Praise for
The Watchful Eyes of the Unknown
"These stories transport you through time. Part poetry, part prose, these stories don't dissapoint."
–Tyler Michael Jacobs, 5th year SHP Creative Writing Instructor
For my mom and dad; you always taught me never to hide my creativity.
Table of contents
The Slaughter of a Sacred Lamb
The Silence of Crows
The Shadow of an Owl under the Sun
Acknowledgments
The Slaughter of a Sacred Lamb
Eyes do not favor you when the outside world is just as dark as the mask your eyes hide behind. Every time I tried to open them they quickly shut, attempting to protect myself from the bitterness of the cold winds. Dust particles filled up the crevices I could not cover with my hands. I tried to fold myself in, I tried to shield myself against the straining ache racing up my bones from the freezing cold. It didn’t matter. I could not protect myself. I called out, my voice getting lost in the maze that is the harsh night. From the scarce few moments I could spare to open my eyes, the intimidatingly tall trees shook with a violence I’ve always been privileged enough to avoid. Mother Nature's debris hit against my weakened skin, the cold allowing blood to spill more fruitfully. Nothing, however, bled more than my tender wrists, held against the frigid stone that would not fracture under my immense restraint.
I was not supposed to be here. Young boys are not supposed to be alone out here. But I wasn’t alone. My father was here. I called out for him until the cords of my throat bled. I felt the shift around me, my father had come to save me, take me away from this hell. Instead, he placed a single hand on my shoulder as he whispered words too complex for my distress to understand. I forced my eyes open, bloodshot and weeping. The last thing I saw was the light in my father's hand, shadowing his stoic gaze. I was not supposed to be here. The bitter cold turned colder with the light as my body flinched and screamed. A son was not supposed to be here. A son was not supposed to be alone. A son was not supposed to die like this. These thoughts didn't seem to cross my father's mind as he left me to burn. He had forsaken me.
I brushed off the visions. At least that’s what I called them. Thoughts… Memories… Dreams… Visions? I did not know what to call them. Those repetitive pictures of my death through pain and suffering. All by the cold hands of my father. It couldn’t be normal for a young boy to have these thoughts, at least not to be so recurring. The visions had haunted my dreams and thoughts constantly, piercing through my mind like a hook through the brain of a freshly caught fish. It had started a few weeks ago, but I simply tried to ignore them along with the violent terror I felt every time my father walked into a room. I hated myself for it. My father was the light of my life, the hero in every story, he could move the mountains if he wished to do so. At least, that is what the mind of my younger self-thought. Looking back I wondered if there ever was any abuse or harm I let slip through the cracks of my guileless mind. There never was. My father was a good man, and I had every reason to believe so.
It was cold outside, testing the patience of a boy who hated boredom almost as much as the frigid outside world. I made due, spending my time after school playing knights and reading. It was unusual in the small town I lived in, it was almost halfway through fall and no snow had come, but the iciness was foreshadowed in every fall breeze. This meant more work for my family, the furnace always had to be on and my father always had to gather wood. I’ve spent my whole life in Aether Hollows, the little town built only a few decades before. I’ve never dreaded the outside so much. It didn't matter, all that mattered was the sun slowly setting, building up to the climax at 5 in the evening. That is when my father came home from work. I hated the small period of time when I was alone at home with just my mother. My father acted as the scale, balancing and weighing out the discord between me and her.
It angered me how they treated each other. My mother was vain, others were only a reflection of herself to her, too distracted with her own desires to look away from the mirror. My father held the mirror, showering her with praises as she pushed him off to the side. I resented her, glaring her down during dinner after a snide remark, only to get a disappointed glance from my father. I didn't understand how a man bigger than the sun could burn up so easily. I allowed my anger and hate for her to subside by spending every waking moment in my father's shadow, forcing her to face her worst fear, being unseen.
That evening, I followed my usual routine of waiting patiently for my father. I sat alone in the living room, reading a small novella, glancing at the door periodically. My mother was making dinner, as she did almost every evening. Despite her shortcomings, my parents closely resembled the picture of a traditional family. My Father worked and my Mother stayed home and did the chores, I was an only child and found the redundancy of the normal family to be boring. Just as I found most of life in the small town we lived in to be.
“Enough reading,” my mother glided in suddenly, immediately grabbing the novella out of my hands.
“Why?”
“Because you have more important things you should be doing now,” her sternness did not shock me, but her actually having some substance to her argument did.
“I am almost finished.” It was a lie, I needed to pack and prepare for my father’s camping trip that evening. In truth, I hadn’t so much as picked a bag to bring.
“Don’t lie to me.” Her eyes ripped into me, but I avoided her gaze.
“I feel like I deserve more than to be lied to by my little miracle boy.” I hated that name, I hated how she saw me as an extension of her religious sob story.
“I’m sorry.” Another lie from my lips.
My mother inched closer, placing her hand on my slumped shoulder, “Every morning, noon, and night I thank God for letting me have you. After so many of your brothers and sisters couldn't make it… After so much pain and grief, I got to have a beautiful boy, even if it was a little late…” Her voice faltered. Despite her attempts at sympathy, my mother's struggle with fertility had never been a concern to me and certainly wasn’t my responsibility.
“I know, mother.” Silence fell between us.
She sighed loudly, her tone shifting back to demand and authority, “Your father should be home any minute, just have your things packed before supper.”
She quickly walked back to the kitchen and I was left alone, staring at my reflection through the maroon-shadowed window. I waited there a few minutes, struggling with my newly presented dilemma. I wanted nothing more than to pack my things and leave this place with my father, but to get ready now was to admit defeat to her. My thoughts were harshly interrupted as my father banged open the door and charged in with a familiar, warm smile.
“Welcome home, Dad!” Much to my mother's dismay, the difference in my spirit was apparent. He returned the welcome and then sat down at the table. Dropping all his belongings on the floor except his most precious: his book of scripture, which was in a leather-bound cover placed gently next to him like a jewel that needed to be guarded.
“The sun won’t be down for a while yet, but I still wish to head out before dusk. Are you almost ready, my boy?” My father's voice boomed, not loud enough to overtake the gentleness and care behind it.
