Her sharp spades dig in my brain; hollowing it out, scraping away soft flesh. Removing shedding, stripping me down to nothing. I feel every piece she takes, every nerve cut and cauterized. A dissection with crude, unyielding tools, pillaging my mind and soul, bit by bit. She doesn't stop. I try to scream. Try to breathe. I can't. I'm drowning. I'm dying. And all I see in the haze of my unraveling is her eyes. Pale blue. Cold. She wants me to see them, needs me to know that it's her. She does this. Unfeeling. Unremorseful. Angry. She hates me. And now, she is going to kill me.
I wake with a start, heart racing, gasping for air. The agony of the dream lingers. I shake, desperately trying to pull myself out of it. But it's there still, fading. It's the fourth time this week. I've never had four in the same week. Never this close, never this vivid. I can still feel her fingers digging into my skull, into my mind. My stomach churns as the remnants of the nightmare crawl up my throat. I scramble to the edge of my lofted bed, hands trembling, and spill the contents of my stomach onto the floor.
The sour taste left in my mouth mixes with the metallic taste of the air, it's repulsive. I didn't eat much for dinner, just some bread and soup, and there it lies, seeping into the uneven wood flooring. I jump off the edge of my bed and land with an unbalanced thud, my stomach twists at the sight of the mess. I'm dressed in my sanctioned nightwear; it's the same dull gray as everything else in The Rift—itchy, ugly.
From my spot on the floor, I can touch both bunks. I have to hold on to the edge of both for a moment to stop myself from toppling over. If my arms were stretched, I might look crucified, but I'm not, at least not in any way that matters. A strung up brain is just a part of living this far down The Rift. I shut my eyes and immediately open them, the dream still sits on the backs of my eyelids. I let my hands drop to my sides, stand up straight, and take a breath. The adrenal following through my veins is losing momentum and I feel the weight of its absence.
I pull my shirt up and over my broad shoulders, struggling in the narrow space. I scrunch it tightly in my fingers, and get a meager amount of satisfaction watching it soak up the watery vomit stagnating on the floor. Artemis won't be happy about the smell, but I have to head to the shop, and I'm already late, again. I don't bother making my bed, the room is already a mess.
The floor is rutted beneath my feet, worn-down wood that does little to muffle the hum of the city below. We have one worthless window that lets in barely any light at all—like the sun can't be bothered to reach this far down The Rift. I change from my itchy shorts into something more practical. The patches on my pants are starting to fray, and the jacket—my mother's—still feels too big, like I'm carrying her memory instead of wearing it, but I don't take it off. I never do. Da gave it to me after she died from a bad strain of the cough. That was eleven years ago and it's the only thing I can get the old man to choke up about her, he would rather forget, they both would, but I wear her jacket anyway. It's the only way to hold onto her memory.
I broach the door's edge, it sits at the top of a tight staircase, more ladder than stairs. The house is three small stories, our room up top, the common area, and Da's and the bath on the lowest level. Its shape resembles a tin of canned meat, and this morning, it smells like it too. Da is already at work but Artemis is cooking something, unfortunately. I can smell it from the top of the stairs, even over my ruminating vomit. The rancid food we call our "breakfast portion" is all but bringing back my nausea. Thank Nova, Artemis likes to sweeten it with cinnamon. Otherwise, it's inedible. She's nice like that. Nicer than the rest of our sorry lot.
I uncoordinatedly make my way to the landing at the base of the stairs. "Did you have a nightmare again?" Artemis asks thoughtfully, almost careful. Never taking her eyes away from the small pot. She must have heard me moving in the bunk before coming down.
"Yeah," I say with my usual bored inflection.
"And?" She drops the soft tone and eyes me over the swirling steam.
"What? You want to hear about my brain being ripped from my skull by that nasty bitch, again?" I say with feigned indifference.
"No, Kali, I don't, but I want you to talk about it. It will help." She holds my gaze, and her tone is soft—softer than I deserve.
"Okay." I relent. She's right. I have a habit of keeping things from her. I owe it to her to explain.
She doesn't push, though. Instead, she shifts gears like she always does, keeping the peace; diplomatic to a fault. "I made breakfast. No cinnamon, we're out." Her usual good-natured tone is back. I'm grateful for it.
"And I thought today couldn't get any better." I wait a beat before telling her the good news. "I threw up on our floor," I say bluntly.
She wrinkles her nose and narrows her eyes. "Did you clean it up?" Her voice carries with false concern.
