Compliqués: Fallen prey
354 Words
No sooner had Isaïe departed than the wind picked up its pace, violent and screeching, as if urging him away from the line of trees.
Nobody dared follow him outside. And nothing stood evidence of ever having been surrounded by people but the glances he felt thrown his way; everyone maintained silence. All those prying eyes watching his mother claw at his skin to keep him within the rotting walls. Begging him not to leave like he'd said he'd fly all across the globe to Australia.
The night sky rumbled with warnings of a storm coming, the air ice-cold against his face and bare hands, sending jolts of nerves into the stream of his blood. Which he suspected might just freeze with this merciless season, that came as sudden as the war did.
Isaïe dug his feet into the mud, adjusting the cleaver in between the numbness of his fingers. His unkempt, dark brown hair blew in different directions, all over his forehead. Some stray locks even managed to spike his eyeballs. His breath came out in clouds of condensation, battling the ones hung around the crescent moon, deflecting whatever came of its light.
A faint buzzing could be heard in the distance, and strung in between the vibrations was a soft whisper. So alluring yet deeply eerie. He couldn't pick up what words were muttered into the breeze, but all he had in him to know was the fact it almost seemed to call his name.
It lulled him further and further into the darkness, further and further towards the endless buzzing, which only grew louder. Far too amplified for the fragility of his human ears. He knew this was a trap. He's seen it happen right before Eugène was abandoned; left to deal with the vicious attack on his own. Yet he, too, had fallen prey.
Isaïe squinted, growing dizzier by the second. He swayed, barely able to uphold himself any longer. And as he tumbled to the ground, he figured out why.
Because a pair of glowing, green eyes, luminous and angry, stared straight at him from between the high leaves.
- Writer