“Yes, I just need to grab my things!” A lie.
“He’s lying.” My mother chimed in deceitfully, my cheeks blushed red. “He has barely touched his room, let alone have it ready for your trip.”
His eyes stayed on me while he listened to my mother, but he did not seem angry. Mother placed her hand on my father's shoulder as she laid down the meal with her other.
“Maybe you should go another time, make sure he knows he does not get a trip when he can't even pick up after himself enough to pack!”
My father quickly retorted, “No. It’s already been decided, my love. But when we return I’ll…” his voice trailed off, “I’ll make sure his room is clean.”
I smiled wide, my mother snorted but didn’t argue.
“Besides,” my father huffed while eating, “Father Judah told me this morning that today is the perfect day for a hunt and a good night's rest in nature. Lord Almighty would not forgive us if we sulked inside these next few days.”
I could feel my mother's tight anger from behind the furnace, “Did Father Judah not look outside today, you could get frostbite from these winds.”
“I’m sure Father is well informed on the weather,” My father's tone filled with a slight aggression I’ve never felt before. “And a little bit of cold will only help move the wildlife a bit.”
My mother fell back into her silence, never daring to insult his pastor or church.
I never understood my mother's dislike for Pastor Judah, the few times I had met him he looked at me like a strong young man and complimented my loyalty to my father.
“My boy,” My father put his gaze on me, I could feel the tension, most likely from my mother's selfishness and stupidity. “Outside, there is some firewood, please load it into the back of the horses and I will pack your things.”
My mother nearly jumped from such a declaration, “he can pack his things just fine!”
“Hush, my love, I will make sure he leaves his toys and things here if that will give you more peace of mind.” She whispered her approval through tight gestures.
My father's gaze fell upon me, “Leave your things on the table, I will grab what you need. Just take the clothes on your back and I’ll meet you outside.”
I did not like the idea of leaving all my things, but at least my mother wouldn’t have her way. I submitted, handing over all my items, and ran outside, not even looking at my mother, before loading the heavy logs. I handled them with certain aggression targeted at my mother. I never understood how my father could have married her. Someone so kind, loyal, gentle; given his whole life to god. How could he fall in love with a woman who can’t even make a good meal, she doesn’t even go to church with me and my father anymore. I hauled the heaviest logs onto the back of the bags harnessed to the horse’s sides, using all the strength the body of a determined child could. It never worked, nothing took the anger out of me. Not until my father came walking out, holding one bag in his left hand and his book in his right, wearing the biggest smile a man ever could.
“Dad, I finished moving all the logs!” I wheezed about my accomplishments until I noticed my mother behind him, sitting on the porch, looking disheveled. My father patted me on the back and put the bag in the back seat, the book remaining in his hand, leaving me and my mother alone. I don’t know exactly how long had passed, but she looked worse than the last time I saw her, only a few minutes ago at supper. Her skin was pale, her eyes red, and her hands were strained on her lap. My anger won over my curiosity, leaving her in her misery, rooting for it almost. I looked at her one more time, and she held my gaze, asking me to react, stay, or do anything. I did the only thing my anger could manage and stormed onto the horse without even a smile for my mother. I sometimes wondered if she would have smiled back.
♱
The ride was great, just me and my father. Singing along to our hymns, talking about the world, and listening to him tell me his favorite biblical stories and allegories. It was perfect, the happiest a young boy could ever hope to be. The ride couldn't have been more than 3 hours to our favorite hunting grounds, but every second was filled with love and wisdom.
2 hours or so into our ride, my father’s usual tone took a serious drop.
“Do you trust me, son?” His eyes never left the road.
“Of course, Dad!” I exclaimed the idea he thought I thought any less of him shocking my young mind.
“I know, my boy, I just want to give you some…” His words mumbled, “advice.”
“Yes I love hearing your stories and lessons, about all your triumphs in the war”
“This isn't about that!” He harshly interrupted, causing me to jump. “I just want you to remember something, from this day until your last.”
I grew a bit anxious, but would never miss out on something he deemed that important.
“I promise, I will.” I moved closer, my seatbelt tightened on my shoulder and hip.
“There is nothing God won’t forgive.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing. Only as long as one wants to be forgiven.”
The remainder of the ride was spent in silence, the only comfort was the subtle click of the horses. Soon we arrived at the site, just as the sun began to set. I jumped off of the horse, my body unable to handle the excitement. I didn’t fail to notice the bitter cold and winds, and a sharp whistle roaming the trees. I ignored all these things and helped my dad put a few good logs into a bag, preparing for the journey. I, once more, noticed the only thing he carried was a backpack and the book.
“Hey, Dad?” I mumbled.
“Yes?”
“Where is your gun? We are here to hunt, yes?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze, “you don’t always need a gun to hunt.”
I left the topic there, we walked for half an hour until I stopped at the trail to our normal hunting grounds.
My father stopped me in my path, “We are not going to our regular hunting grounds.”
Anxiety shot through my body, “but we always come here, it's our special place, and the animals always-”
“Hush, boy.” My father looked out onto another trail, leading up the small mountain the site lived on. The trail was dark and mossy as if no one had dared to walk on it in years.
I followed him along, not even attempting to argue with him, but I couldn’t ignore the cold. Or the way the sun was barely visible anymore. Or the way the trees would whip so violently, but my father would never flinch. After only god knows how long of walking, our only light became the small torch I held in my hands at the request of my father. Barely able to direct the light as the bitter wind made my hands shake with the cold. We continued to walk, the steps got bigger, and the night got darker until finally, we reached a small dugout on the top of the hill. My father only walked to the center “Put the wood down here.”
I stood still, too scared to move in such freezing winds.
“Now, boy!” He yelled at me, he never yelled at me before.
I rushed to the center as I held back my tears, sloppily untying the bag, and poured the logs into the small pit. I met my father's eyes for just a moment, BANG! Thunder boomed so loudly that I cried out in fear, the winds only increasing as I sunk to the ground. My father walked towards me.
“Why are we here, Dad? We’re not supposed to be here.” I barely whispered as a sharp rain began to fall, stinging at each drop.