"No, I smeared it all over your desk." I grin wryly, unable to keep a chuckle from slipping out.
She doesn't relent. Her stare sharpens, irritation flickering behind the mask she wears. But I see a small smile tug at her round lips.
I sigh. "Yes, I did. At least well enough for now. I'll finish when I get back from work."
She doesn't respond. Just keeps stirring, knuckles white on the wooden spoon, whether from irritation or trying not to laugh, I don't know. As much as Atrimis pushes me to speak, she's not one for giving up information and her face is impossible to read. She keeps a neural mask up at all times, even around me. She pretends not to be messed up, I'm more honest.
She's shorter than me and a rotation younger. Artemis is beautiful and not in an unconventional way, she's just beautiful. God adorned her with round sapphire eyes and full eyelashes. Her hair is odd, though, but it only adds to the mystic air about her. It's cut at a rough midlength and complete with thick bangs. All blonde except for the ends which are the same blue as her eyes.
After a moment, she finishes heating the food and dishes out two portions. Hers goes into a small canteen with a lid. Guess she's late too.
"I'll be at work till seven, so don't miss me too much." She gives me a small smile—a peace offering.
I give her one back.
And just like that, she's gone.
**********************
I have to be careful this far down in the Rift. It can be dangerous for a multitude of reasons. First, I'm female, I'm not defenseless, but I look at it and that's enough to ask for trouble. Second, it is almost impossible to navigate without a glider. Sidewalks line every street up top, but you travel by air down here or risk walking over rickety slabs of tetanus-infused metal. Today, I'm stuck with walking. Lesson learned, don't race gliders with Singularities.
I didn't even know I was racing a singularity until it was too late. I was about to beat him to the other side of the alley when he threw me off my bike with nothing but a flick of his wrist. Lucky for me a neon sign broke my fall. I still have tiny shards of glass embedded in my palms from it, and the shop owner was less than thrilled about his destroyed merchandise. My glider, however, found a lovely wall to smash into. The worst part is, the Singularity didn't even stay for a fight. He just ran back to his cushy apartment 100 stories up. I can't imagine the price someone will have to pay for his stupidity.
Every time someone has a power like that it's bad news for the rest of us. Such an unnatural, powerful force has a cost, and the damned universe always collects its debts in blood. Nova Prime is supposed to keep Singularities on a tight leash, but I'd be a damned fool to believe a word out of the Alma Mater's mouth. I feel bad for them, sometimes, the Singularities. They're scooped up each year and executed unless they can prove themselves worth the cost their power inflicts. That is until jackasses like Telekinesis destroyed my bike and take innocent blood for sport.
So walking will have to do, at least until Da and I finish fixing up my glider. I can see Da's shop a couple of stories down now. It's my favorite place on Nova Prime. The neon signs shine brightly on the exterior, and the large garage door is pulled open. I work with Da fixing gliders and other unauthorized mechatronics. It's not "legal", but we don't have to keep it a secret. Nova Prime doesn't bother stationing sentinels this far down the Rift, supposedly too many were being maimed on duty. Figures, let the rats of the deep fend for themselves.
Da is already working on my bike. We don't have much business this part of the rotation. The Reckoning keeps people scared, confined to whatever hovel they call home. Most Singularities and Standards find the games less than tasteful. And that says a lot, we don't agree on anything.
Da doesn't hear me enter from the side door. The heavy smells of oil and mildew immediately make me feel better, my nerves calm, my breath steadies. The shop is small, only big enough for 4, maybe 5 gliders, and 8 stories lower than home, but it's the only piece of The Rift I truly feel safe in. It's where Da taught Artemis and me to fight, it's where I work, it's my whole life.
I pick up a wrench and bend down next to Da. He's young for being a Da, and I think his looks are the reason for some of the regulars. He has square features, straight blue hair that hangs in his eyes, and tawny skin. I look like him, with my sure features and blue hair. Artemis is our opposite; round features, blonde hair. I reach out with the wrench; loosening a bolt on the gav-pad opposite Day.
"Your late li."
"Aw, no good morning for your favorite daughter!" I grin sadistically and continue " A scolding I expect, but a polite greeting before would make this smoggy morning a little less bleak."
"You're not my favorite." He says with a wicked grin. I get my condescending smile from him. His lips are crooked and cruel.
"Sure, I'm not" I wink and drag the words.
"Besides you're more son than daughter, so I don't have to choose, you're both my favorite." He finishes loosening the bolts on the grav-pad and sits up, staring over the seat to look at me.
