thebadapple76

[thebadapple76]

The Conference

He had hazel eyes, the kind that stole rays of sun to light themelves, and dark curly hair that framed his handsome face. He wore a dark suit and blue button up that hadn't been for me and my eyes that night but I greedily took them in as we laughed our way to my parked car across the Plaza. Our conversation varied as much as our pace did, quickening and slowing at random intervals with no real rhyme or reason but it was perfect for us. The asphalt glittered with rain but the night was cool and crisp. Although night had fallen over the busy city, nothing stopped or slowed. Colorful lights blinked at every turn and cars filled every lot. My black heels had been replaced with converse two sizes too big and my hands carried the train of my burgundy dress. I was a mess compared to how I had arrived at the banquet that night, compared to how I wanted to look. I was a mess compared to most of my friends who had come with me.

But I didn't care what I looked like as I laughed until I couldn't take in breath. I didn't care that my bun was becoming messy or that my feet hurt from dancing because I was only focused on him and the moment. That didn't stop when we got ice-cream that night, sitting in a store filled with people. Even through the busy bodies surrounding us and the constant chatter in what could have been described as a fish bowl of a shop, I could hear him clear as day. I could hear the laughter in his voice the curiosity, the joy. I could see the light in his eyes dance as he spoke. I was encapsulated, so totally entranced that my ice-cream sat untouched for longer than I intended. But I noticed his was too, his chocolate cookies and cream that looked way better than my plain cookies and cream sat just as still as my own. A conversation that felt like minutes was truly hours, hours with someone I'd once barely knew but now opened myself up to. But why? Why him? Why did he make me feel safe? Maybe it was his eyes, or his smile, or his jokes, or his beautiful laugh, or his face, or his demeanor, maybe even because he followed God. But whatever the reason, I was and he was. And we were. No masks, no fronts, no lies, no pressure. Just us in the parking lot, the ice-cream store, in the car driving down the highway.

[thebadapple76]

Best Mom Ever

The first thing I remember was blinking plaster dust away from my eyelashes and a cough seizing my throat. When I was finally able to clear my vision and catch my breath, all I could see was a world covered in gray. Dust trickled down from the webs of cracks in what was left on the ceiling above me. As I looked around, I saw everything I had ever owned in shambles, crushed by debris.

Another cough rattled through me as I tried to shift my legs from underneath the crushed drywall. Everything hurt; my legs, my arms, my head. Even the afternoon light that flooded in from the outside world stung my eyes. Once I had wedged my foot out from underneath, I tried to make my way over all the mess. My wooden floors were splintered and sunken, holes littering what little space was visible. Placing my hand on a large piece of wall, I balanced myself as I slid over what used to be my couch, my dress catching on what was once a bookshelf. My ankle gave way as soon as my foot was planted on the floor, causing me to stumble. God, everything was a disaster.

I knew that I needed help. I had no idea what was going on. Making my way to the kitchen, I leaned on anything I thought could support my weight until I saw the landline next to the tall, silver fridge. With shaky hands, I latched onto the phone and dialed 911. My eyes wandered as I listened to the dial tone. It was only when the operator picked up that my eyes landed on the wooden, heart-shaped refrigerator magnet. It was on the floor, just peeking out from underneath the fridge.

A lump formed in my throat as I broke my connection with the object, forcing out the words I needed to say to the man on the other end of the line. The conversation was brief, help was already on the way. Apparently my building was on the news, officers surrounding the scene. 

My thoughts wandered back to the floor. Why did I keep it? Just the curve of the heart peeking out from the void was enough to send waves of nausea rolling through me. But as I hung up the phone, all I could think of was that I needed to take it with me. My apartment was gone, but I couldn’t lose my memories with it, no matter how hard I tried.

With shuddering breaths, I got onto my knees, as if begging for some forgiveness that would never come. My hands slid across the broken tile, feeling the rigid edges against my dry skin, and grabbed onto the wooden heart. What I pulled out was a hole of broken promises and memories that I wished had killed me a long time ago. Even the cheerful, crude ladybugs and splotches of pink and red glitter caused an ache in my chest. My fingers traced the three sharpied-in words, splinters of wood pricking me as I dragged my skin along its length. The dark-lit photo in the middle of the heart, jagged edges trying to form a circle, was what hurt the most. An open wound left to fester. She was so beautiful.

I was thrown out of my thoughts by a high-pitched squeal that tapered off into crying. Lifting myself onto shaky legs, I tucked the arts-and-crafts project into my dress pocket and shuffled out into the hallway with bare feet. The crying was louder now, closer than before. I looked around, taking in the caved-in ceiling and cracking walls of the complex. Had a bomb gone off? Raising my legs over the remnants of a wall, I started to hear sirens. The sound made my head whir but I was relieved someone had finally come to help. Another tentative step and I was ten feet away from the source of the crying.

I nearly dropped to my knees again, eyes welling up with tears. There was a baby laying in a broken crib, surrounded by plaster dust and splintered wood. There wasn’t a scratch on her. A miracle, for sure. My feet slid across the gritty, dust-covered carpet as I reached out, pulling her into my arms. The little girl sneezed, a cloud of dust blossoming into the air around her small head. She gave a small sigh, her tongue sticking out the slightest bit as spit bubbled past her lips. The ghost of a smile prickled at my lips as I brought up the end of my dress, licking it before wiping down her face. She was so beautiful.