He held my stare, looking at me like he’d never seen me before.
“There are no animals up here! Why are we here!” I raised my voice against the rain and winds.
He then pulled out a knife, a strange knife, not one meant for hunting animals.
I started to shake, but yelled out until my throat ached, “Where is your gun? What are you doing? Why are we here, Dad?”
He walked close to me and kneeled before me. His gentle, but stoic voice came close to my ear, his breath the only warm I felt.
“I love you, son.”
He grabbed my wrists and pulled me in the air, pain screamed through my body, and I cried out, screaming. My father pulled me over to where I laid the logs, my arms burned, as if they were pulled out of socket. I struggled and fought, but he was so big and so strong. He held me close to him as he moved some leaves away from a mound, revealing a strange structure.
Stone built on stone, shaped like a cube. Time stopped. It was an altar.
“No! No please!” I screamed and hollered, my father threw me on the altar, tying my hands with rough ropes that were hooked onto compartments on each side of the large structure. The hooks were carved and welded into the stone, made of the same metals I knew my father used to build our home. He had built this alter. He had planned this.
I screamed and sobbed, but it didn’t matter. The harsh winds and fiery rain poured down, drowning out every sound imaginable. I could not move, my wrists bled against the resistance I tried and failed to bring to the strong ropes. My eyes were glued shut, a reflex from the pain brought by the raindrops. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, all I knew was the overwhelming downpour of fear, my heart beat so hard it made my chest ache. All of me ached. The cold burned up all my strength, my voice cracked as my throat filled with small bits of water and debris. I couldn’t die like this. I took a deep breath and closed my mouth after spitting out all the water, spit, and blood. I would not die like this. I put all my effort into my breathing, but my lungs hurt so badly that I nearly collapsed. I would not die like this.
I forced my eyes open, searching in the darkness and storm for any sign of my… my father. I could barely see in front of me, let alone with the restraint and exhaustion, my head felt from being trapped on the altar. Then I heard him. My father came above me, holding a torch in one hand, and the book in another. Lightning flashed far away, allowing me to hold his stare and see the terror and desperation in his eyes. I let him see all of mine.
I forced my eyes open so wide until it hurt and wailed, “WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? DAD PLEASE!”
He froze, looking away from me, “I have to do this.” He barely whispered it.
“Dad please!” I screamed through my sobs.
“I HAVE TO DO THIS!” He wailed out with an anger I’d never heard before. “The Lord has asked me to sacrifice my son! My only son! And I must obey the Lord or we will suffer! You will suffer! I’m doing this for YOU!”
“I am suffering at your hands” He looked into my eyes now, staring, tears fell down his cheek but he remained perched over me, waiting to strike.
“Shut your mouth!”
“Your God has made you destroy your life! This is ridiculous!”
He ripped out the familiar knife from his pocket, shaking with terror and rage.
“He saved me! I’ve faced a life of terror and torture! And he saved me. He brought me back!” He brought the book to my face, shaking it violently. “If he asks me for a sacrifice, I will give what I value most! That is what I must do or else he’ll send me back! I can’t go back!” His voice cracked.
My father sobbed for just a moment, the winds increased, and he shook off his grief and pulled his knife back up with a deep breath.
“ Lord Father in heaven! HEAR ME NOW!” He screamed into the skies, his body soaked in the rain, he then spoke in an old language. One no one had heard for a long time.
I closed my eyes and wanted to pray, but I feared God would not help me now. I was not supposed to be here. The freezing cold broke my skin, the rain tortured me, and my father's voice started to fade away. I was dying, and I realized it. I did not want to die. Not at the hands of my father, I didn't understand. I loved him so much, I thought he loved me— how could he do this to me, his son? I cried out for my mother and the ghost of the man I thought was my father. I mourned the life I could have lived, the one the Lord had given and taken away from me so brutally. I sobbed out violently, the tragedy dawning truly on me once and for all.
My father muttered the last lines of his sacred chant, moving closer to me. He stood right above me, staring down. He looked at me as if it was the last time he’d ever see me. It was. I felt a lion roar in my chest, I was filled with the rage and betrayal this man had put on me. I hated him, whatever god was out there filled me with its wrath. This god was not good, this god was vicious and cruel. This god wasn’t fair, but, in that moment, he gave me more strength than I’ve ever felt in my life. I widened my eyes and screamed.
“May God forgive you for this.” I screamed, my father raised his sacred blade above me, “But I never will!”
Terror filled his eyes as I let out one final wail of terror, rage, and grief. My wrists slit from my tugging against the rope. My father lowered his knife into my chest with a force harder than the winds. I felt my skin rip, my muscles tear, and my blood spill out to the cold, harsh world. I could have been screaming, I wouldn’t know. All my senses faded, and the pain overtook my mind as my vision fell.
My father stabbed me once more, the pain sharpening, and all other bodily sensations surrendered to it. I may have smiled as the cold shaking my body fell to my suffering. My father continued his butchering, over and over and over until it stopped hurting.
My thoughts begged for my father, even my mother, I missed them so much my heart ached. But it was over now, never again would I feel their love.
Everything slipped away and I waited, I wanted to see if my father was right.
Here I lie now, I search for something… anything.
There is nothing.
I breathe one more time, I can feel it is my last.
My mind starts to falter as I whisper to myself…
“Father, you have forsaken me.”
♱
The father returned home.
He did not cry. He did not mourn. He did not think of his son.
Instead, he waited. Everyday.
He waited to be blessed. He waited to be saved.
He waited to be forgiven.
The father would wait forever.
The Silence of Crows
As long as the mind thinks, then it must exist. When the mind stops, then it does away with its existence as well. You may say its existence is conserved by the memories it holds in the minds of others. What happens when that mind fades away? If the memory is held in a mind that no longer exists then the memory no longer exists. This means death is inescapable for the human mind. This can be a curse or a blessing. Some things are just as inescapable as death, but a much worse burden to bare. If the mind always existed we would have no escape or even worse, if it never existed. Oh, what it is to exist at all.
