Tsaimath
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Interlude: Survivors 301
🕑 Added 2023-03-25 17:00:05 +0000 UTC- AN: Let me know which format you prefer for Interludes, 3rd person present or 3rd person past
Once again, Kira let out a soft sigh. A common occurrence, nowadays, as she and all the others living at Apple Gate Farm are waiting for the other shoe to drop. The first few hours after the change had been pure hell. Waking up in the middle of the night, pain surging through her body, only to notice strange blue flames flickering all around their bedroom had been bad. Hearing her daughter, her precious daughter, scream in anguish and be powerless to do anything about it only made things worse. Realising that their daughter was mad, had turned into some sort of monster? It had almost been the straw to break both Kira and her husband.
They had managed to lock sweet Chantalle into the basement, but neither of them had known what to do next. They couldn’t just leave her there, that was their daughter, no matter what form she might take. As long as their precious child was alive, there was hope.
But that hope started to dwindle with each passing day, with each earthquake shaking their farm, with every neighbour that sought refuge on their farm, seeking strength in numbers. Their farm had turned into a rallying point for their large storage facilities built for the apples they grew and the wide, fenced-in property. And maybe for their location, nicely between the nearby lake, the edges of the forest and the city, nestled in between the various fields. Nothing too close, nothing too far away.
Still, even as their hope had been slowly dwindling, Kira and Frank had been plodding on, just trying to get through each day. At first, they managed to cling to their hope, but when their hope started to die, they started to pray. Anything, if only they could get their daughter back.
And then their hope was reignited when a group of fighters came marching onto their farm, having walked to them from the city. What a ridiculous sentiment that would have been, just ten days prior, before the world had changed. Armed fighters, and needing to march and fight just to cross the fields around the city, it had been unthinkable. And yet, it was necessary now, driving home just how much the world had changed. Changed further than any of them had really realised, as they learned when the grizzled men in blood-stained clothes spoke of more than just monsters roaming the streets when they told of magic and what some of them could do.
Hearing of magic was enough to cause hope to bloom in Kira’s heart, a hope that her daughter might be saved, might be brought back from the feral, fiery-eyed state she was in. Maybe she could hold her baby once more. Samantha, the men said, Samantha was the name of some pale young woman with strangely glowing hair and the ability to do the impossible. Samantha became her hope, became the name Kira hoped for. Prayed for. The name she tied her last hope to when she realised that her daughter was getting weaker.
Things became a little scary that afternoon, when an entire herd of cows started to move across the fields around them, sometimes gathering, sometimes wandering apart. It was obvious, even from a distance, that the cows had changed just as much as the people, maybe more. And that without modern tools, wrangling cows that seemingly had shed millennia of domestication overnight and returned to the trampling ways of their wild ancestors, would be a herculean task, or maybe just straight-out impossible. Even the fighters who had fought, killed and bled on their way here just took a look at the cows before turning back and asking if they could have shelter for the night.
The next day didn’t change much, the cows were still roaming and wandering, leaving the group of fighters at a loss, though they did their best to help the people, even wandering out and taking down one of the pigs that were on a similar course as the cows, returning to nature.
It was only when the third day dawned that things changed. Early, just as the first rays of the sun started to be visible behind the horizon, a surprised scream shattered the silence of the night. People started to wake, Mark, one of the younger men who had taken charge of the defence, was rushing about, while Kira started to wake up slowly, not quite sure why she was so restless. A part of her was scared, worry had been eating at her the entire time, worry about her daughter. Poor Chantalle had looked worse than before, trying to break out of the cage they had been forced to put her in. Trying, and hurting herself each time she tried. If nothing else, her daughter certainly had kept her stubborn nature.
It didn’t take long for Kira to hear a name, softly spoken from one of the fighters. Samantha. Ms Jacobs. The name of the miracle, the name Kira had hung all her hopes on.
Desperate, Kira moved through her house, ignoring the massive dog that eyed her warily, homing in on the petite female figure, clad in a strange mix of clothes and a thick, dark cloak like some sort of theatre actor, shrouded in a strange aura of danger that made Kira break out in cold sweat.
And yet, despite the palpable danger the woman was exuding, Kira started to plead. Her voice filled with the desperation of a mother wishing to save her daughter, she asked the young woman’s favour. An impossible task, from everything she had heard, and yet, the woman accepted. Accepted to at least take a look, even if she promised nothing more. Warned that it might be impossible.
Under Kira’s guidance, everyone who wasn’t busy with a necessary task had been praying after Kira brought the dangerous young woman into the basement, and had her meet with her sweet Chantalle. Just that meeting had filled Kira with relief, relief that her daughter was sleeping for the first time since the change had hit. Maybe the young woman could be her miracle, and if that required prayer, Kira would make everybody pray.
And so, everybody who couldn’t find a good excuse was praying, led by a desperate mother they spoke half-remembered words from a time that felt like it had been so long ago, even if it had only been a week or two for some of them. And yet, it felt like it had been a lifetime.
For a long time, after they had spoken every prayer they could think of, Kira was scared to go into the basement. Scared that her hope wouldn’t be fulfilled, scared that nothing had changed, that she would have to watch her daughter fade away and die, unable to do anything.
The basement was quiet, oh-so-terribly quiet and it took until the early afternoon for her to gather her courage. With a heavy weight on her chest, Kira made her way down into the basement, carrying a plate of food, desperately hoping that she’d be able to feed her daughter, even if it might be her last meal.
In the flickering candlelight, Kira could see the cage, could see that it was empty. For a moment, fear gripped her, had her daughter broken the cage? Had she run away after killing that woman? Was her poor baby just gone?
But no, once she looked around the room, Kira could see a tall figure, tall like her daughter had been, leaning against the wall, a far-smaller figure resting in her lap.
“Mother,” the figure quietly spoke and even in the faint candlelight, Kira could see that it was her daughter but also not. Some parts of her daughter were clearly visible, others had changed. Despite the faint light, Kira could see that her daughter’s light-brown doe-eyes were gone, replaced with orbs of gleaming crimson, radiating danger in a manner that made her swallow for a moment. But just like there were parts that had changed, others were still there, it was still her daughter.
Relief almost made Kira drop the candle as she swayed, but she caught herself, before offering the plate of food to her daughter.
“I appreciate it,” her daughter responded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I will eat later, with her,” she nodded towards the petite figure curled up on her lap, now looking even smaller and far less scary than before.
“She saved me. Without her, I would still be mindless,” Kira’s daughter continued, obviously speaking in a whisper to avoid disturbing the sleeping woman. “We can talk. I can’t tell you a lot, only that helping me has taken a lot out of her. She needs her rest, and I’ll make sure she gets it, no matter what.”
Flooded with relief, Kira simply joined her daughter in her solemn, mostly quiet vigil, speaking in hushed tones as Kira tried to explain to her daughter what had happened. Because as little as Kira knew, her daughter knew even less, after spending the entire time trapped in the basement. But now, she was back, her sweet babygirl was back.
Comments
Little Dragon
I am for different forms of narration. I think that the use of one form will unnecessarily limit the author's workshop. For example, horror scenes cannot be described as memories over a cup of coffee.