Without looking for any survivors, I clambered out of the collapsed building with this baby in my arms. A little girl. She was wrapped in the folds of my dress, fingers clenching around the green fabric. Gorgeous brown eyes, wide and innocent like a doe, gazed up at me. Locking eyes with her knocked the breath right out of me, rapid punches to the chest that left me desperate for air. I hugged her closer to me, tucking her into my chest as I finally saw sunlight smiling down on me.

The fresh air, untainted by drywall and paint particles, was exhilarating. Another cough wrecked through my throat, hand going to cover my mouth. My eyes were only closed for a moment, but as soon as I opened them I was surrounded by first responders.

“Are you alright ma’am? Are you hurt?” A nurse looked over me rapidly, eyes barely meeting my own.

“Was there anyone else inside? Did you hear any survivors on your way out?” a man asked. He was dressed head to toe in a thick suit, face shielded by a helmet.

“Yes, I’m fine but maybe you could look at her,” I suggested, hand pressing against the infant’s head.

“Oh my goodness, of course!” I was hurried away from the scene. Firefighters swarmed the area I had crawled out of, like a roach.

The nurse rushed me to an ambulance not too far away, red lights flashing in every direction. I followed without a word, whether because I trusted her or because I couldn’t find the words, I wasn’t sure. What I was sure of was the pressure in my head that pulsed with each flash of light and the burning in my throat from persistent coughing.

“What’s your name?” The nurse blurted, turning her head to the side as we continued to walk.

“Lydia. Yours?” I asked, more out of habit than interest.

“Cecille. I’ll just be doing a physical, checking vitals, and making sure she’s not in any danger,” she said softly, trying to reassure me that nothing bad was happening. Something nurses do daily, I’m sure.

The nurse climbed into the back of the ambulance, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before hopping back down and putting out her hands. “I can check her now, make sure everything is okay,” she said, a smile on her delicate face. Earlier she had sounded so young, but now that I was looking into her face I could see the crow's feet in the corners of her eyes.

I clutched the baby tighter to me, enough for her to start squirming. “Can’t you check her like this? I don’t want to disturb her. She’s so quiet right now.”

“Ah, is she a fussy one? Don’t worry, this will be quick.” She smiled wider now, the gesture becoming uncomfortable to witness.

Begrudgingly, I lowered the baby from my grasp and placed her in the nurse’s arms. Her face creased, nose scrunching as she looked at the new face above her. My eyes were glued to her, not wanting to miss a single thing that happened. I needed to make sure she was safe.

“What’s her name?” the nurse tossed out, eyes secured on the squirming baby as she placed her on a blanket.

“Excuse me?” I said softly, snapping out of my trance.

“Your baby, what’s her name?” The nurse repeated, head turning to face me.

I didn’t hesitate. “Alice.”

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” The nurse ran her fingers down Alice’s arms, lifting them and checking for injuries.

“Thank you.” Saliva clogged my throat as I choked out the words. What was I thinking? Why had I said that name?

“Of course,” she said cheerfully, wrapping Alice up in a clean blanket and handing her back to me. “She seems perfectly fine, a miracle! However, I suggest taking her to the pediatrician after a week or so, just to make sure everything is still normal. Don’t want any surprises, am I right?” she jested, sliding the gloves off her hands.

“Of course,” I mimicked, nodding along as she spoke.

“Come, you can sit over here. Do you need a phone? Do you have someone you can call?” she asked, leading me to a tent on the outskirts of the ambulance perimeter.

“No, no one,” I whispered, eyes once again locked on Alice’s. She was mesmerizing.

The nurse nodded. Her mouth hung open for a moment as if wanting to say something when someone called out for her. Without another word, she ran back to her colleagues and left me to my own devices.

My attention, once again, was drawn to Alice. I took a moment to press the skin of her cheek to mine, relishing in the velvety texture. The short hairs on her head tickled the skin under my eye, feather soft. She cooed, a gurgling sound emitting from her throat as her mouth widened into a crooked smile. I was drawn into her, so completely that everything around us faded away. Hope flickered within me, a breath forcing itself out. What if this was my second chance? My chance of having another baby, to keep her safe. Was God giving me another opportunity to prove myself? Tears welled in my eyes as I pressed Alice tighter to me, not wanting to let her go.

“Excuse me?”

I lifted my head, bringing up my free hand to pinch my nose and alleviate some of the congestion starting to build up. “Yes, can I help you?”

The woman had tears streaming down her face and dried tracks of snot under her nose. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but have you seen them bring out a baby girl? I can’t find my Madison,” she choked out, more tears dripping down.

The baby in my arms shifted when she heard the voice, eyes lighting up. My heart dropped in an instant, eyes lowering to the baby girl. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew that the baby I held was this poor woman’s. Maybe it was a woman’s intuition, maybe the recognition of a fellow mother, but it was all the same. If I truly wanted to keep this baby, I would be taking her from this woman and leaving her in the same position I had been in for a year: desperate and guilty. 

