Grace for The Fallen

Waking Nightmares

Daetheia Grace

   I can’t go to school. If I do, they’ll find me. They’ll kill me. So when I woke up this morning, I told my mom that I was sick, and had to stay home for a day. I’m not even sure if it was a lie. I was pale from lack of sleep and nauseous from worry and fear. By the time my alarm had gone this morning, I had already been awake. Or rather, I had never gone to sleep. The shadows were filled with nightmares too real to let me sleep, but what made them even more terrifying is that they were my reality. That unlike other nightmares, there was no relief in waking up because I had been awake in the first place.

   I heard footsteps coming up to my bedroom door and quickly covered the ears I had been gripping disbelievingly with my hair. The door opened and my mom poked her head around the doorframe.

   “Hey,” she whispered. I sighed.

   “Mom, I’m sick,” I said, a tense edge in my voice, “Not dying. You don’t need to check on me every five minutes.”

   “I know, I know,” she sighed, “I’m just worried,” I groaned and looked at her.

   “Ok, ok,” she put her hands up in surrender, “I’ll stop. I just came to tell you that I’m leaving for work. So if you need anything, just call,” I nodded. She smiled softly and turned to go. Suddenly I felt bad.

   “Mom, wait!” She paused and quickly turned around, her features concerned, “I’m sorry,” I smiled sheepishly, “Thank you, for everything.”

   “It’s no problem, sweetheart, I understand,” she blew me a kiss, “I love you, and I’ll see you later.” I waved and she walked out. I heard the car engine starting a few minutes later and sighed in relief. Finally, alone, and they didn’t notice anything. I slumped back onto my pillows, but I was never one to cry and bemoan my circumstances, so I got out of bed and got changed into something fresh. That always helped me think. I ran to the kitchen and got some snacks, enough to last me for most of the day, and sat down in the armchair in my room. I pulled out my tablet and started researching.

   Researching hairstyles that would hide my ears, researching the dates that ‘they’ were most likely to come to Haverfield and, most importantly, researching The Fallen. I was looking for something, anything, to give me hope that this wasn’t permanent. That it was just a fluke. That it wasn’t actually happening to me. When I couldn’t find any information on if the ‘coming of age’ had ever happened as a mistake, I started looking for any way to reverse it. But, short of cutting the tips off of my ears, I found nothing.

   I slid down low into the armchair and, for the first time since finding out that I was an Elf, let despair wash over me. This was it then. There was nothing I could do. I was truly going to die. At that moment my phone rang. I grabbed it, thankful for the brief distraction from my morbid thoughts. It was Ariston.

   “Tony,” I said in way of greeting.

   “Hey,” he replied, sounding worried, “You ok? You sound terrified. Did something happen? Is that why you’re not at school?” I took a moment to compose myself before speaking again.

   “I’m fine, Tony, just sick,” I replied, “Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, I’ve had a lot on my mind,”

   “It’s fine,” he still sounded worried, “Are you sure you’re ok? Is someone there with you? I can come over…”

   “No!” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I took a breath and tried again, “No,” I said more calmly, “It’s alright. But thank you. I’d rather no one come too close to me right now. Because, you know, contagious,” I held my breath, hoping he would buy it.

   “Oh, yeah, of course,” he chuckled, “I promise not to come too close, but I will be stopping by later, ok? You can’t change my mind. Now bye, I have to go.”

   “No, wait, Ariston…” the beep in my ear cut me short. I looked at the phone in my hand. I cannot believe that Ariston just cut me off. I rolled my eyes. But then I registered what he had said and began to panic. He can’t come here, he’ll know something’s wrong, he’ll figure it out. I breathed in and out slowly, trying to tame my runaway thoughts. I was going to be discovered eventually. I had to accept that. So, better Ariston than anybody else.

   Is this how they felt? I wondered, suddenly feeling more sympathy for the Elves than I had ever felt for another living creature, Is this how they felt, knowing that they would likely be dead by the end of the day?

   From what I knew, I was already extremely lucky. Most Elves were killed the very night that they received the tell-tale mark of Elf ears. It was the morning after my ears had appeared, and I was still alive. Though I still wasn’t entirely sure if that was a blessing or a curse. I mean sure, it was always a blessing to be alive for one more day, but it had given me more time to think about and stress over my fate. So, in a way, it was also a curse.

   By the time the end of the day came around, I was too tired to do anything but lie on my bed and look dismally up at the ceiling. I had, with some difficulty, accepted that there was nothing I could do about the fact that I was now an Elf. I just had to wait for my fate to find me, because there was no way that I was going to look for my demise myself. As one last act of defiance, I decided that I would leave it to somebody else to discover that I was an Elf instead of telling people myself. Let that be on their conscience.

   I was interrupted from my morbid thoughts by the faint thump of sock-clad feet on the hallway outside my bedroom. My mom and Dad couldn’t be home yet, Lucas was still at his friend’s house so… it must be Ariston. I groaned quietly under my breath and quickly covered my ears again. I just hope he doesn’t come too close, I thought. The door opened and I braced myself. Tony bounded into the room with the energy and likeness of a puppy, coming to an abrupt halt at an exaggerated distance from my bed.

   “You look like death,” he said in way of greeting. I rolled my eyes at both his words and overstated representation of ‘distance’.

   “Thanks, hey,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

   “Whereas I,” he continued as if I had never spoken, “Look impeccable, as always,” he flipped his imaginary hair over his shoulder and struck a super-model pose, throwing his head back and flinging a hand up in the air. I couldn’t help but laugh at that, and he grinned triumphantly. I laughed even harder at the look on his face and soon found that I couldn’t stop. It felt so good to laugh after the stress of the day and my thoughts. He collapsed on the bed next to me, starting to chuckle with me. Eventually, we were both clutching our sides with tears running down our faces. That was how it had always been with Tony. We would start laughing and then never be able to stop, because we were too busy laughing at each other.

   “Tony,” I choked out in between giggles, “Stop. Can’t. Breathe,”

   “Can’t,” he replied, barely able to get that one word out, “You. Stop,” we both gulped air down into our lungs as we frantically tried to stop laughing. Finally, our laughter faded into soft chuckles and then stopped completely. We both stared up at the ceiling, exhausted, our chests heaving as we tried to stifle our silent laughter so as not to set the other off again. When we had calmed down enough to look at each other, Tony flipped onto his side, propping his head up with his elbow, and smirked at me.

   “So,” he started, “You find me funny?” I snorted and pushed him lightly. He pouted. I laughed softly at the look he gave me and he smiled.

   “I’m glad I can make you laugh,” he said, “Even when you’re sick and cranky.” Suddenly, he reached over and brushed a lock of auburn hair behind my ear. I yelped and jumped up, hastily covering my ear. Again. But the damage was done.

   His face was pale, his eyes impossibly wide, his mouth agape. His lips were moving but forming no sounds. I could feel panic and dread pooling deep in my chest.

   “Tony,” I said, my voice plaintive and weak, “Ariston…” I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. I didn’t even know what I would say, even if I could speak. My best friend had just discovered something about me that, if he reported it, would kill me. But if he didn’t report it, they would still find out. Then they would kill us both. My tongue was dry and heavy in my mouth. I had never wanted it to be Ariston. I had never wanted him to be the one to have to turn me in.

   There was a faint ringing in my ears, and it took me a moment to realise that Ariston was trying to say something.

   “Y-you…” he paused and tried again, looking for all the world as if he were an executioner swinging an axe. He breathed heavily, swallowed, then looked me straight in the eye.

   “You’re an Elf.” 

-Rebecca Underwood