Chapter 1.
A dark atmosphere,
a dark room, a dark mind. What will occur? Light or even more darkness. Should
I wait, or run? Or is my life already over? The first night seemed to warn me.
The second spoke to me. The third changed my theory. The fourth has just begun.
If anything I had to fight for my life. But I couldn’t, I felt weak, like a
speck of dust just waiting to be noticed. Surreal, surviving, alone, afraid.
Well not any more. I want to live rather than survive, I was scarred for life;
I wasn’t going to give up now. However, one scream is all it takes to stop a
murder. And a murder can be inflicted by any force, from man to nature. With a
scream at the right pitch, could liberate one soul from
death. Where was that scream? That scream belonged to someone I love, someone I
lost, someone I lived for. As distressing as a scream sounds; it could still
grasp the attention of someone nearby.
It all started with a loud noise in the
distance. I was pretty certain it was an explosion. My sister and I were in our
house. She was beautiful; she had a pale white face, bright blue eyes, richer
and brighter than any star in the night-sky. That’s why mum decided to name her
Skye. Her hair was a dark, raven black colour that oddly seemed to shine
regardless of its ironically dark colour. Skye had the softest touch, she’d put
her hand on you and it was like magic running through your veins.
We were in the fourth field. Named
according to the myth of the ‘Dead and Living’ civil war over 500 years ago.
This war was said to be started by a ghost who claimed to be this so called ‘King
Empharyum’ coming back from the dead and
attempting to steel back his goods from the villagers who were seeking revenge
for what he did to their people (which barely anybody knows about; let alone
me, the village historian). However, all of his gold statues and engraved wares
were melted down and made into gold bars, sold from sea to sea, continent to
continent, until we barely had any money left to build houses, factories,
shops, so slowly, slowly but surely people started to move away. Until there
was only a few houses left. It seemed all of the happiness that was in the
village, cast over Morthwait (my village) like a magic spell, left with the
rest of the villagers.
Skye used to say the fields were filled
with magic and power but I didn’t believe her, which I regret most thoroughly.
I know now what happened in those fields, what those fields were scarred with, how those fields had been traumatized. So I decided to make it up to Skye. Because,
although she was ten, she had the charisma, mind and brain of an older, wiser
person. She taught me so much about how to believe in something, and how to
understand what it would be like if something was real. Skye had to put all her
trust in me, but I could tell she wanted to lead the way. Or understanding to
face things I was scared of, or running away from. From what was I running away
from anyway? A shadow? Or just a bad dream? Or was this even happening? I need
to grow up and defend myself, and defend the memory of Skye. All I ever do is
hide away and cry about what I think I can’t change. But I know what I can do,
what I’ve learned while Skye has been gone. After all, Skye and I were all each other had.
A Dark Tale.
Chapter 2.
This ‘explosion’ happened about six
months ago. The ‘explosion’ turned out to be a bomb. It wiped away half of Morthwait.
I survived because I was under the magic blanket mum left us before she died. She
said it protected you from anything in the whole wide world if it was out to
get you or someone near you. Why wasn’t Skye
under it? You might ask? She went to get Phoebe, her teddy bear; she loved her
so much that she wouldn’t go anywhere without her. Well, she went so fast I couldn’t
stop her and by the time I called her name, it was too late. She was paralysed,
I cried, I cried for so long! But crying didn’t help; everyone will die someday
even if they are only ten. I wish I could go back in time and it was me who went to get Phoebe. I fainted
that day. But a wood chopper from the next village saw the explosion and came
to see if everyone was okay and found me and Skye both lying there in a trance
and phoned an ambulance.
I woke up in hospital and saw Skye
lying next to me with scars on her face and blood gushing out of her arms and
legs. When I woke up they gave me all sorts of tests and I was scared I
wouldn’t pass them but they gave me a plaster for my head and showed me the
door. Skye, however, wouldn’t wake up. And they were looking for an explanation
as to why I was ok and she wasn’t. They didn’t believe the real explanation, so
I made up a story that would convince them;
“The bomb was very near our house,” I
said “and Skye was really frightened and had an anxiety attack, which seemed to
burn so very much, she said it felt like a heart attack. Next, she just sat,
paralysed, with a painful expression on her face. I tried to awaken her, but
she was contaminated beyond human actions. She had stopped breathing. So I
called for help and that’s when the wood-chopper came.” They believed that, but they also asked me how I
survived so I told them that I hid beneath the stair cupboard and she had the
heart attack.
A Dark Tale
Chapter 3.