On the other hand, I could finally relieve myself of this burden I had been shouldering for so long. I could deny everything now, walk away and no one would ever know. Finally, I would be able to atone for my wrongdoings and prove that I–

The woman’s hands covered her face as she sobbed, her cries twisting my stomach. Her entire face was red and covered in dirt, and bits of drywall flaked in her hair. Her clothes were ripped and disheveled, blood crusted on her jeans, and bandages wrapped around her head. And still, she was running around looking for her baby. She was a good mother; she didn’t deserve what I had gone through. How could I even think such a thing, pretending that this baby was my own? What kind of person was I?

My arms trembled as I extended the baby girl in my arms up and out toward the crying woman. “I heard her crying in one of the apartments, is she yours?” I forced out the words, willing my tears to dry up and dissipate.

Her eyes went wide, her mouth left agape before she dropped to her knees. I tried to give her a smile, something to reassure her, but all I could muster were tensed brows and pressed lips. Kneeling down, I gripped the baby girl tightly before handing her off to her mother.

“Thank–thank you so much!” she sobbed, yells tearing through her throat. By tomorrow, she would probably be sore.

“Shhh,” I hushed, stroking her back. “It’s okay.” Was I comforting her or myself?

The baby in her arms–Madison–started crying with her mother, sensing her distress. Just looking at them, I felt a lump form in my throat. I was seeing an alternative life; one that I could have lived, had I found her sooner. If I had never listened to the police and kept searching, maybe I would have found her in time. I could have held her in my arms again and cried with her instead of over a medical table surrounded by people who didn’t know her. Maybe if I had been a better mother, she wouldn’t have been taken from me.

In my pocket, the wooden heart shifted and pressed into my thigh. Its thin edges jabbed me through the fabric of my dress, the flat surface creating the outline of its shape. My heart stopped for a moment, breath caught in my throat. Her small face flashed in my mind, her crooked smile and brown eyes. The green shirt with the little orange fox on the front, her grey leggings that stopped just before her pink, light-up shoes. Her raven hair that she had begged me to cut short to look like Buttercup from the Power Puff Girls. The picture was scratched into my brain with a pocket knife, constantly tormenting me for what I had done to her. To my baby. And what’s worse, the sloppy letters that she had written in marker across the heart. The ink bled across splintered wood, surrounded by squiggles of glue and mountains of glitter.

Best Mom Ever.

What a joke. 

[thebadapple76]

We

When I stepped out of your parents’ house and onto the dark asphalt, the last thing I thought was going to happen was a deep conversation. I expected us to see our friends out to their car, walk back into the living room, and look at more of your cute baby photos. But what I got was so much more. 

Everything around us was quiet. The dark canal that slithered behind your house was so still you could walk on the constellations. Tall grass tickled my feet and licked at my ankles from under my navy blue jumpsuit. The air was stagnant, the heat lesser than it had been just hours before, but still dreadful. Bugs danced in front of my eyes, mocking me when I swatted at them. Even under the lights of the street lamps, all I could see was you and all I could hear was your laughter. When I wasn’t walking behind you, when I was at your side, I could feel the brush of your shoulders against mine and the smile it brought to my face was unreal. 

Back to the glistening road, we talked and talked about insecurities, about the dinner, about me, about you. I loved talking about you. I could have talked about you all night, and every time I looked into your beautiful eyes I realized there was nowhere else I would rather be. Even in the heat and the humidity, with my curls frizzing and sticking to my neck. 

L O V E is the song you sang to me, your eyes locked onto mine in that parking lot we kept passing. I couldn’t look away from you as you sang; every word held meaning and every breath you took felt like it was stolen from my lungs. Time slowed as I watched your eyes and your lips move, as I listened to your angelic voice. We were the only thing that existed that night, and I was okay with that.

[thebadapple76]

Morning Glory

When we checked the heat index, after already being at the park for forty-five minutes, it was a hundred and three degrees. We had all agreed to do a relay race, each pair competing against the others for eternal bragging rights. I was paired with Ryan, who was not a great runner, but he gave his heart to the challenge. We were on the second part of the race, Salvador sweeping in from behind Ekene and taking the victory by a landslide defeat, when I saw Kayla sitting on the concrete edge. 

She adjusted her golden hair clip, the one she stole from my bedroom, holding it in her mouth as she picked her hair back up and twisted it. Without thinking, I walked past her and straight to a rose bush under the shade of the bridge hanging over us. Snapping the neck of the flower, I leapt onto the edge where she sat and slid the stem into her hair. 

“What?” she asked, her eyes squinting from the bright sun. 

“Just a flower for you, I put it in the clip.” I often smiled without realizing it when I spoke, it seemed to make me more approachable. 

“Aw, thanks!” Her face lit up, almost as brightly as the rays coming down on us. “Hold on.” She leaned behind her to a bush of white Morning Glories, yanking one away. “Sit.”

I sat down beside her, turning to face the others, still recovering from the race. Salvador was leaning against the stairs that led to the amphitheater seats, Rosemary stood under the shade of the bridge, and Payne was trying to climb the beams of said bridge like a monkey. 

I felt the prickle of the flower stem slide behind my ear, pushing the leg of my sunglasses into my cross earring. “Ohh, dang she’s beautiful!” I could hear her smile in the tone of her voice. 

Chuckling, I stood back up and continued walking, the heat beating down on all of us. The ringing in my right ear had become even more intense since I ran. My hands were shaking from the exertion and also the lack of food I had earlier in the day. My head was starting to pound and everything kept getting brighter. 

