Her legs led her straight to the meadow. She had no time to think; nothing drove her but sheer rage. She plucked the wild flowers quickly until they formed a bouquet and then held it up to her face. Another tear slipped from her face as it landed on the flower. “Sophie.” The voice whispered, but she could hear the strength that came with it. She turned immediately, ready to defend herself if need be. “Rhys?” she signed. His name had been the first word she learned to sign. She marched towards him and gripped his hand, pulling him until they were out of the forest. “What are you doing?” she signed. “I should be asking you that!” he yelled. Sophie flinched. She had never heard him yell. The veins in his face and on his neck stood out, and his eyes were red. “Your aunt said someone died in that forest. How could you think of going back there?” Sophie glanced around. “No, she did not follow me. I looked.” Rhys muttered. She turned her back and began to walk away, further
Her uncle’s study was open, but only slightly. No light came from within, so she knew instinctively that he was not in there, but she could hear shuffles and low murmurings. With her back to the wall, her small feet crept forward till she got to the door, then she peered through it. There was a shadow in the room, with tall, elongated limbs ripping something apart. She crept closer until she saw the body that the shadow was connected to. It was a little girl. “Pssss…” Sophie hissed. The girl did not turn. She put her tongue in between her lips and again. “Pssss…” The head turned, squinted in the dark, and then smiled. Sophie saw the small figure run and squat behind the desk. She giggled. “Alice.” She whispered and crept through the small opening in the door. “Scoot over.” Her small voice spoke as she joined Alice behind the desk. She looked behind her to the door, which she had forgotten to close, and clutched the door tight to her chest. They were hiding from the IT, and she
Rhys waited. He fought within himself whether to continue pushing or to stop. He glanced at Sophie, the woman he thought he knew but didn’t. “How did she die?” he decided to push. Sophie stiffened. He noticed. She took a breath in but didn’t release it; the hand that held the pen shook. He reached across and placed his hand on the table. Then he pressed again. “How did she die, Sophie?” She glanced up the stairs towards the room they had been in the other day and drew her hand away. Then she pushed the chair away, clutching the notepad to her chest, and stood up. Rhys stood up too. He had seen the tears in her eyes, although the room they occupied was enveloped in darkness. He felt a pang of guilt in his heart and rushed after her. He met her at the door to her room. “Look, I’m sorry.” He said, pulling her until their bodies almost collided. He felt for her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb. ” “I just want to know how to help you. It breaks me to see you going throu
It has been four hours since Alice disappeared. Well, it has been four hours since I noticed and went in search of her. My aunt has since noticed too and has not stopped to yammer on about my carelessness and the need to look after my sister more. I was tempted to tell my aunt that technically, I was not her daughter’s sister, but I thought better of it. My aunt is not someone who knows how to take a joke, especially when she is upset about something. They had begun a search for her, but that was two hours ago, and they are not close to finding her yet. As for me, I have settled myself in my uncle’s study. Don’t think I am not worried; I am. Alice never plays pranks such as these, and there is no reason why she would run away from home without telling me. I hate it when she goes on adventures like these without taking me along; you must know how upset I am. When they find her—eventually they will—or when she finally decides to return and after her aunt has given her an earful an
“I think he blames me. I see it in his eyes. He barely looks at me these days; he’s just always up there in his study; he never comes down and barely touches the food I send to him. When Katrina brings it back, it’s just the same.” “I am really sorry.” Rhys sighed. He knew the pain of loss himself and how close it could drive you to the edge. The woman closed her eyes and squeezed Sophie’s hand, which she had been holding tight. Rhys’ eyes did not miss the action. She stood to her feet. “Please excuse me. I feel like a mess.” Sophie looked at him pointedly, and he shrugged. *** Jack had seen the visitors approach his house before he went into his study and heard his wife invite them in. Then he had begun to hear his wife’s voice, but not the words; he could tell from the way she sniffled in between words that she was crying. Again. Perhaps she was telling them of the animal attack. The story that he had created. He hated to see his wife cry; it clawed at his insides, and s
Rosa watched as the doctor declared her husband dead. She heard no words, just the sound of her heart beating in her chest. Thump thump, thump thump’. Thoughts failed her too. Her mind, body, and soul were numb. Once she saw the doctor raise the white cloth over her husband’s face, she turned on her heels and left the hospital. She saw the pitiful look on their faces, mouths pursed, and eyes following her retreating figure. She had not known that she would have to go through all this again in such a short time. She stepped into their old car. It reminded her too much of Jack. A tear grazed her cheek and landed on her thighs. She tightened her hand on the steering, pressed down on the pedestal, and zoomed off. Once she got to their house, she stepped out of the car, opened her door, ignored the maid who waited patiently at the door, and disappeared into her husband’s study. She was shocked at the mess he had left it in, but perhaps this was the perfect environment to let out al
Angrily, she tore down the office. I crashed through the desk until it was only wood and lumber. He wiped all his books from the bookcase and brought the bookcase down. In their room, she picked up all his clothes and tore out every photo that had his face on it—anything that would bring back a memory of him. She packed them all and dumped them on his grave, then lit a matchstick and watched it burn. It was better this way, she decided. His memory had no place in her heart, in her life, or in this world. She returned inside as the last of his memories burned and called on her maid. “My husband died from a fall.” She told her. “I will not tolerate hearing otherwise from the women in this village. And from now on, we will receive no guests. Barr the doors and windows, lock up the study, and bring the keys to my room. It is now a prohibited area.” The maid would have asked Madame a simple question, but she knew better. She nodded her head obediently and went to do as her Madame had
Voices in our heads The night was warm and quiet. The perfect night for murder. When death came, it was silent. Always, it made no noise as it went up the stairs or as it stepped on the wooden floor; it made no noise when it opened a door slowly or when it chose whose hand to use as a working tool. The tools, on the other hand, were what made the noise. They were the ones that shattered the sacred silence of the night and, most times, drew attention to themselves just as it was on this night. Death had come; she may have felt it because she was suddenly awake, and that was when she noticed that her husband was not by her side. Then she had climbed down from the bed and went to check on the kids, and she smiled when she found them both sleeping and hurdled together. Silently: no. As she could (no one can be as silent as death), she tiptoed into their room and pried them apart, and just as she made to carry Alice into her own bed, she saw death. She jumped and looked around; it