It was nearly morning.
Though it was still dark, the veil cast over the Earth was beginning to lose its grip. The tipping hour--the hour of limbo, parted the lassitude of night and would soon usher in a rejuvenated morn.
A soft zephyr ran its course above the sleepy Earth--ticklishly rustling the leafy treetops.
Woosh, woosh!
It was as if the skies were filling their bellies full of air and breathing it out powerfully.
The fauna of the forests nestled closer together in its haughty wake. The wind was both cold and ominous.
Rain droplets left hanging idly on blades of grass found themselves in a bit of a frenzy as they were sent asunder.
The song of jittering streams pervaded in the breeze as croaking frogs, and stentorian crickets told their ballads.
Though the night was waning, darkened clouds billowing over the Earth threatened the orangeade of the morning sun. Their impregnated bellies--full of rain and lightning, scraped the landscape below. They followed the path of the wind through the rough mountains, westward away from the far-off shores.
The town of Mijas nested inside a valley that cut straight through the imposing mountains. The town, still dormant, had her farmlands engulfed by the ominous mist. Miraculously, it avoided much of the chaos. Mijas remained calm despite the titanious clouds brushing by.
To repeat, it was dark. The penurious farmers of Mijas would soon rouse and find themselves blinded, not by a holy advent, but by darkness itself. Moreover, their years had not passed in vain for they had grown smart. Vibrant candles were hung under their overextending roofs, something they had learned to do when faced with unpredictable weather. The ploy carried a dogmatic principle yet was more practical in nature. Had anyone been engulfed by the night's cloak the candles would serve as guides to safety.
However, given the time of night--given the lack of a living presence--the sheltered candles glimmered for no one but the peregrinating spirits roaming the valley. This was the dogmatic principle; a spiritual and religious belief.
On this night, a small adobe home, no different than any other littering the town, would see its tenants' rest prematurely ceased. Amidst the calm were sudden sounds that prodded their ears with needles. At first, it was only momentarily--a blip even.
Hell--had it even happened?
But then there was a squash! and then a bloop! Something was amiss alright.
The residents' eyes slowly open to take their almond shape. Within the bleak darkness the shimmer in their eyes met. They didn't speak a word nor utter a sound, they only looked at each other worryingly as the ambiguous sounds rang in their ears. Staring into each other's eyes, it became clear. The sounds were unmistakably caused by the strenuous steps of those plodding in thick mud--of those walking outside their home.
The old man looked at his old wife's eyes and saw her worry. Youth had escaped their grasp long ago but within the darkness, unable to see his partner's ripened face, the man's instincts began to boil his volition. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and with the other, he lifted himself upright.
Quickly, but quietly, the man hopped out of bed and reached for the metal bat that was held against the frame of the bed. The cold concrete flooring did not inconvenience his calloused soles; it didn't even slow his movements. He maneuvered through his small bedroom using nothing more than his fingertips until he reached the door.
"Zeljko," his woman called out to him in a whisper, but he was quick to hush her.
Their bedroom door creaked as he opened it. He paused for a moment, waiting to see if the steps had stopped. With worry he waited, hoping he hadn't given himself away.
They hadn't.
He finished opening the door then made his way into the living room using caution. He crept by like a haunting ghost wafting in the air. The steps outside now matched his own. Whoever was outside was now directly on the other side of his quaint home.
Dressed in the cloak of darkness he reached the entrance without stumbling or tripping. He thanked his many gods by kissing the beaded bracelet wrapped around his wrist in all four cardinal directions. Then he gave a silent prayer, imploring for his well being as all men of faith do.
The woman peeked her worried pupils from under the covers. Her eyebrows furrowed and her face tightened under the weight her anxious worry. She heard her husband open the front door. The acute sound had her at knifepoint as if the blade were already at her neck. She whimpered. Her silent breaths carried a thousand prayers.
In the abyss, unable to distinguish anything, her mind conjured the wildest of ideas. Her beating heart hastened and her prayers strengthened.
Then--her heart stopped.
Thud!
Another.
The door was flung open causing its knob to bang on the wall and throw caution out the window.
The old woman shot up from under the covers but remained sitting. Tentative, she sharpened her hearing, awaiting the cry of her maimed husband... But it never came. As the seconds passed by in silence worry clouded her senses. Unable to hold her tenacity she let her words slip through her lips.
"Zeljko," she echoed once more, though not raising her voice past a whisper. "Zeljko."
"Keya!" Her husband met her whisper with a shout. "Keya, come out here!"