"I'm flattered," I say flatly. But truly I am, I love working with Da in the shop. I smile but I know it doesn't reach my eyes.
"What's wrong, and why are you late?" He says with no nonsense, he knows when something is off, always.
"Just a nightmare. I'm fine." I look down and keep fusing with the bolt. I feel the shame ruminating off my shoulders.
"Li, stop. Was it the same one? The same woman?"He speaks with intensity, he always fusses over it. It's ridiculous.
"What it is with you and Artemis obsessing over my nightmares. I appreciate the concern, but you guys really need lives of your own. I didn't want to say it, but it's a little pathetic." My grin beams brighter than before, crooked and cruel, but I keep my eyes averted from his gaze.
"Li look at me. And stop trying to be funny, no one's laughing. Was it the same one?"
"Ya Da." I relent. "Honestly, it's fine, I'm fine, and I am sorry for being late." I look up at him. He carries so much weight in his eyes, so much worry. I feel sorry for him, for his self-inflicted solitude.
"Ok, but sorry don't cut it, you're going to stay late tonight, we have a customer coming to pick up his bike after hours."
"I deserve that. I might stay after that too. I want to finish the bike as soon as possible. It's a powder keg waiting for a match out there. The Reckoning has everyone on edge."
"It's none of our business. Were Standards. Just keep your head down and let the sentinels weed out the bad eggs."
"Yes sir," I repeat in a mocking tone.
"Yuan on the oppressor's side, I thought I'd never live to see the day." I swish my head toward the familiar voice and find Korri leaning against a metal wall at the front of the shop. She's one of those customers that comes around for Da, but Da's sweet of her. I like Korri. She laughs at my jokes occasionally, and her boy is one of my only friends.
"Korri. It's good to see you, you look well." His pupils dilate at the sight of her. "And no, I was just, well, I don't like Nova Prime but if the enemy of my enemy is my friend, an argument could be made. It serves those Singularities right." He is red from head to toe. Sweat bedding on his temple. His nervousness apparent.
"So you're wise now? I'll keep that in mind, but I don't think bits of old-world wisdom apply to Kepler. They are still people, just cursed." Her words are smooth, measured, and she always smiles this devastating little smirk. She is burning fire. No one gets under Das's skin quite like Korri.
"Hi Korri, is Milo with you, I haven't seen him in a couple of days," I add out of curiosity and to change the tide of conversation. Politics are always messy, even if you agree.
"He should be right behind me. But the reason I'm here is to invite you both and Artemis over for dinner. I figured we could all use a little bit of a distraction from the recent events."
"Really! I'll eat anything that isn't cooked by Artemis or Da."
"Yes, Li. And you're such a terrific cook." Da eyes me with annoyance, but the thought of a "family" dinner is enough to let his one and only dimple show.
"Whoa! What happened to your bike? And why did you take a bite out of that gav-pad? You're not supposed to eat those, you know?" Milo walks around the big shop door with the same confidence as his Ma. His hands in his pockets, thumbs sticking out. His smile is easy.
"Well you know me, I'm always hungry" I jest. I feel a heat rise from the base of my stomach; not unlike the nausea from this morning.
"I wish it was just hunger. Li tried to race a Singularity, a real nasty one too. Telekinesis." Da says with less obvious disdain for the singularity, an act for Korri I presume.
"Kali. You can't be serious. You could be dead. Thank Nova you're still alive. What the hell were you thinking?" Korri eyes me with her dark gaze. I guess her sympathy for Singularities only goes so far.
"That I was gonna kick his ass. That was until I was thrown into a sign. I obviously didn't know. I don't have a death wish."
"I don't know, it's hard to be sure with you." Milo chirps. He drags the words and raises his eyebrows.
"I have to agree with Milo, you need to be more careful Li, and stop with the damned racing." his tone softens, "and Korri we would love to have dinner with you both tonight."
"Korri, will you let this bullying continue? They're teaming up on me. What has happened to justice?" I say, feigning exasperation.
"I think you can handle them yourself. I mean if you're trying to race Singularities, an old man and a boy should be no problem." She eyes me with her dark gaze, it holds no humor, so much for stopping this verbal abuse. "Besides, I have to head to the emporium before dinner. Come on, Milo, Yuan, and Kali have work to do." She smiles. It's hard not to feel important when she speaks your name. I see the complete love and admiration Milo has for his Ma when he looks at her; when we all look at her.