Kayla held out her water bottle, covered in various stickers from her younger sister and one from Catalina Cafe, our favorite place. “Drink water.” 

I held up my hands. “I’m fine, thanks.” It felt like I wasn’t even talking, like it was someone else. 

“Lorelei, if you get heat stroke and pass out, I’m going to be so mad.” The playfulness had left her voice, but she still gave a half smile at the end. 

[thebadapple76]

A Deep Breath

A bus horn blaring, cars racing down the roads, people yelling, laughing, having fun. You are getting ready in your apartment for a night of intrigue and excitement, or so They tell you. You stand in the bedroom before a mirror as you dress yourself. You wear all black, an elegant silver necklace with a clasped pearl hung loosely around your smooth, naked neck; like a noose, it keeps you down, tying you to this place, to Them. Your eyes travel up and down your reflection, looking to repair any detail out of place. The makeup you wear, plastered against your face like paper mache, was a mask hiding you from the outside world. Your disguise, your character. The role you played required this mask and this costume. A deep breath.

Your eyes shift to the side as you pull down the edge of the shirt hugging your body, trying to cover as much as possible. Fabric scratches against your skin as black lace cinches your waist and pulls your body together; A marionette. Dull eyes trace your figure before tearing away, cringing as you make your hasty escape. Ripping off the bandaid was always easier. A deep breath.

The apartment you are housed in is dismal, dark and dank; not the kind of place you had seen young girls on television stay at as they “found their independence”. You had left your family for this; left everything to pursue…what? Had you known you would be trapped by your own selfish ambition, would you have left in such a hurry? A deep breath.

Heels click down black asphalt streets, stopping in front of the illuminated, neon sign shouting Walt’s Bar. The California heat had died down, night bringing cool air over the hills and into the city of Los Angeles. Even still, as you enter the bar, the smell of sweat invades your nostrils. You let out a huff through your nose before fixing your face and sliding onto a barstool. Beside you is an older man, clearly a few beers in, whose eyes looked up lazily at the TV screen hovering over the bar. Noise bellowed from every corner of the small bar, pushing against your temples, sending waves of discomfort through you. Nothing about this was right. Maybe you should go home. A deep breath.

The bartender steps up to the plate, a smile plastered on his tanned face as he asks you what you’d like to drink. With a smile of your own, you ask for a tequila sunrise with a small nod. He chuckles, nodding back as he quickly grabs his mixers and begins pouring your drink. Once the ice cold glass is sitting in front of you, you latch onto it like a lifeline. You lift it to your mouth, allowing the red and orange liquid to drain down your throat. You quickly realize you didn’t ask for the top shelf, the well tequila dries out your tongue and your throat closes. Hoping that the vile sensation will go away, you take a bigger gulp and try to distract yourself with other things. A deep breath.

All it takes is a few minutes before a man sits himself next to you with a car salesman smile and asks to buy you another drink. Of course you say yes, trying to fix a smile of your own; the kind of smile a cashier gives a customer as the store is about to close. He asks for your name, so you give it to him, leaving out your last name just in case he’s some kind of stalker. He gives you one back, Alex Turner. The kind of name that he probably would have been bullied for in high school. You look over his features. Under different circumstances, you might have found his confidence alluring and his almond brown eyes gorgeous. But these were not favorable circumstances. A deep breath.

You spend another hour or so chatting with Alex, soon realizing how drunk he really is. When you ask him to leave the bar with you, he hops at the chance. You are certain he is under the impression that he’s getting laid tonight. He follows you out of the bar on staggering legs, trailing behind you like a lost puppy. “My place?” he slurs out, a lopsided smile gracing his features. A deep breath. 

“My place is closer, I’m sure,” you giggle nervously. He needs to come with you. He nods in agreement, not in the right state of mind to argue. The fake smile drops from your face, replaced with a solemn look. You knew this wasn’t right. A deep breath.

As you approach your apartment building for the second time that night, you stop in front of the door. Turning, you face Alex, fear in your eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t go here,” your voice wavers. 

“Nah, it’s alright babe. I won’t judge. I don’t live anywhere special either,” he chuckles, body already pressing into yours expectantly. 

Trying to create some kind of space, you push yourself into the door, opening it. Alex tumbles through, barely holding himself together. Your eyes move about the hallway carefully, searching for any sign of life. Were they hiding somewhere? 

“Where’s your place, baby?” Alex interrupts your thoughts once more, your head snapping to the side. 

“What?” your question comes out startled, you were not listening to him. 

“Where’s your door? Do we have to climb the stairs?” He sways in place. “I’m not sure I can go upstairs.” 

“No, no. It’s on this floor, just a bit further down.” You nod along with your words, not sure if you are trying to assure him or yourself. 

“Alright, cool.” His smug smile returns before he stalks off into the hallway once more. 

Finally, you stop in front of the door to your apartment. Sweat is beading on your brow, nerves sending tingles down your spine. There was no way you were doing this. Your fingers fumble with the keys, trying to find the right one. Alex must attribute this to you being drunk, because he asks if you need help. You politely decline his offer, sliding the golden key into the lock. A deep breath. 