⛥
My dad died in July, the hot, blistering summer heat did not do any favors when I found his strung-up corpse rotting on the basement pipes. August, we held the funeral and packed up our childhood home even though no one would ever try to buy it again. September, we left to live with my mom, her lavish mansion still felt smaller than my old bedroom. October, we started attending the local private school in Aether Hollows, we did not deserve more than 3 months to mourn. Despite it all, I always remember what my dad used to tell me… maybe after all these years the inescapable burdens of the mind were finally too much for him. I suppose I can’t blame him.
It is a cold day on a Thursday afternoon, I wear my school uniform with an air of discomfort and nonconformity. I spend my time sulking in the school library, bookshelves plated with gold and metals I can’t name. I’m not used to such nice things, I run my fingers against the grating of the fiction section shelf. I always used to picture a life with my mom, her endless wealth worth more to her than us, the luxury she left her two young children behind for. I can’t blame her, living under the poverty line left me and my older brother exposed to many demons no parent can protect their child from. Still, it doesn’t mean I don’t get to hate her.
My newfound wealth means I can be who I want, where I want, whenever I want. It’ll never be enough though, nor will it ever fix the broken hands and screws of my bashed-in clock of a mind. Sometimes I picture my mother hanging from that ceiling pipe instead… That, I suppose, is a story for another time.
“Kara.” My brother appears behind me, tucking himself just around the shelf enough to barely be seen.
“What?” I don’t meet his eyes.
“I want you to do something for me.” This is strange. Cole is not like most brothers, or most people for that matter. His uncanny height along with his limber body that holds all too close to his ribs give him a sense of being unwelcomed. A wandering spirit with no home. I don’t see him this way, he is always welcome by me, but ever since Dad died he has become just that: a spirit.
“What is it?”
“I just want you to try something after classes today.” There it is. He is going to try and get me on some new drug he and his buddies found. Even without the late nights coming home or the changes in his appearance, you could tell he was always on something new. The very essence of him breathes it. He tells me it’ll make me feel better, and make me forget, but I never give in. Not yet anyway.
“Trying something with you could get me killed, knowing your habits,” I murmur, he scoffs at this but I see the guilt hover in his eyes.
“No, I’m serious Kara. I want to show you something interesting, something to help us both.”
He must be serious if he’s even bothering to talk to me this long, “Alright, fine, what?”
Cole looks around the silent halls of the library, he slides a small note out of his ripped jeans and hands it to me. He is gone before I can look up from the note. I sigh loudly, causing the shelves to shake at the foreign vibrations. The strange note looks expensive, someone put a lot of effort into this with the perfect calligraphic letter and soft weight of the paper. I open it and consume what I’ve been given.
Kara,
I am inviting you to join my newly formed club held tonight in the forgotten classroom at the end of the hall. Please come with an open mind, I want to help you. I have seen what you have seen and want nothing more than to be rid of it forever.
-Mackenzie Thatcher.
Mackenzie Thatcher? What the hell? Mackenzie Thatcher reigns as the most well-liked, smart, and beautiful girl in the school if not all of Aether Hollows. She is the stereotypical popular girl, matched with an immense amount of wealth and influence. Her perfect blonde hair, with her perfect hourglass figure, framed perfectly with her perfect, clear brown skin and her perfect freckles and full lips. She is unreal and everyone seems to think so. She is a queen amongst peasants in the halls of this god-forsaken town.
What does she want with me? Why is she sending out eccentric and creepy messages? Most importantly, what does she have to do with Cole? That makes me realize no matter how strange this is, it seems very important to Cole. I have to go to whatever this is. He barely speaks to me now, despite my efforts to keep close to him after Dad’s death. If this is some weird rich people ritual, I guess I’ll be the sacrificial lamb if it means breaking through to my brother for even a moment. I am going to go. I feel a dread in my stomach that will not go away for many years to come.
⛥
Night fell slowly, my anticipation holding the sun up with a string. Now I am waiting inside the dark school, Cole’s phone being the only light guiding us down the hallway. This is a very fancy private school, there is no room simply used for nothing. Every single door I’ve ever passed has been full and purposeful, yet, Cole leads me down the hall as if this never crossed his mind. We come to the end of the hall, a dead end.
“Cole, enough of this, there isn’t anything down here. I don’t know what Mackenzie was talking about.”
He huffs and avoids my eye, “Just wait for her to come.”
I oblige, we spend a few minutes in dead silence waiting for someone, anyone to come. No one does. Eventually, I grow bored and sit on the ground and close my eyes, only for a moment, my body hasn’t even fully relaxed when I hear my name.
“Kara.” I know that voice. “You can come in now.” Mackenzie.
Mackenzie Thatcher stands inside a door at the end of the hallway, leading into a small room. The room is lit only by candle and filled with maybe 7 people looking as terrified as me, if not worse. There are couches spread around a small table, holding up a small leather-bound book I recognize as some sort of religious text. I sit nervously next to Cole on one of the couches, only then do I take a moment to observe the other student’s faces. They all go to school here, all dressed in red and black school uniforms, but that is the only thing they have in common.
Quinn Ramirez, the smartest girl in the whole school, is here purely on scholarship. Victoria Mitchell slept with every attractive person in the school and I can’t even blame them. A pothead my brother was friends with, I think his name is Malcolm. The star athlete, Ben Cooper, looks the most unsettled out of all of us. Lastly, the most attractive boy I’ve ever seen, Isaiah Dalton, is the core of any enjoyment I have at this school. I don’t know Isaiah well, but I knew this was not where he was supposed to be. To be honest, the only person who seems to be comfortable is Mackenzie. Of course, it's always Mackenzie. She steps into the middle and smiles at each of us.
“Hello everyone,” Her charisma is daunting. “My name is Mackenzie for those of you who haven’t met me before… I invited you all here tonight because we all have something in common… a shared issue… and I have a way to solve it.”
“A shared issue?” Victoria retorts with her cat-like expression.
“A shared experience.” Mackenzie quickly cuts her off while maintaining perfect composure.
“What experience is that?” The jeer in Malcolm’s voice is apparent.
“All of us have seen something that shifts the human mind… death.”