They said if I was
under thirteen I would have to go in an orphanage, so I exclaimed that I
wasn’t. I was sixteen then. And I also had a word with the wood chopper to ask
if he would say that he was a relative of mine and that my father was out of
town and would be back soon, funnily enough he agreed but it took a lot of
persuading until he said he would do it as long as I gave him 30 rupies –the
currency in morthwait- and a homemade loaf of bread. To that I agreed, either
that or go to an orphanage, a dirty, smelly, unhygienic and most of all, it was
a new place. Something I couldn’t
cope with.
There
was a journalist there, she wasn’t the most pleasant person I’ve met but a good
journalist I suppose. She said I was one of the most grown up children she had
ever met. I didn’t know whether to know whether it was a compliment or an
insult. But I soon found out it was an insult when she said ‘’ It is
despicable.’’ As she looked down on me like I was nothing. As usual I kept my
feelings hidden away. I gave her a daring look and her lips vibrated like she
was about to say something but before she could, a tall and somewhat handsome
man in his thirties called me over. ‘’Alexia
Poppy O’Branelle?’’ he said so easily, as some people usually say something
like ‘Alexa Poppy O’Brian’ which
trust me is annoying! I prompted myself to make my way over and then he
interviewed me on the ‘incident’. I looked back in a suspicious reflex and the
journalist was snarling at me, I turned strait back to where I was going and it
seemed I had gone off track a little; but I made it look like I was doing it
intentionally. If I had been looking at the journalist any longer I would have
stood on what looked like a piece of really expensive camera equipment. So I just
made out like I was interested in this sort of thing, (although I have no idea
how to turn a camera on).
A Dark Tale.
Chapter 4.
Sometimes I lay,
looking at the ceiling before I go to sleep and wish that I could be on the
other side of death. And what I mean by that is be dying not living, sort of
like the saying ‘the cup is half empty’ whereas I feel like ‘the cup is half
full’ and it’s a horrible feeling. Death is a magical thing, but I guess once
it’s happened there’s no going back. I fear the death I behold will be unnatural.
But even if it is then I guess it won’t matter after I’m gone. But still,
before I die I want to do something that everybody will remember me by. Who is
there that will miss me; I have no one who even knows I’m here let alone know
I’m alive. Oh just to have one person. Like Skye, just to know that I’m here,
to ask how I am once in a while, to care, to love, oh the luxury some people
have, it’s totally underrated, but honestly just to have someone who knows that
they’re there, living, feeling, knowing, it is incredible how much that could
impact someone like me…
Even though none of
that will matter when I die anyway.
Everybody has a family it seems, and if they don’t then they must know
how lonely it is waking up without anybody, going through the torture of the
day, bored, with nothing to do but think about how much this couldn’t get
worse; without a family, and going to bed and falling asleep, crying until your
eyes are so worn out that there is nothing left for them to do apart from drift
shut as the darkness of the night traps the whole village in its deathly claws;
without a family.
At this point I am
considering that I am depressed, but then a little voice in the back of my mind
tells me that things will turn around
soon. “But which direction?” I ask the voice… nothing, just unexplainable
noises coming from nowhere; maybe I was just imagining them to drown out the
voices, even though they were actually diminutive.
I’m completely dead
inside, and I want to just sleep, so I did, and before I knew it, there I was,
bundled up tight with only three small stubs of what once were tall, satisfied,
bright candles. I watched them glisten on the small, wooden, tattered bedside
table which was unusually located below the window sill. I remembered how Skye
would make up stories about the ‘moon monster’ and how she was scared of it,
the moon monster is just a yeti-like creature that was a psychotic cannibal
that would eat you alive if he could find you. I remembered how I told her
everything would be okay and that she has nothing to worry about, but then I
thought about what could harm her that wasn’t
fictional. I remembered looking at her eyes drift close as she told me she
wasn’t tired. I remember stroking her soft, raven black hair. I remember
watching her breath so gracefully. Oh no… there it is, I could feel the salty
drips running down my face. I need to stop doing this.
A Dark Tale.
Chapter 5.
The next morning, I
woke up like an active volcano, exploding within the layers of my bed. As soon
as my breath had decreased a little bit from being as fast as a gunshot in a
dark alleyway, I cleared my mind and told the cogs in my brain that it was only
a dream. Although the dream was beyond traumatizing; tied to a wall watching my
mum getting brutally murdered by a mob of blood-thirsty vampires, while another
gang of them were digging a hole to throw Skye into, in the meantime, I was
stuck helplessly on a wall, crying violently -even though I am a somewhat quiet
person- while a high-class-looking lady in a long blood-red dress prepared
herself to throw a razor-sharp knife to my thumping heart. I saw it glide
through the air
By Rosie GQ