You twist open the knob, pushing the door wide and stepping through. A flick of a switch and the room is illuminated, flooding your senses once again. Your heart beats rapidly against your chest, breathing becoming more shallow with each passing second. Alex waltzes through the door frame, making himself comfortable on the bed, kicking off his boots. A deep breath.

The alarm clock that sits at your bedside table goes off, the time flicking from twelve fifty-nine to one am. You were on time. You step forward, sliding off your heels and kicking them into the corner of the room. Alex’s eyes trail down your body, hungry. You feel an uncomfortable itch under your skin, like something is trying to get out. Your face itches, your hair, your fingers. Your heart continues to beat faster. Your eyes burn. Your neck is straining, the incessant feeling of needing to crack it starting to build up. This was your moment. A deep breath.

Your body started to move on its own, toward Alex. You were barely thinking, your mind elsewhere as he roamed you, perusing the untouched territory. Warm hands caress you on every surface, gripping and clawing as they work their way down. You feel hands all over you; your arms, your breasts, your waist, your thighs. You feel it, you do, but you don’t at the same time. Your mind is elsewhere, no longer connected with your physical being. A deep breath.

You hear panting breaths, you feel your skin tingle and burn like fire is all around you. You hear the movements of the bed and him on top of you. You feel the stretch and the pain, and then it subsides. Your senses are dull, your brain is fuzzy. You can’t seem to concentrate on what is happening right in front of you. Your eyes are glued to the ceiling, not even able to look Alex in the face. A deep breath.

What would have been an hour felt like seconds in your mind, flashes of the night going in and out in the darkness. As quickly as it started, it stopped. Alex was unconscious beside you, face down on the bed, half covered with white sheets. A deep breath.

Lifting yourself up, you slid off the bed and walked to the mirror that sat directly across from you. Your fingers combed through your hair half-heartedly, trying to soothe yourself as quietly as possible. You slide your arms through a black robe and your legs through flowing satin pants as you walk about the studio apartment. A deep breath.

The world was quiet, not even the air conditioning blew. You wait patiently by the window, gazing out onto dark streets. Had you stayed home, you might have seen the stars in the sky rather than the engulfing darkness overhead. Perhaps you could have heard the cricket chirps or the howling winds. Thinking of home makes you feel sickly, nowadays. Just thinking of it feels wrong in some ways. A deep breath.

A quiet knock sounds at the door. Quickly, you tiptoe to the door and open it, revealing Marie Cassidy. Marie stood a good three inches taller than you. Her coiled, dark hair which usually sprung out is wrapped back tightly. Without a word, she walks into your apartment and looks at Alex’s still body. Nodding, she gestures her hands toward him. You follow her lead, eyes downcast. When she stops before Alex’s body, she pulls out a small needle from the pocket of her sweatpants. The needle is capped and contains a clear liquid. Your eyes follow it as she pops it open. Marie leans over Alex, a hand gently pressing into his neck before the needle plunges in. A deep breath. 

The needle pulls out slowly before she turns back to you. “He won’t wake up for a bit. Go get Gio.” Her smile is small but it still fills you with the smallest bit of confidence. 

You nod, going through the open door and counting down the apartment numbers until you make it to Gio Beckette’s. You barely have to knock before she opens the door with a large smile. She knew tonight was your night, everyone did. She follows you back to the room where Marie is waiting and the three of you hoist Alex into a rolling laundry bin. A deep breath. 

“Now, roll this down to the last door on the left, the door should be open by now. Make sure to lock it once you’re inside,” Gio says, eyes not leaving where Alex’s body lay, covered in a sheet. 

“How will you get in?” you ask, suddenly concerned. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there,” Marie encourages you.

You nod slowly, grabbing onto the bin with trembling fingers and pushing it forward. The hallway is dark, not a single light turned on. You squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the darkness as you walk aimlessly. Your bare feet press against coarse carpeting, toes scrunching against the itchy material. As you walk, all you can see are white door frames, the doors themselves having disappeared. Voids of emptiness surround you, each rabbit hole seems worse than the last. Unlike the bar, just hours before, there are no noises around you. All you can hear is the sound of your own breath, in and out like clock work as your feet tap against the carpeted flooring. A deep breath. 

The end of the hall appears in front of you, seeming to materialize out of thin air. Your vision buzzes, static forming in the corners of your eyes. With shaky hands, you twist open the door knob and push forward with the bin, bumping it with your waist. The room is dimly lit, small lamps litter the floor. This room has no furniture, you notice. No pictures, no kitchen, no TV. There is nothing that makes it seem lived in, nothing personal. As you scan the room, you notice a gathering of people at the far end. Their eyes are like small flames, filled with the reflections of the lamps. Thirty-six women stand before you, all in their night clothes, hair tied back. A deep breath. 

“Come forward,” the girl in the middle says. Her name: Evelyn Sanders. Behind her stood Gio and Marie, already waiting for your arrival. 

You do as you are told, pushing the bin forward along with you. You want to say something but words get caught in your throat. Your body stiffens as you get closer and closer to the half circle of people. They seem welcoming, their smiling faces dawn on you like hopeful beams of energy. But, as you take another step, you realize you do not feel energized. You feel energy being stolen from you, slowing your movements and making your eyes burn. You suddenly feel exhausted, your feet drag along the floor as you continue to move forward. A deep breath. 

