now that she thought about it, where was she supposed to go? The psychologist told her to go home, but where was home? Brooke came to the crossroad between the path to the rural side and the entry wall of Alagracia. She peered at her father’s house on the hill. She turned her face away from it as if the house was pointing and laughing at her. She couldn’t face her father. She couldn’t face Mary or her daughters. The pages of her mom’s destroyed diary flashed to her mind and she bent her fingers to clench them, but they stiffly refused.

The tears trickled numb against her cheeks, like icy breath rolling down her face. She had nothing. In the home that once belonged to her dwelled strangers that knew not they were invading and a man she once knew, but denied these strangers were stealing from him. He seemed as though he enjoyed the theft. And her dream that she worked hard for, crushed like a piece of paper, thrown into a wastebasket, and missed. She didn’t even know why. What was she supposed to do now? If she returned to her father’s house, she was not allowed to spar or pick up a sword again until she collected enough money to move away from there. She had no money. She didn’t want to ask her father for money either. Mary, her father, Fannie, and Lucy will constantly remind her of her foolish attempt and hover it over her head like a dark rain cloud, fueling the cracks and thunders.

Brooke didn’t know why she did what she did next, but she chose to walk down the road to the entry wall of Alagracia. She found the Lavender Stream. She stopped and watched the lavender waters swallow the snowflakes glazing its surface. It looked beautiful. Her arms shivered and she looked up at the bright moon. It seemed like even the moon was laughing at her, but the Lavender Stream was consoling, nurturing, its beauty like therapy. In winter, the stream released a minty aroma. Brooke inhaled the frost, the mint, the purity of the stream.

Brooke continued on the path and stood before Rogue’s cottage. A smoke arose from his chimney pipe and nearly touched the tip of the mountains. He must have the hearth blazing. She smelled the scent of a dinner and definitely meat, deer meat for sure. Rogue had gone hunting, Brooke guessed. Brooke remembered one time she shared a dinner with him later to find out it was rabbit. Brooke screamed and threw up, disgusted that she’d eaten such a fluffy, cute creature. Rogue didn’t understand the big deal. Brooke chuckled to herself. There was a mix of ranch-style beans and granite rice boiling. Brooke’s stomach howled as she fell to her knees, numb and sobbing.

A dog ran over to the woman in the snow. The dog looked happy, wagging its tail, but as it approached Brooke, it started to whine. It sniffed her, setting its wet nose on her skin. It licked her face, and Brooke sat up. She wiped the gross saliva off. The dog barked and wagged its tail at her. Brooke petted the dog and smiled.

Rogue opened his door, stepping outside with a plate of food. “Here Doggie Doggie!” he called. The dog barked and scampered to Rogue as he set the plate down. The dog quaffed the food up as Rogue gasped. He hurried over to Brooke’s side, picked up the woman, and carried her into the house. The warmth felt nice. “Brooklyn Keeper, what’s going on?” Rogue asked as he set Brooke on the couch.

She met his eyes once and looked away. A pressure sank into her chest and it started to hurt. She didn’t want to meet his eyes, the eyes of the master who’d taken time out of his solitude to help her…for nothing. The knots returned inside her stomach replacing the hunger she felt. Her throat grew dry and forming words became hard. How was she supposed to tell him? “I-I- di-dnt g-g-get in-n!” she screamed. She buried her face into the cushion and drenched it. Lifting her head, she said, “I-I-m s-s-so so-rry Rogue!”

Rogue patted her back and asked, “Why did you not get in, Brooklyn?” She breathed, but refused to face Rogue.

“I-I- don-t know! That stupid psychologist would not tell me! He said I had mental issues but wouldn’t go into detail.” Brooke gritted her teeth. “I don’t understand at all!” She sobbed some more and then continued, “Even the master guardian herself complemented me!” 

Rogue cupped his chin and gave a troubled expression. “That’s odd.”

“It doesn’t matter; I didn’t get in!”

“Oh Brooklyn,” Rogue said sorrowfully. The two sat there quiet with only the steaming of the cooking pot and crackling hearth. “You should be getting home though.”

She wanted to stop crying to show she was strong enough to handle this set back but holding the tears back was like trying to catch water through one’s fingertips. She simply said, “I can’t go there.” Her explanation was long and she was exhausted.

Rogue nodded. “Your father might look for you.”

“Yeah right,” she mocked. “Please, Rogue, I can’t go there.”

Rogue sighed. “I suppose you can have my couch, Brooklyn.” Brooke’s eyes dimly lit. “You look tired, get some rest; I’ll go get some covers.”

Brooke nodded. “Thank you, Rogue.”

Rogue got the covers for her and spread them over the tired woman. When Rogue ate and offered Brooke food, she declined saying she had lost her appetite.

He cut off the lights afterwards and went to bed. Brooke stared at the fire, and she still cried, soaking the couch cushion. She will apologize later, but for now a waterfall splashed beneath her. 

Author's Note

Dear Reader,

Well, what do you think? Brooke worked mighty hard and her dreams were crushed by the admission decision. Sad is it not? However, there is a reason behind this. Read more to find out soon.

I chose that picture because broken glass symbolizes Brooke's broken world and dreams. The rose is now black and white, colorless.

Thank you for reading!

Sincerely JazzSoulKeke,

God bless