Her husband's flippant tone was a surprise. The worry that once gnawed her conscience was dissipating, conquered by curiosity. A nervous smile began to spread on her face, but she wasn't so naive as to throw her worry to the wind just yet. Her husband's well being was more apparent than real for the time being--she could only surmise. Only with her own eyes could she make her prayers reality.
Throwing the bedsheets aside, she ran to her beloved's call.
What she came to find lying atop her living room floor was something far beyond the wildest ideas of any man, let alone her own. She blinked twice, rubbed her eyes even, but the same image persisted.
Zeljko, her husband, went and fetched the candle hooked to their roof. Its light shone vibrantly and strong, even the winds outside hadn't put it out.
Once more: she blinked twice, rubbed her eyes even, but it was all the same. Words that were contrary to her affable character took bud in her head, though she neglected them of their full bloom. Her bewildered countenance seemed to speak in her stead.
"Zeljko. W-what, i-is this?" She stuttered.
"They're not mine--I can promise you that!" Zeljko was quick to his defense.
Two young corpses laid in their living room floor, thoroughly drenched and covered in mud. Though to call them corpses is misleading--comatose is more fitting. Two young girls. Two young girls were splayed out on their living room floor. Their attire was completely tattered, burned, and soiled. Their lethargic faces tightened as if they were battling their inner demons. They drew deep breaths and let them out just as heavily.
Then, as the couple's voices settled, an auburn-haired girl opened her eyes--gifting the world of their beautiful grey tinge. The light of the candle fused with her hair and set it ablaze. She groaned slightly and winced at the sharp pains poisoning her body. It was as if she were laying atop a bed made entirely of pins and needles.
Slowly, the fiery girl met the couple's gaze, paralyzing them were they stood.
"Well, I can see that--she's bloody gorgeous!" Keya let a distasteful word escape the restriction of her mind.
"Eek!"
Enticed by the flame's light, the girl shrieked a frightened cry, but in the same breath, she clasped her mouth with her hands. It was if the flame, flustered by her sudden yelp, had swallowed her breath then left her voiceless and hyperventilating. She then placed her arms around her face as if protecting herself from oncoming projectiles. Her long legs bent themselves inward into her stomach leaving her in the shape of a ball. Tears began to assemble between lids of her eye--her tightly shut eyes.
She was vulnerable, her cowardly reaction attested to it.
"Woah-Woah. Easy now," Zeljko spoke as if taming a frightened kitten. "It's just me. I'm not going to hurt you."
Moving the candle away from his face, Zeljko smiled amicably. He hoped to calm the girl, but the shadows cast by the wrinkles on his face did him no favors. Still, the good intentions of the gesture reached the frightened girl.
Pressed against the wall, the girl sat naked--completely naked of a weapon and defenseless.
"Easy now." Zeljko continued to say softly.
Tenderly, Keya greeted the girl with a smile and asked for her name--though she didn't get the reaction she hoped.
The girl remained silent for a moment. Tossing her gaze from Zeljko to Keya, then back again. Her words were dearth. The task of parting her lips proved onerous as they trembled to even lift. The more the silence pervaded, the more the girl let loose of her guard. Regardless of anything and everything, she was completely at a loss and trapped.
"Sa-Samara," the red-headed girl said at last. Her lips trembled with regret and her voice was soft, almost mute.
A sense of shame washed over her. Part of her wished she could take it back. At that moment, she felt as if she lost custody of her birth given name.
But she couldn't be more wrong.
"Samara? What a pretty name," Keya smiled warmly. Within the reach of the light, her blushing face looked balmy. Then slowly, as if speaking to a child, Keya introduced herself and her husband, Zeljko. "Samara," She chose her words carefully, "what-what happened to you? Where are you from?"
Again, hesitant to let the words escape her lips, Samara remained silent. Torpid by fatigue, she made her mind speak instead of her proven will that was beginning to fade, "I-I don't know."
"You don't know?" Zeljko echoed her sympathetically.
"I-" the tears she had retained came raining down when she enunciated the syllable. Though innocently asked, the question proved more demanding than initially thought. The more deliberation she poured into her memories, the more it gnawed at her volition, eating it slowly--torturing her. Using the hem of her sleeve, Samara scrapped the runaway tears from her cheeks.
"Oh, dear," Keya whimpered. She bolted up from her knees then went to fetch a handkerchief from her dresser without saying more.