Thirty-six girls open their arms to you, awaiting your acceptance. You try to smile back, lips twitching upward. Once you reach the center of the room, six girls circle you and the laundry bin. You stop moving, stepping aside to allow the six girls access to the body. Alex’s body. A deep breath. 

Gio, Marie, and Evelyn, along with three other girls push the bin on its side, Alex’s body tumbling out in a heap. His arms are bent in odd directions, chin pressing into his chest. His eyes are closed, but his chest is still rising and falling rhymically. You know he’s completely alive, and it terrifies you a bit. More than anything, though, you start to become excited. The energy in the room increases, the girls that had stayed back now circled around the body of this young man. One girl grabs the laundry bin, tossing it to the side as two other girls straighten out Alex’s limp body. A deep breath. 

The girls spread out in the room, forming a circle around you, Gio, and Evelyn. As much as everything around you is moving, all you can focus on is the body in front of your feet. All you can think is that he’s alive. Gio and Evelyn straighten themselves, walking up to you in sync. A deep breath.

“Are you ready?” Gio asks, hand outstretched to you. Her fingers unwind from around a thin object resting in her palm. A blade. 

You nod quickly, eyes glued to the thin knife. You swallow thickly. “You know what you need to do,” Evelyn says, pulling herself and Gio back into the group as the knife slides into your grasp. 

Eyes drift to you, boring into your soul. They are watching your every move, the very breaths you take in. Don’t breathe. 

Taking a step forward, you kneel down to the body, your legs straddling it without touching. Sweat drips down your lip, you can taste the bitter liquid in an instant. Your vision narrows as you gaze at the thing’s neck, open and inviting, like it was asking for it. Your hands trail down soft skin, mesmerized for only a moment before you slide the knife across pale skin. Scarlet blood leaks out of the open wound, choking sounds emitting from the body as it spasms. You don’t know what to do, you thought it would die quicker than this, so you plunge the knife into its throat repeatedly. Arterial spray leaves spots of liquid dripping down your face, covering up the sweat that built up. Don’t breathe. 

On shaky legs, you lift yourself off of the blood covered corpse, standing up. Marie walks up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder as she backs you away from the carnage you created. Your throat is tight and dry, you are unable to swallow the lump that sits in it. The girls around you are smiling, but you are not. You’re completely frozen, unsure of what to do. Marie takes your hand, leading you away as another group of girls begin to surround the body. The two of you stop at the door you came through, turning to face the group once again. When you look back, you see two girls standing over the body with large machetes. Before you could register what was happening, the machetes were reared back and slammed down with immense force. Don’t breathe. 

You could hear the crunch and crack of bones. The squelch of flesh as it is sliced through over and over echoes through the room. No one speaks as the ritual takes place, as the body is broken and separated. Only when each limb is formally detached do the girls begin mumbling softly. All around you, soft whispers are resounding in the room. Girls standing, hands clasped in front of them, eyes wide as they whisper some kind of chant. Don’t breathe. 

Your eyes are heavy as Marie chants behind you, hand now clasped with yours. You’re trembling. You feel as if the whole room can feel the tremors wrecking your body; an earthquake shudders through you in silence. Then, everything stops. The chanting, the tremors, the river of blood at your feet. Don’t breathe. 

“Come forward,” says Evelyn, beckoning you closer with her long fingers. 

Stiffly, you do as she says, stopping just in front of her. You do not speak. 

“Do you swear,” she starts, bending down to dip the tips of her fingers in the river. “To listen and to obey?” 

You nod. “Speak!” her voice is thunderous. 

“Yes.” You can barely force out the word, like jabbing fingers down your throat. 

“Do you swear,” cold, wet fingers touch your forehead. “To give us your life and livelihood?” 

“Yes.”

“And do you swear,” fingers drag across my skin. “That your life is no longer your own?” 

“Yes,” Your voice waivers, but continues. Do you know what you’re doing? 

“With your offering and sacrifice, you are now welcomed into your sisterhood,” Evelyn finishes, stopping her handiwork. Something drips down your forehead, into your eyebrow. You want to scratch it so badly. Don’t breathe. 

“Welcome sister.” The sentence reverberates around the room, each girl claiming you as her sister, now and forever. 

After the ceremony is complete, you shuffle your way back into your room, alone. Silence greets you like an old friend, wrapping around your neck. The reality of what you have done never settles, a disconnect forming in your mind. A body. A sack of meat. That’s all it was. What you did tonight was join a group that would take care of you as their own. You finally belonged somewhere. You have waited so long for this, months, and now you have finally done it. A smile creeps onto your lips, stretching out your skin and making your heart flutter. Slowly, you close your eyes and brace yourself against the closed door. Now, you can breathe.

[thebadapple76]

The Clock Tower

The Clock Tower

A slender shadow, outreaching even the furthest boundaries of the small town, draped like a blanket over the miniscule buildings. In comparison, nothing could match even its shadow’s magnificence. The tower was old, older than many of the people who still lived in the rackety town. Many did not remember who built it. However, the man himself was praised nonetheless. It was said that he and his wife built the tower and the clock that sank inside its socket. Even when his wife passed away, sickness they said, he continued on and constructed this marvelous piece of architecture. And so, at every start of the year, around noon, the villagers gathered around the building. They would honor him in the only way they knew how. Young girls paid their respects by leaving picked flowers and young boys left crude drawings of the tower at it’s base. Adults would enjoy festivities, music and games they would set up over the week. Everybody would drink and dance until the sun fell out of the sky and the cold night air would cut at their skin. Nothing was held back at one of these festivals, it was one of their biggest holidays. The celebration of the town’s biggest accomplishment. 