The change in the room is instant, everyone either tenses up or gasps. I jump back in my seat, there is no logical way Mackenzie could know about what I saw, no one knew besides… Cole. I see my brother, his composure remains the same, he knew about this, yet, a glimpse of sadness in his eyes conflicts me. Then that leads me to everyone else, I knew Quinn Ramirez’s parents died in a car accident but that was the only tragedy I knew of. What have these people done to see these things?
“I was 16 when I watched my best friend die.” Mackenzie hums. “From the grave, her spirit led me to this place, this book, these abilities!” She lifts a leather-bound book, the paper is yellowed from age. “This book used to belong to a man hundreds of years ago. He tried to harness these abilities and killed his own son for it, but he failed. But I’ve studied and solved the errors in his methods and can give you what others have killed for!”
She walks forward and holds up one of the candles, this girl is crazy, yet, something about her intrigues me. I can’t look away.
“Watch and take only what you see, I am only offering this gift to you so you don’t have to be alone anymore.” Mackenzie leans forward and places her hand over the candle, the fire grows small, barely visible in the dark room. The small flame erupts and fills the air, there are screams and cries but none of pain. The fire spreads quickly, filling the room while not scorching a single hair. There are shadows in the fire, little whisps, something alive!
I reach out for Cole, he is too far away, his nose nearly touching the fire as his gaze deepens. I do not exist to him right now, I look around and see tears of joy and wails coming from each one of us. I look into the fire, searching for whatever joy they have, I want to feel what they feel, I want to feel with them, I want to be them. My body goes hazy as I gaze at the small shadows, one stands out to me. My dad, together and whole, smiling at me, the fire only a veil holding me back from my very real and alive father. I run to him but am held back, a small, gentle hand grabs my arms as I turn to her.
“What is happening?” I cry out to a stoic Mackenzie.
“What you perceive is only what exists. What exists is only what you perceive. The death of your father and the grief of so many before you allows you to control yourself completely.” Her voice takes on a new-found emotion I’ve never heard from her. “Kara, I know you're scared, I was too. You don’t have to do this alone anymore!” A tear runs down my cheek, I can feel her grief, honesty, and compassion. I can feel every emotion of every person in here.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore!” I submit myself completely, sobbing with the outcry of a million broken dreams.
Mackenzie cups my face and smiles, “Never again.” She looks around at all of us, and with a shift in her smile the fire disappears, leaving everyone staring at her in awe.
“May my crows never be silenced again.”
⛥
It is March, mere months have passed by but so much has changed. Since that night we met every evening, all cherishing the time we had together like a priceless gift. Every feeling is shared and overcome between the eight of us, people at school break us down as some club, but we are so much more than that. Our friendship grew stronger, our bond grew deeper, and our abilities… grew. It is the happiest I have ever been.
Cole and I sit together alone in a classroom that doesn’t quite exist.
“Are you scared?” I ask softly.
“No, just anxious.” He doesn’t meet my eye.
Mackenzie texted all of us this morning, demanding an emergency meeting after school and her few messages did not hold her usual composure. I am worried, but Cole is terrified, I can feel it.
“You think she wants to talk about what happened with Ben?” My questions hang in the air.
Our intertwined bond was not the only gift given to us by whatever gods have fallen upon us. It started small, a commandeering Mackenzie showing us the power of a broken mind, the ability to believe and for it to be. Our blessings only came when we needed them. Quinn found a pencil she knew she did not bring. Isaiah lit a small flame without even looking at the wick, Victoria was able to take 50 bucks from someone simply by asking. If we truly wanted something, it would come to us. The gifts only grew larger and harder to control. A month ago Malcolm had found a kid he owed money to stuck at home sick for months. I had sliced open my arm on accident only for it to be healed the next moment. We all had these moments, they rattled us, well, all of us besides Mackenzie. None of these compared to what happened last week to Ben on the field. The reason we’re most likely here tonight.
He was losing a game of football to another team, it was a big tournament, and I remember feeling his stress about it. One player beat and charged and hit him every chance he had. I still remember the screams of terror as that young player’s leg exploded mid-tackle. Drenching Ben in blood and killing the kid instantly. Everyone brushed it off as a freak accident, even Mackenzie, but she knew, we all did.
“Can I ask you a question?” Cole asks quietly, his leg tapping against the floor.
“Yes.”
“Are you afraid of what we’ve become?”
I fall into silence, I grab his arm softly, “No. Can I ask you a question?”
I feel his nod as I lean into his shoulder.
“Do you love her?” Her name hangs like a curtain in the air.
“How couldn’t I.”
“Who did you see die? What made her choose you?”
“I saw her.”
Confusion fills my mind, it doesn’t last long as my phone starts blaring loud enough to make both of us jump. I quickly answer it to find a sobbing Victoria on the line. I unscramble her wailing words, only to break the moment my mind puts them together. The next few hours are a blur; ambulance lights, sobbing, screaming, I don’t understand. I don’t want to. I never let go of Cole’s arm, it's the only thing that keeps me grounded, the only thing that keeps me alive. It isn’t until the next morning that I finally let go. Mackenzie Thatcher, 17, found dead by suicide in her bedroom. The only thing she left behind was a note, released publicly to friends and family after the police left.
What I perceive is what exists. I have seen it. It must die so I must die. Oh, what it is to exist at all.
⛥
Mackenzie’s greatest mistake was thinking whatever gods curse us want to share their power so indefinitely. There are seven of us. Weeks go by and something shifts in one of our minds. There are six of us. Something is seen that can not ever be rectified. There are five of us. Something is out there and is going to hurt us. There are four of us. We took too much and now must pay the price. There are three of us. Nothing is more terrifying than the remnants of our shattered minds. There are two of us. My brother and I sit patiently, awaiting the same fate as our father. There is one of us.
What I perceive is what exists. What exists is what I perceive. I want them all to burn. I want them all to rot. So that is what I must do. Oh, what it is to exist at all.
The Shadow of an Owl under the Sun
The intense heat of the sun weighed down upon us. That day was a good day. The sun was heavy and the skies were clear, but it was all worth the absence of the winds. I sipped from the small metal jug that held our most precious resource: water. Every sip filled me with an overwhelming guilt as the weight pushed against my back had let out a warm breath against my nape. My job was to gather and provide, never to consume. One of the many rules in the new world you had to follow if you wanted to survive.