Left alone Zeljko appraised the condition of Samara's clothing. Whatever had happened to the two girls, he thought, in no way had it gone in their favor. Samara's coat, though spoiled, looked to be made of decent material. A leaf crest was embroiled with white string on the left side of her coat; just above her chest, near her shoulder.
Zeljko didn't know what to do or what to say to the sobbing girl in front of him. He wanted to help, that was for sure. Whether the girl presented any threat escaped the realm of his imagination, all that he understood was what was in front of him. Still, what to do? He opened his mouth at times, but words seemed to escape him. He wanted to console her, but he didn't know how to. He didn't want to perturb her more than she already was.
Keya returned not long after, relieving Zeljko of his awkward state. Bending down, she handed Samara a flowery handkerchief embellished with pink petals and green leaves.
"Use this, deary. We don't want that face of yours getting scratched up now." A small chuckle accompanied her words, but truth be told, she was holding back tears of her own.
Samara mulled on her offer as she stared into Keya's dark brown eyes. There was something in her gaze that Samara found warm and endearing. Motherly. There was no other word--rather, there were many words but they all gathered in equilibrium and equated that silk threaded word. Mother.
"Thank you. Thank you, a-and sorry for being such a nuisance." She spoke briskly. Samara stretched out her hand, timidly. Despite Keya's friendly smile, Samara remained skeptical.
"Don't worry about that now," Zeljko remained distant, but his wishes filled Samara with the same warmth. "You'll be safe here."
Zeljko rubbed the back of his head then spoke again. "You'll have to change those clothes of yours; otherwise, you'll get a cold. Hope you don't mind old woman's clothes, eh, Samara."
"No, no. I don't mean to be a bother," Samara raised her voice for once.
"Nonsense," Keya was quick to wave Samara's courteous words. "Zeljko. Carry-er." Keya eyed the unnamed girl sleeping supine on the floor.
With a puzzled look, Samara turned her gaze to her left and was surprised to see someone lying beside her. Who was this girl? She was... how to put it? Different, for a lack of a better word. Strange, foreign, alien, UFO--wait not that last one. Savage looking. Tribal.
The clothes the second girl wore bore no resemblance to Samara's. To begin with, they were far too big for someone of such a petite figure. It was almost comical. The clothes the small girl wore resembled those of a monk, now that Samara gave them a closer look.
The mysterious petite girl wore a large muslin tunic sporting wide-open sleeves. A golden floral motif adorned the ends of the sleeves as a red lace ran the course of the hem. A skin-tight white shirt underneath the tunic barred any skin from showing--in fact, she barely displayed any skin at all. Lastly, she wore a dark blue sleeveless vest. Embroidered hieroglyphics of some sort ran up and down the flanks of the navy garment.
In total, she wore three sets of upper garbs.
Her white pants, now partly browned by mud, were puffy. Elastic straps tightly held her pants to her ankles and waist.
She wore colorful textile sandals to match, though their colors were hard to distinguish under the muddy patches.
Samara remembered her clothing--albeit, the girl's face was new.
Samara vaguely remembered, but her face... there was something odd about it. Wait, she recalled! In her returning memories the girl wore a veil over her face, a sort of mask. Surely this was the first time Samara caught a glimpse of her face, she thought to herself.
The odd girl looked young, younger than Samara.
To be clear, the clothes she wore did not make her odd, but rather... Her face. Her face was laden with red paint. Two dots were painted near the middle of her forehead and a thin red line was scribbled running down her faces, cutting it perfectly in half. Painted on either cheek were the same hieroglyphics that were on her vest.
Odder yet, the petite girl had no eyebrows. Strangely, there wasn't a trace of hair about her figure. Her eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair were all cleanly shaven. It was rather spooky to see, perturbing even--yet interesting.
How bizarre, Samara thought. Still, this mysterious girl wasn't unpleasant to look at despite her peculiar characteristics.
She hated the fact that she was repeating herself, but Samara had her hands tied behind her back. "I don't--I don't know. I met--rather, I...I... Don't know."
"Poor girl. We'll get you out of those clothes so you can rest easy. Zeljko, carry Samara's friend to our room. I'll be there shortly. But first... I think have some isopropyl somewhere around here."
"Aye-aye." Zeljko shot Samara a smile. "Don't worry, Samara. I'm sure the whole thing will be cleared up by tomorrow's end. Just rest up for now"
"No... Really, I don't... Mean to... Bother--" Unable to finish her sentence, Samara's vision darkened. Her conscience had collapsed.