A young boy, no older than seven, wandered his way through the mass of people. The smell of alcohol oozed from the very dirt he shuffled his feet on. Although he was small, scrawny at best, he managed to slip through the gathering and decided to tour the city while it was still barren. Away from the center, everything seemed abandoned, a ghost town. Doors closed, stray trash littered the ground, even a few stray cats roamed the streets, completing the look. 

He eventually came across an older woman who sat peacefully on a wooden rocking chair in front of her home. She rocked back and forth, a smile gracing her features. She looked worn, thought the boy. Her face was easily compared to a rotted apple, discolored in spots and sunken in. Her wrinkles were few, only shown in her areas of expression, and her skin seemed to be the same texture of leather. The boy slowly approached, his stride faltering as he neared her. 

“Do not be afraid,” she beckoned. “I will not bite.” 

Tension lifted off his shoulders from the small joke, allowing him to finish coming toward her. “Are you not enjoying the festivities with the others?” she asked, her rocking slowed. 

The boy shrugged, nose scrunching. “It’s just a clock,” he said absentmindedly. 

“Just a clock?” the old woman playfully gasped. “Do you not know the story, then?” 

“That the man made the tower, and let the town have it?” he asked. Everyone knew that story, they learned it in school. 

“Yes…and no.” She paused. “Not many people know what really happened. My great grandmother told me long ago, before she passed.”

The boy sat at her feet, not too far away. “What do you mean?” He was curious, glad for his venture out of the festival grounds. 

“What they tell you in school is a brief tale told to all. Keeps it hidden. For some, it is better to have a half truth than a reminder of what had truly happened.” Her eyes seemed distant, like she had entered a different realm. 

Intrigued, the boy stayed. He was both excited and terrified by the suggestion she was making. What could be so terrible that the people of their town would lie for generations? To the boy, it felt like he was the only one this elderly woman could trust with this incredible secret. “What happened?” he asked, crossing his legs in front of him. 

Are you sure you want to stay here while the festival is going on?” he asked, not wanting to keep him there too long. 

“Yes Ma’am, I’ll be fine,” he responded politely. This made the woman smile. Shifting slightly on her chair, she made herself comfortable before beginning the tale. 

“When my great grandmother was about your age, the tower had just begun construction. No one knew what it was to be, at that time. Some thought it was a well at first, but it grew taller. Then they thought of a home, but it grew taller. It continued growing and growing, you see. No one thought it could get much taller, seeing as it was already taller than many of the buildings in town. People asked the man, the builder of the tower, when he was going to stop building. When would this tower be complete? He declared that it would be the tallest building they had ever seen. 

He faced many doubts. The people of this town ridiculed him for his outlandish claim. How could he build something so tall? Why, it would have to touch the heavens! Not a soul believed in him, except his wife. A beautiful, gentle woman with a heart of gold. She assisted him in building the tower, playing whatever role he needed her to play. They were made for each other.” The woman’s face grew grim. A frown pulled down her skin, her forehead showing the folds of age. 

“Didn’t his wife die? She got sick, right?” He stated it as more of a fact than a question, still unsure of this story. 

“That’s what they said. But, my grandmother thought differently.” She looked around herself before leaning in and whispering to the boy, “she said that his wife was murdered.” 

As she settled back into her chair, it creaked as the weight of her back pressed into it once more. The boy didn’t know what to say, his body frozen in place. Murder? It wasn’t unheard of, but it hadn’t happened in this town for many years. The town was so small, it would have been much too hard to get away with. Kidnappings from other towns were not too uncommon, but still rare enough that it was startling. How could someone do something so terrible as to murder a man’s wife? 

“So…do you know who killed her?” he asked, eyes wide with fear and excitement. 

A moment of silence passed, the woman looking the boy dead in the eyes. “They never found out.” She took a long breath, exhaling through her nose. “However, a few weeks after her mysterious death, people began going missing in the town.” 

“Missing?” the boy exclaimed. 

“Yes. Workers from the tower stopped showing up to work. Eventually, they disappeared from the village all together, along with their family’s. Others in the village claimed that they had simply abandoned their jobs, lazy workmen. My grandmother and her best friend thought something more sinister might have happened.” 

“Did they ask the man who built the tower?” the boy’s hands gripped his legs as he leaned forward. 

“They did,” she sighed. “They asked about what had happened the night of her death. If his house had been ransacked, anything broken or taken. But, the man denied it all. He did not wish to talk about his wife, or the night that she died.” 

The boy nodded. “If I lost my wife I would not wish to speak either,” he said, eyes drifting to the ground in sadness. 

The woman chuckled. “And what would you know of having a wife, young man?” 

The boy’s face turned a slight hue of red. “I mean anyone I loved. It is a horrible loss.” 