I would read stories of the old world. Stories where girls and boys alike would go to school, drive in cars, call their friends, fall in love, and grow old. Those things did not exist anymore, not since the fall of the old world. That was many decades ago, I was born into this world, it was all I knew, but I couldn’t help but envy the little journals and novels I would find hidden in barren houses. I would read them out loud to her as she fell asleep, sometimes I thought it was cruel to expose her to such things. However, nothing is as cruel as letting the new world forget the old one.
She started to cry, I felt her shivers and sobs on my back. I pressed the small button on my plated forearm as I spun around to see her. My sweet baby girl. Stuck living a life inside this hellscape of a box. I remember building my suit, not more than a few years ago. Many people built suits of armor to protect themselves from the horrors of the outside world. I simply made a few alterations to allow my daughter to live with me in my rusty suit. The main part of it was slightly larger than me and held a humanoid shape, the back, however, was a box that my daughter spent all her time in. The small compartment had a small cot for her and a few places for food and blankets. It was torture, staying still constantly despite the various shifts to care for my crying baby. It was hell, but it was necessary to survive.
I pushed the button on my machine thigh wall, and the machine slowly powered down and laid on the sand. Sand was everywhere. All signs of life died when the world fell, only a few rare organisms managed to survive. I unlatched my arms and legs from the controls of the suit, curled up inside the suit, and held my daughter in my arms. I hushed her, rocked her in my arms, and gave her a few drops of water. I couldn’t spare much, but I hoped we could find more tomorrow. We had to. My sweet, beautiful baby Soleil. I had to find something for her to eat because if we ran out… I guaranteed my baby wouldn’t die of hunger. No matter what. I rocked my baby to sleep, time passed, maybe minutes, hours. I fell asleep with my baby in my arms, praying for us to last.
⛭
I did not remember my childhood, I didn’t have parents, I didn’t have any memories besides the various scars I’d obtained through unknown methods. I remember being found in a house, nearly dead from starvation, but I remained untouched by the Infection. He found me and brought me to his empire, his home. My life was mundane, I spent all my hours in the library in the Haven. The Haven was built at the dawn of the Infection, a safe place for people to live. All the books we found were stored safely at the Haven Library, I read every single one. As I grew up, I had become a young teen sharpened by the harsh world around me and worshipped my founder and the leader of the Haven itself. Malik.
“Good evening, Merit.” Malik slithered over to me, placing his hand on my shoulders, he always did.
“Good evening!” I smiled wide, spending my whole day engineering a new compartment for the suits that were so precious to those who ventured outside to provide for us in the Haven.
“Tell me about what you’ve done.” He closely studied my newest invention, I was one of the greatest engineers here and Malik knew it and flaunted me.
“As you know, the suits are built to protect the human body from the Infection while allowing the body to stay mobile.” I pushed a button and opened a newly installed compartment built for storage and air movement. “The idea is to provide more storage to allow the gatherers to carry more back in one trip, while also using a lightweight material that insulates the gatherer while not weighing them down!”
“Absolutely genius.” Malik studied every part of my new mechanism, it was beautiful and he appreciated it. He appreciated me.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, Merit.” Malik moved closer to me, “You are 13 years old and managed to build things even the smartest men of the old world couldn’t manage. You submit to no one.”
His kind words stuck with me as I grew closer and closer to him. Most of the women in the Haven were kept in the lower regions to care for and bear the children. The men in the Haven were either gatherers or pillagers, providing us with goods or protecting us from the Infected. Sometimes they came back with more people, sometimes they returned with less. Usually young women who were pregnant or beaten from the harsh men outside the Haven. None of that mattered to me. I was a young girl, but I was Malik’s prodigy, the child he found and raised. I was different from the lower women, and I was going to take his place one day. I would submit to no one.
⛭
Soleil was growing, she would cry from teething pains, and hold herself up better. She would be able to walk soon, not that she ever would walk. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I wondered what I was going to do when Soleil got too big. The suit was built for one person and I did not have the materials to expand. That was not a problem for today, some thoughts aren’t worth the time. Today we walked from dusk until dawn. The night was always better for travel, the cool air provided good insulation for the moving parts of the suit.
We walked and walked until we fell upon a small town, a crippled sign I made out the words ‘Aether Hollows’ from. I always liked to see the old-world town names. I recongnized some. This small town was hit harder than most, burnt down to soot. We found a small house, built of strong metals, giving us a place to take shelter. I waited until Soleil fell into a deep sleep and slipped out of the suit. I sealed it shut just in case an Infected was near. I crawled over to an outside grove, relieving myself, and trying to bathe the best I could with no water. I laid under the stars, listening to guarentee Soleil was still fast asleep. With a moment's peace, I did the only thing I knew how to and sobbed. I sobbed for my daughter and the life she would live, I sobbed for the people I once knew. I sobbed for myself, reminding myself of the real reason I was here.
I looked down at my leg, or what once was there. I quickly changed the bandages on the stump that ended at my mid-thigh. I sobbed for the sharp pains from my ghost leg, I still felt it sometimes. Wake up and reach for an itch that would never be scratched. I would never return home, even if I could be fixed. But for now, I remain alone and crippled, I wanted to die.
⛭
People started to treat me differently as I grew. The men looked at me with a new-found hunger that brought out the animalistic intristincts of hunted prey. The women glared at me and shunned me when I stopped sharing stories from the outside world. None of that mattered, every day I grew smarter and stronger, and with that Malik's affection grew as well. He started allowing me to go on missions with the gatherers, providing them with insight into the advanced machinery they were using. He also gave me unlimited access to anywhere I wanted to go in the Haven. I thrived every moment I was in power, I cherished it as Malik cherished me.
“Good evening, Merit.” Malik had found me in my bedroom reading an old leatherbound book. Filled with the scribblings and text of many long-dead people aging back centuries.
“Good evening, Malik.” My smile glowed as he came and sat next to me.
“What are you reading?”
“More deciphering, it’s an old book. It talks about these people looking for some sort of power, it’s very similar to the Infection.”
