Vanishing Through the VeilMature

    

      A thick, heavy green scent marauds my nose as black dots prance across my vision. I take the chance I have to smell something alive, and inhale deeply, committing the scent to memory. I take a step forward, and twigs snap beneath my feet as their ancestors’ leaves dapple the light blue of the morning sky. The clouds are pink beneath  echoing the baby rays of the sun, not yet fully grown to heat the frost that covers the grass like a blanket.the ground beneath me. And nausea bellows within me, stirring under the chill of the fresh air. Nostalgia deafens the memories that begin to pound their fists on my eardrums. Nausea attacks me like  feral dog, gnawing at my insides, its teeth, piercing as a freshly sharpened blade.

I have to kill a child.

I stand in the grove of trees, trying to talk myself into doing what I have to do, as my subconscious battles me.

She could me a criminal

She is a child. What mistake would she have made, other than following in the steps of the wrong people?

She could be crazy already

Like you? Do you deserve this type of sentence? Being driven to suicide by the voices no one else can hear?

She could go to Benediction…

Bullshit. Like any soul without sanity can fight for what is left of them.

But maybe she could. If anyone were to have a chance, it would be a child. I shut my subconscious deep into a vault, in the back of my head; lock it up, tight as I can. The precious thought, the chance she has to fight for who she is, is the best chance I have to finish the repugnant promise I have made. But one thought slips out of the bondages I have put on the vault. It is the tiniest thought, not even a sizeable sentence. So why is it so significant?

What is it about this girl?

I step out of the miniature forest andI step out of the grove and find myself in a small neighborhood park. Swings sit beside menext to me, abandoned in the night; their seats cry droplets of dew. A majestic blue banner, with script the color of gold guards this nameless place. It reads, “Visit Our 27th Annual Spring Festival, May 17th, 2014”. My feet sink into the soft ground as I begin for it. . I pass under it and enter onto the dark asphalt of the road. Electricity crackles up my spine and blooms into a sharp pain. Somehow, pain is always worse here. “The white residence, Leanord. Which just so happens to be the house directly in front of me. It’s pretty big; well taken care of. The white stucco gleams in the shadows of morning, like teeth after you go to the dentist. The foliage is as manicured as a self-obsessed teenager.

    Maybe, this time, the girl will be all about her self-image. In this day and age, to have a good image means money, cash, green-backs. And lots of it. The most expensive clothing and make-up always equals the coolest. Before my crash, I wouldn’t have looked twice at that sort of thing. I shopped at Wal-Mart for my clothes. No more than twelve dollars for a haircut was my rule. Because even in life, I knew how crazy people went over money. It was like the amount of cash you had was directly connected to your happiness. I thought that it was pitiful. Unfortunately, Haunts are never as simple as taking a credit card and getting the PIN, and withdrawing their entire savings funds. That would be a breeze.

    The red door folds me in to its particles as I pass through it. A winding staircase greets me, and I begin to saunter up it. Family pictures filled with fake smiles line the walls. Three people’s faces rest behind the glass, and looking at them and they’re fake smiles, I wonder what type of family this is. Because this house is not filled with happiness and love.  In fact, it is not filled with anything. No feeling emanates from this home, and no specks of aura litter it. Aura is the color which represents a person’s soul when they are living. Those who have passed to the spirit worlds’ color are a dull gray; they’re color diminished. But there is not even that as I walk up the well-worn steps. My feet pick up the pace. I hear sounds coming from the left hallway, and trot towards them.

       Passing a door on my right, I see a bedroom. Upon peering inside, I learn that the walls are a light blue and little girl knick knacks are scattered upon white shelves. The bed is unmade and rumpled. There is no one in it, but still there is not aura. I race to the next door and round the corner. Instantly, I am as frozen as a corpse. In the bathroom, there stands a girl at the sink brushing her long, blonde hair. It is nothing out of the ordinary for her, I’m sure. But what makes me lose all control of my appendages is that she stands there completely aura-less.  I take her in, from head to toe, and something is quite eerie about her, in the way that makes my heart flutter and the hairs on my arms stand on edge. Then I notice her eyes, and those eyes, so blue, so old, so new. And I remember where I’ve seen them before.

“Stephanie?”

     “Persephone?”

 

The End

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