“I am only teasing. But yes, I understand why he would not want to speak of her with two young girls. My grandmother never went back to him with any more questions, especially once some of his men started to disappear. The construction of the tower had been finished, and he began working on the clock that sits inside. People finally saw the goal he had set out to accomplish. This man, after people doubted him, slandered him, after losing his wife and all his workers; he finally finished what he had set out to do. It was amazing, the whole town was in awe of his creation.

It seemed like everything was right with the town. However, my great grandmother still had her suspicions. One night, her and her friend waited outside the tower in the hopes of sneaking inside to have a look. As they walked up the winding stairs, my great grandmother said she had heard something coming from the top of the tower, where the mechanics of the clock were. Out of fear, she ran down and fled the tower without her friend, never turning back.” 

The boy said nothing, expecting more. When he couldn’t take it much longer, he blurted out, “What happened to her friend?” 

The old woman let out a breath. “She was never seen again.” Sad eyes looked down at the boy, glazed over. Her hands were clasped together in front of her tightly. 

The boy sat for a bit, recounting the story in his mind. It sounded so exciting, a thrilling tale that was too fantastical to be true. Right? Who wouldn’t want to go into the tower after a story like that? She didn’t tell him what was inside, it was like a written invitation to investigate. There was a chance that this old lady was trying to scare him, that the story was not real at all and he would find nothing there. But, to him, it seemed worth a try. So, he got to his feet and thanked the woman for her time. As he was walking away, he heard her call after him. 

“I know it may seem like a good idea to go up there, an adventure,” she paused, “There is something evil up there, young man. I do not advise you to risk your life on something like that.” 

For a moment, the boy stopped, seeming to consider this. “Thank you, Ma’am!” he called back, waving his hand far above his head. 

The old woman watched him leave, his figure fading into the distance. The story brought a satisfied smile to her face, eyes tearing up in the corners. It was done.

Listening to the story had made time pass faster than the night train. To the boy, it felt as if only a few minutes had passed since he had stumbled across the old lady, but in reality it was almost nightfall. People were already shuffling back into their homes after the festival, drunk on wine of high spirits. The boy was one of a handful of people still wandering the streets. He wanted to stay as hidden as possible to avoid being dragged home by his parents, who were undoubtedly looking for him. 

Sneaking through alleyways, he saw a drunken man staggering through the street. The man seemed to be coming straight for him for a moment, just before crashing into a stack of boxes and trash and falling into a heap. The boy let out a quiet giggle. Clearly, he was just paranoid from the story that the old woman had told him. 

When darkness finally settled over the town, the streets fell silent. The young boy listened to the cicadas sing as he pressed his back to the wall of a building. He was right across from the tower now, its brick walls already in sight despite the low light. Making a run for it, his body almost slammed into the wooden door of the tower before pulling it open. The wood was slightly splintered, scraping his fingers as he let go. The musky smell hit his nose in an instant, like no one had opened the door since it was built all those years ago. Moss, old wood, moisture, decay; all these smells swirled in the stale air. No breeze could penetrate the solid stone, the heat trapped inside like an oven. 

A chill ran down his spine as the boy tip-toed up the spiraling staircase, trying to salvage what little courage he still had. There was no way he was turning back now. Either he was going home now and getting in trouble, or going home after this and getting in trouble. He was seeing this through. 

As he got closer to the top of the tower, a sour smell began to seep through the cracks between bricks. His hand reached to cover his mouth as he gagged on the scent. It was awful, like rotting meat. Hand still over his face, he continued up the stairs, his other hand against the cold brick to help guide him through the darkness. Light began peeking through onto the staircase, prompting the boy to find the top. He picked up his pace, tripping only once over a small rock. Once he saw the end of the staircase he stopped, slowly getting to the doorway and peeking around the corner. 

What he saw was nothing short of horrendous. Panicked, he swung around and stumbled down the stairs. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough, he thought he was going to vomit. Fresh air hit him like a rock to the face, but he didn’t stop running until he reached home. He paid no mind to whatever punishment his parents had sentenced him to. The words barely pierced his ears. He was sweating profusely, water dripping down his face in giant globs. Tears had also begun falling once he closed the door to his room, trapping him inside. 

He crawled into his bed, snot bubbling out of his nose as he cried. Pulling the blanket to his face, he dared not turn off the light. His body trembled, fear wrecking through him in waves. He should have never gone up there. The old lady had been right, something in this town was evil. The boy didn’t know what had happened in that tower, but what he did know was that every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were those men. 

The workers who had built the tower, strung up like marionette dolls from the ceiling, each of their limbs being crushed by the cogs that turned the clock. But it wasn’t just the old workers from all those years ago, there were others. Men, women, children; all dead, mouths hanging open in a silent scream. The tower was cursed, evil. As each second had passed, each tick of the hand, bone was crushed and flesh was torn. The stains on the floor were brown, dark from old blood. What he couldn’t help but notice was the new blood, the tiny river flow that had not yet stopped. Someone had been alive in there. The image brought forth the smell of iron to the boy’s nostrils and he retched at his bedside. 

He was the only one who knew what was up there, what they were doing. They were killing people. That’s why people had been going missing. He had to tell someone. No one could find them because they had been up there all along. No one ever went inside the tower, it had been running on its own forever. His thought stopped short, eyes fixed on the door before shifting to the window behind him. 

What if he was next?