“How so?” He sat closer to me, his breath touching my neck.
“Well, it revolves around similar ideas and traits. In our theories, when one person is Infected their body goes feral and rots from the inside out, while filling them with hunger and violence. While their attacks are dangerous, not nearly as dangerous as how contagious they are. So much as physical contact with a rotted area spreads the disease. At least, that's what Dr. Murphy has hypothesized. This book, however, follows very similar ideas and tells stories of ancient cults gaining power and the ability to make others rot in the name of their god. The most recent tracing of this goes back 130 years ago in a town called Aether Hollows after a series of suicides. Right around the same time the old-world fell.”
“So you think they’re connected?” Malik was a good leader, but his knowledge on the outside was limited.
“I think this may have been the originating point. Aether Hollows is within a 100-kilometer radius of here. Maybe that's why it’s so horrible in this region, and maybe… the rest of the world isn’t.” I gazed into Malik’s eyes with hope and longing for the world I’d seen so many times in stories and history books.
Malik smiled at me, maybe with his influence he could conduct a search party for outside life a long way from here.
“I remember when I first found you, Merit, near starved to death in an abandoned cellar. You weren’t infected, you were alive. It was a miracle. You have proven yourself to the Haven every day since then.” He pulled me close to him.
“Thank you.” I wanted to cry from how much it meant to me, but no men cried in the Haven.
“And every day since then you have gotten more beautiful.” He leaned in and kissed me. A foreign concept I’d only heard of in novels. A sinking feeling grew in my gut as my skin wanted to rot.
I quickly pulled away, but he yanked me towards him and smiled, “Trust me, sweet Merit.”
So I did. He soon came in every night. He touched me and did things that reminded me of the parts in storybooks I would always skip over. Only after two years of his nightly visits, when I turned 18, did he start publicly showing our strange relationship to the other men and women in the Haven. Their treatment of me only got worse and so did Malik’s. None of it mattered. My new-found fear of his touch did not matter. I was above these other people, I was Malik’s favorite. One day I would take his place, only then would it all be worth it.
⛭
A few weeks had passed, and I had found a few small animals to kill and cook, of course, only after closely searching for any signs of Infection. I placed the cooked and prepared dead raccoon in a small compartment in my plated stomach area. I sat the suit down, detached from it, and opened the compartment to feed Soleil. She had been getting restless, desiring the outside world. I would never risk it, to a child so small, any contact with any Infected bacteria would immediately take over her immune system. I would never risk it. She would never go through what I had gone through, I’d make sure of it.
We were wandering north in the suit, Soleil holding tight to me and babbling. The sun started to rise but the expansive desert was flat and dormant, with no place in the shade to rest for the day. The sun rose and blinded me, I pushed the sun-protection button, and it worked, for a moment, then it returned to the blinding rush of heat. The suit I built was dying, I could feel it. I tried not to think about what that meant for us. Along the blistering horizon, a single man was limping toward us. Wailing and yelling for us to come closer, to let him eat, his vocal cords had fallen under the effects of the curse, I could barely understand him.
I walked up to him, thanking the gods Soleil could not see from her small compartment. The Infected wailed and cried and screamed, begging for the hunger and suffering to stop. I obliged, crushing the poor man's half rotten face in my hands. I no longer flinched at the gore, instead, I kept walking and walking and walking until the sun went down then up then down. I searched for anything to save us.
⛭
I was 20 years old when I sobbed on the bathroom floor, vomiting my guts out, I was disgusted with myself, I didn’t want to exist anymore. I was pregnant with Malik’s child, and I never wanted to die more. I would not tell him, I couldn’t, he would stop treating me with respect and keep me trapped in the hell he called The Haven. I was scared and confused so I ran down to the lower regions, looking for anyone to help me, get rid of this cursed child inside of me. I was crying, but this didn’t stop the women from glaring and mocking my movements. Every single one of them mocked me but one, a small, feline woman holding her newborn child.
“Come here, child.” The woman brought me into her comforting embrace.
“They… I…” I could barely speak through my sobs. “I’m pregnant.”
The strange woman gave me a disgusted look but hugged me tighter. Her eyes teared up and held me in her arms as she whispered to me.
“I lived in a small community, we lived in a bank, keeping out anyone that tried to harm us. But one force was just too strong to prevent.” Her voice cracked, “The men of the Haven came in and ravaged us. They killed my husband, killed my son. They… hurt and impregnated me. They brought me back for the child. All of us were slaughtered, or even worse. All of it was led by the man who gave you that baby. You are not the first, honey, you will not be the last.”
The truth fell on me, crushing my chest in terror, realization, and strange companionship. I moaned, held in shock from the betrayal, the horrors that the man I loved had done. I ran from the woman, no longer able to handle the crushing of my world. As the truth of Malik and the Haven’s sadistic rampages dawned on me, I could not stay there anymore, I couldn’t look him in the eye knowing… I had to leave.
I rushed down to the hospital, my presence nothing new there, secretly grabbing as much medicine and supplies that could fit into my backpack. I took everything I could think of from my room: clothes, food, batteries, weapons, and a few books. I wanted to grab things for the baby… I could not afford to think about the baby then. All of it was placed inside the suit I had built and kept in the garages. It was the most advanced piece of equipment in the building, the suit I was currently replicating plans for so the pillagers could use them. How many of my inventions had been used for such horrors? I couldn’t think about it.
Banging rung from the stairway leading into the garages, men shot through the door, followed by Malik. I didn’t meet his eye, instead, I jumped into the suit and closed it, nothing could get inside the suit when it was locked. My body was fitted into the perfectly crafted curves as my most recent invention came to life.
“Good evening, Merit.” After endless hours on salvaged computers, I managed to code and place an artificial intelligence into the suit. I hadn’t told Malik of this new component yet, but it warmed my heart to hear it work.
“Hello, Adam.” His name was the name of a character in an old story I read, the kind of name that didn’t exist anymore.
The men pounded on Adam’s chest, I heard gunshots bruise its side, but nothing made even a dent. Finally, Malik walked up to me and looked through Adam’s eyes straight into mine.