" Bye Kali, Yuan," Milo says over his shoulder, heading out the big door.
" Bye!" I call after them both. I stare after them for a moment. They look so alike. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes, and an innate sense of justice, Da and I just don't have. It's magnetic, for us both I presume.
" Do you like that boy?" Da asks casually.
"What! No, he's a friend. That's it. We're just friends. I'm pretty sure we're just friends." I spew in an incriminating rush."Well, do you like that girl?" I say, caught off guard by Da's forwardness. It's childish and only further proves my guilt.
" Wow, you like him that much. And yes Kali, I do like that girl." he laughs under his breath. This is all very amusing to him.
"I don't," I say again, firmly less shocked. "I'm too busy for that nonsense"
"Ok," Da says with raised eyebrows and false innocence plastered on his face. It's patronizing. He has little room to talk with his debilitating crush on Korri. I don't push him on it though, I couldn't handle the same push from him. Most things don't scare me, but I don't feel comfortable talking about that with Da, besides, we really are just friends.
**********************
The sun is all but gone from the Rift at this hour. Nothing but endless neon lights reflecting off buildings. It's quiet, peaceful, even beautiful. I can just make out the silhouettes of the surrounding buildings. They stretch endlessly in both directions, vanishing into the abyss. I feel a faint breeze coming from the air circulation vents, it ruffles my blue hair and smells less artificial than usual. It's actually quite nice. The vents must have finally had a maintenance check; the scent is absent of the dust and asbestos that usually coat the inside of my nose.
Da left me an hour ago to get ready for dinner, like he needs the extra time getting ready. I, on the other hand, could use the extra time, but I have to wait for a straggling customer. It was a standard glider repair, it took less than an hour. My glider is as good as new, too. I fixed it earlier in the day.
Once I get back home, I'll have to clean up my room before Artemis gets back. I need to shower before dinner too. And maybe fix my hair if Milo is gonna be at dinner. I'm lost in thought when I hear a rapping on the side door. Mr. Late Pick Up must have finally decided to show, took him long enough.
I approach the side door. It's a heavy chunk of metal, and it takes a good amount of effort to pull open. I peek out to find the customer standing close, shoulders hunched.
"Hi, you must be here for the Glider, I got it right up front, I'll open the garage door and drive it out for ya," I say politely. Da says customer service is important for keeping 'em.
"Ok, please hurry. I'm in a rush." he says softly, his voice shaking slightly. He seems to be a Standard; medium build, brown hair, brown eyes, around Da's age.
"Sure." I shut the door a little. He must not be from around here, his clothes smell too good, his skin too soft. And how dare he tell me to hurry when he's the one picking up his glider late. The audacity of upper Rifers.
I collect the key chip from the work table and open the garage. The gilder is a beautiful bike, top of the line gav-pads and fresh chrome paint. He must come from money, and a lot of it. Why he would have Da fix his bike, all the way down here is beyond me. It's all a little too odd for my taste. I start his bike and walk it onto the small balcony outside the garage door.
"Here," I hesitate, "You're already paid, so you're good to go."
"Thank you." Then he stares at me, really stares at me. His eyes run over my face, seeming to try and piece something together, Nova knows what. Then abruptly he interrupts his thought, "Is it always this quiet down here. Does it seem odd to you, the silence?"
"Well, not particularly, the air smells good today, but I hardly call that a reason to have nerves." I let the words come slowly. It's like talking to a frightened animal, prey. I can't quite tell if the prey is me or him. Either way, this is all starting to freak me out.
"I just don't want to be seen leaving, it might cause some trouble," he answers with an odd cadence. His speech to measured, like he's withholding something.
"Well you better go then I don't need any more…"
The familiar hum of sentinel sirens cuts me off. We hear it at the same time. Our heads snap upward in unison, the sound only 20 stories up. Before I can move to shut the garage, the man bolts inside with his bike.
Shit.
The sentinels are after him.
I don't like sentinels, but I don't plan on housing a criminal either.
"Hey you!" I growl. "You need to leave right now," I storm toward the back of the shop where he's decided to wedge himself between shelves.
"Please." He pleads.
His eyes are wide, full of raw, unfiltered terror. He's afraid of me—of what I'll do, of who I'll turn him over to.
I know that fear, I relive it almost every night. Would I give him over to those bastards? I don't even know what he did. He could be innocent. But I don't have time to ask questions, and it's him or me. They could kill me, my whole family just for thinking of helping this criminal. I have to choose, and my family comes first, always. I hear the bikes closing in, the hum shaking tools off the aluminum walls. He's not my problem and I don't feel remorse for that decision.