“Step out of the suit, Merit.” His voice was as gentle as the first time he touched me. “I just want to talk to you, I heard some woman was telling you false stories–”
“What happened to her?” I yelled from inside, “You killed her, didn’t you? How do I know you didn’t get her pregnant just like you did to me!”
Malik’s eyes widened, and the pure atrocities he committed dawned upon him.
“You’re pregnant?” He barely whispered.
“It doesn’t matter, I never want to see you again,” I screamed.
“Get out of the suit, Merit.” He grew angry, “Get out of the suit right now, or I’ll kill you just like I did that woman!” He banged on Adam’s body until it violently shook me, he continued screaming and threatening me.
“Merit?” Adam asked robotically, “I am sensing a threat, would you like me to terminate?”
I breathed in hard, I never wanted to see him again, I wanted to let him see what I was capable of. Once and for all. “Yes, Adam… Kill.”
Adam slaughtered them in minutes, the whole floor covered in blood, I screamed in terror as he ripped them apart as if they were nothing. I felt powerful, none of these men would ever touch me again. I was no longer touchable when I was in this suit. It was silent, everyone in the room was dead. Not me, never again would I fear those men. Suddenly, the suit rocked, falling forward as Adam went silent. His chest ripped open as Malik, drenched in blood, with a broken electrical pipe in his left hand with his right arm shredded to pieces. He threw the pipe as he ripped me out of the chest cavity, he took my throat and tried to crush it with whatever remaining strength he had, throwing me to the ground. I cried out, begging for help, for mercy, he did not notice.
Maybe death would be kinder than whatever fate I would have suffered if I stayed in the Haven with this man. I looked up at him again, giving him the eyes I gave him when he found me starving in the cellar. His eyes went silent as the remnants of the suit stabbed Malik through his chest and fell. Adam’s dead and short-circuited body fell upon us, his immense, unsupported weight crushed my right leg as I cried out in pain, such immense pain, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, everything I had done for me to die at the hands of my own creation with the man I despised rotting on top of me.
I fell into an agonizing slumber, waking up to a familiar face looking down on me, my head resting in her lap. The woman, the one I thought was dead.
“You’re alive?” I whispered, my chest aching with the attempt.
“They did not know which one told you, I was one of the few women in the region that still is breathing.” I noticed the absence in her arms.
“Your son?” She shook her head, I cried out but she silenced me.
“This is your chance, I have repaired your suit but only enough for you to leave in peace, all your supplies are still in there.”
“You repaired it? How…?” I murmured as I faded in and out of consciousness.
She laughed and gave a small smile, “I used to be so much like you before they took everything away from me. Don’t ever let them take from you again.”
I stayed quiet in awe of her, this poor woman who had saved me, and lost so much because of me. I cried silently as the woman helped me up into my suit, locking me in, the burnt-up dent in Adam’s side completely fixed. I look up at her one more time and sob, “What are you going to do?”
Her soft smile reflected through the glass eyes of the suit, “Live through you if you’ll let me.”
“Yes, of course!” I sobbed violently, placing my hand against the glass.
“Go out and live for me, never give up, never let anyone take advantage of you again, my love.”
“Wait…” I cleared up my sobs just enough for one last question, “what is your name?”
The woman became stoic, “Adam, please transfer to a faraway destination.”
Adam listened and responded, but he did not speak, something even she couldn’t fix. My bandaged, cut-off leg is placed in a warm, comfortable compartment as Adam begins to walk away from the woman and the Haven once and for all.
“Wait!” I screamed, “Please, what is your name?”
The woman gave me a final smile from her hiding place in the garage, “Soleil.”
Soon the woman faded into the distance as Adam silently moved us along, I spent our journey together crying. I wailed for every part of me that had broken. I wailed for every part of me that never would be fixed. Now my only worry was to survive, every day the suit would become worse, and Adam soon wouldn’t respond to me at all. It didn’t matter, it was just me and my baby now. I walked into the blistering horizon awaiting the horrors I would one day face.
⛭
I sat quietly inside a small pond, washing Soleil off as much as I could in the evening deserts. I’d already gathered as much water possible, along with a few tools I used to fix up the suit. Nothing changed, I rewired the whole suit, and nothing changed. Maybe I was growing old, getting rusty, I suppose. I held Soleil tight and rocked her small body in the silent waves of the pond. The blistering sun shining down upon us, but I didn’t care. I was hopeless, there was nowhere to go, and the suit was one malfunction away from breaking altogether, despite my deseprate attempts to fix him. Instead, I waited, taking in the warmth of the evening desert sun.
“Good evening, Merit.” I jumped at the terror those few words filled me with along with the shattering of years-long silence I’ve had. I grabbed my knife, ready to kill whoever had tracked me from the Haven after all this time to slaughter me. Never again would they touch me. Instead, I saw where the voice was coming from, the place I knew better than any place in this world. I smiled and let out tears of joy as I rapidly crawled to him and cried.
“Good evening, Adam.”
That night my daughter and I climbed into Adam’s chest, we held each other closely as Adam told us stories I had told him so many years ago. We walked, only stopping for a bath or some air, with Adam’s bionic protection leaving few Infected capable of touching us. I felt something change in me as Adam hummed away his favorite tunes, I had a family. One I had created completely on my own whether from my hands or my stomach. I finally had a family and they would never hurt me, they would always love me. So we walked and walked until the stars began to remember us each night. Chasing an endless horizon day by day. One day we stopped walking. One day we got to rest. One day we finally found a home.
All under the watchful eye of the evening desert sun.
Acknowledgments
I thank my mom and dad for the encouragement they give day by day to keep me writing and going in life.
I thank my brother for helping me stay grounded and take breaks when my motivation is low.
I thank the Summer Honors Creative Writing Class of 2024 for reading, inspiring, and reviewing these stories, also making me laugh the most I have all summer.
I thank my close friends Davis Clark, Emma Schmitz, and Mercedes Garner for giving me the joy and laughter to keep going.
I also thank the nearby pedestrians Anika, Tayvian, Darbie, and Jaelyn for their local support.
Lastly, I thank myself for being productive and motivated enough to create and write these stories.