He must see the change in my eyes, the narrowing of my brow. "I know your mother!" he blurts, his breaths uneven and rapid.
What?
He knew my mother, not knows.
No. He's lying, he has to be. A criminal and a liar.
But in this weak, weak moment I let myself believe he knows something. Something I don't. I know it's stupid, but I really couldn't give a shit about what I know, I want to know what he knows. I feel my resolve float away, my brokenness overriding reason. I have a weakness and he's pulled it straight from my soul.
I have questions I need answered, preferably before these bastards lock him up. I'm going to regret this. I just know it.
I run to the garage door and slam it down just before the sentinels approach. They'll pass, there's never been a violation here before. They'll pass. But they don't. I hear each glider come to a halt right outside of the door; one after the other. I hear as their feet stomp on the rusted metal, I smell the scratch ruminating from their pressed uniforms. They aren't moving on. They're regrouping on the other side of the garage door. I slam my palm over my mouth to keep from breathing too loud. I can feel their muffled robotic voices through the door. They are directly in front of me, separated by a mere four centimeters of aluminum.
I chose wrong.
Sweat beads along my forehead, my palms feel clammy. I'm housing a fugitive in my father's shop, and I have no plan for how to escape the certain punishment that is seconds away.
Loud bangs rap on the side door. The pounding magnified by the blood rushing in my head. My visions burr at the edges and I can't hear my thoughts over the terror coursing through me. I shuffle to the door, trying to compose myself.
I have nothing to hide. I'm a standard. Keep my head down, let the sentinel weed out the bad eggs. I repeat my father's words over and over again. I will tell them that the shop is closed, and I don't know anything else. I'm innocent. I just have to believe it. They just have to believe it.
I pull on the door. The pounding intensifies.
I pull again. It must be jammed.
The pounding stops completely. I give the door one last yank, and it crashes in.
I leap back, before the massive metal sheet crushes me. The door lands with an earth-shattering crash, the sound reverberating off the walls. I barely have a second to process it before four sentinels rush in.
Their uniforms are dark, broken only by glinting metal armor plates. Helmets obscure their faces. I've never seen sentinels up close before. They are brutalist, war-mongers, demons in human form. Towering figures that have to duck to enter. Their perfect armor stands in contrast to the rust-covered Rift.
Evil given flesh.
What have I done? I was stupid to think I could reason with the devil.
I whip my head back to the spot where he stowed away, ready to turn him in, I can't die for this.
But he's gone.
Vanished. Completely disappeared in the seconds since he ran inside. I stagger, disoriented, unsure what to do.
The biggest sentinel makes up my mind for me.
He doesn't speak. He doesn't hesitate, He just charges, shoulder swinging with terrifying intensity. He stops right in front of my meager form splayed on the ground. My arms support me from being completely horizontal. I try to scramble away, but he yanks the collar of my shirt up, pulling me to my feet, and then he pulls farther, taking me completely off the ground.
I yell. I thrash. I cuss, but he never loosens his grip, he never speaks. It never speaks. He swings me into the wall. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. My vision swims. His grip shifts—to my throat. My trachea compresses, my entire weight hanging from his vice-like hand. I see my own terrified reflection in his visor. A deep gash on my forehead gushes dark blood down my face
This is it. It all happened so fast. I can't comprehend the end not this soon, and it won't even let me see my killer's eyes. The edges of my vision darken, I feel the end. I'm glad it came for me, not Da, not Artemis. I don't see the best moments of my life like they say. I see my own paralyzing fear, my own indifference, I watch myself realize I'm going to die, it's terrifying, and it brings no comfort. Worst of all, in this last moment, my eyes are just like hers. Unremorseful, fearfully wild. My eyes shut, not of my own volition. That's when I feel the ground beneath my feet. I feel my weight dispersed, no longer caught by the throat.
He let go.
I don't hesitate.
I collapse, gasping, crawling on my hands and knees. My lungs scream for air, but I drag myself up and bolt for my glider. I jump on, slam the ignition. The garage door groans open. I speed out. I see the ravine of The Rift just over the shop's edge, I'm almost out of this nightmare.
I'm almost out.
A hand yanks me back. A familiar grip closes on my throat.
I watch the glider fall just out of reach, my breath knocked from me again. But I don't stay incapacitated, not this time. I twist and drive my elbow into my attacker's ribs as hard as I can. He grunts in surprise. I use my other hand to grab his hand still on my neck and snap two of his fingers back until they break. He howls and drops me. I shove away, scrambling to my feet.
I catch a glimpse of the man, the fugitive, trades blows with sentinels to the left. Flashing in and out of sight. Diapering and reappearing.
Dear gods, he's a vanisher.
I let a vanisher take refuge in the shop. But there are too many sentinels and he's not holding ground. They wrangle him in cuffs, blue cuffs, suppressing cuffs. He saved me, he pulled the man from me. He could have let me die.
I step back dodging a left hook aimed right for my face. The armor makes the sentinel slow. I grab the extended arm and lunge. I sweep his leg out from under him and run. I'm no hero, and I know one good hit from any of these sentinels and I'd be out, probably forever.
I can't save the vanisher, and I'm sorry, but not stupid, he did this to himself. I run to the air vent in the back, drop to my knees, rip off the vent door, and scramble inside.
A shriek stops me dead.
Not a scream. An inhuman guttural sound.
I turn around, just for a second.
I see his head, sliding.
It topples from his shoulders in slow motion, hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Blood pours, dark and endless.
No trial. No jury. Just an execution.
Cuffed. Contained.
Now dead.
He saved my life, and I did nothing to help. I couldn't help. I tell myself that. I have to believe it. I turn away, and crawl as fast as I can through the tight metal walls, pushing my wide shoulders through the restricting crevice. I'm almost there, I see a faint light at the other end of the vent shaft. It's close now, so close.
A hand grips my ankle. Not again. Never again. Death will not stop until he pulls me all the way under, but I will not go. He can not have me. He stole Ma, and I'll be damned if he takes me too.
I cry out with agony and claw at the smooth metal, desperate. I know—I know—I won't survive if they pull me out. My heart rages, my being seizes in fear.
I will not die here. I won't end up like Ma. I pour every ounce of strength, every fiber of my being, into escape. I push power through myself, everything I have I give. It surges through me.
A feeling. A force.
My eyes roll back, and a spark ignites—electricity crackling through my veins. My limbs grow weightless, my body suspended as if the air itself holds me. The grip on my heel—gone.
I feel nothing.
I feel everything.
It consumes me, a heady rush that drowns thought and breath. Colors swirl—not colors, but sensations—slipping and folding like water and oil, forever churning, never blending. I hover outside myself, above it all. Above everyone.
It's euphoria—raw, unyielding. Power, unbound. And it's mine.
Then I drop.
Hard.
The energy throbs beneath my skin. My form lays flat and unconfined, the walls of the vent left behind. A gentle breeze moves along my spine. I feel each prick of its bite. It's real wind, not the circulated kind I breathe every day down in The Rift. The ground is covered in long pointy green tufts, they flatten beneath me and itch my face. Grass. It's soft and the smell is unfamiliar, almost sweet. I have the urge to bring some back for Artemis. She would love the smell. That thought levels my head. Artemis is still in The Rift, and I'm not there with her. The Sentinels could be going to our home next to look for me, and when they do, they will find her and Da, and Milo. I have to get back home and tell Da what happened. He will know what to do. I gather the courage to move. It doesn't take long, I have almost none to grasp at. I flip onto my back and freeze.
Eyes. Her eyes.
Dread swallows me whole. I feel the emotion with blinding pain. Her blue gaze pierces through me, a phantom pain in my mind. Her face shifts, lips curling into a cruel knowing smile. I should run but I am paralysed with fear. Paralyzed by the magnetism she imposes over my being. She draws a breath and whispers low, her form hunched over my splayed figure.
"Oh Kali, I should have killed you that day." She draws back "Now you're back bringing mummy more troubles." Her grin is that of a starving dog. Each word bites, fighting to come out of her mouth. Her tongue rolls on each word, like she is a performer, not a woman. And her eyes, so alike my own, burn with psychosis. "I wonder who you'll take this time." Her body shivers, sporadically, uncontrolled. Her blonde hair blows in the wind shielding me from her direct gaze. I feel fear unparalleled, even after almost dying 30 seconds ago. If I could take the vent back I would, anywhere but here, anyone but her.
Euphoria crashes into me. The power returns for a perfect blinding moment. It's intoxicating and I don't want to let it go. I try to hold it; I need to have it, but it slips between my fingers. As quickly as it came, I'm back to being standard; back to being weak.
I don't waste time thinking. I crawl as fast as I can.