The Witch of Jakarta

Chapter 4: Splintering Lights

    Thick ghostly clouds littered the skies of Jakarta, as Inca and Vincent make their journey through the untouched parts of the city. Blok M was a f*******n name amongst those who still had their dignity intact, however, the scums who fell through the cracks of normality had no trouble filling up the streets. The two high schoolers had no trouble blending in, save for their ability to tune out the distance sirens lingering throughout the damned place. It would seem their skills have turned dull.

    ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ The boy asked, fidgeting his fingers to distract himself from the sirens.

    The rogue haired girl laughed meekly, an apologetic look painfully strewn across her face. ‘Do I really have a choice.’

    It didn’t take too long for them to find the building they needed, though it wasn’t hard to miss either; not for their kind. However, the boxy shop house was anything but proper. The walls littered with marks of fighting and too much alcohol, as thick clouds of w**d and bright neon lights seeped through the broken windows. The sirens seemed to crawl closer.

    ‘We’re here,’ The rouge proclaimed, her voice discreet enough as to not alert the drunkards hiding behind the shophouse. She was stalling.

    ‘I don’t think I can go in,’ The boy suddenly said.

    It was only then that Inca realized that the sirens were too much to bear for the spell caster beside her. Vincent’s back arched painfully as he tried in futile to block out the noise. His face turning pale as his expression twisted into something Inca had grown familiar with in terms of suffering. She could guess the words forming across the boy’s mouth, as it had never changed with anyone who had suffered the consequence of the noise.

    ‘Help me.’

    It wouldn’t be long before the boy starts scratching his ears off. Bearing witness to this, Inca wasted no time producing a quick potion she had stocked away in her pocket. The ‘Pink Taffy’ potion was meant to seal off the user's senses; the tiny bag was practically enough to put an entire hospital into a coma. However, in this case, the rogue knew it was much akin to patching a water duct with scotch tape.

    ‘Take this,’ She ordered, shoving the tiny plastic bag towards her friend.

    The spell caster wasted no time devouring the sticky taffy colored liquid contained within the tiny bag, going so far as to rip the bag in half to lick the rest of it away. He did muster enough will within himself to say thank you, however, the rest of his mouth were preoccupied with the substance.

    Inca’s eyes found their way back to the shophouse, noticing that a man was now staring back at her. It would seem that he was the owner, though she had never seen him before. It would also seem that he wasn’t intoxicated in any way, despite the thick clouds of w**d surrounding his burly figure. The rogue pestered herself to look away, but the man quickly gestured her to come inside.

    ‘I need to go,’ She said, turning back to the boy who was now standing a bit better beside her.

    ‘And I can’t stay,’ He added, his voice still shaky from the effects of the sirens.

    ‘Wait back at the car,’ The rouge advised. ‘I won’t take long.’

     The boy chuckled, which quickly turned into a cough. ‘You won’t have any backup.’

    ‘She would prefer it that way,’ She replied, looking back towards the man in the shophouse; he was still waiting.

    The boy protested, however, his body refused to comply with the effects of Inca’s potion fading. He stumbled through his leave, leaving the rouge haired girl to fend herself against whatever shall come next. The two of them parted in no time, once Inca made her way through the shop house’s broken wooden door.

    Everything was bathed in pink and smoke, as bastards of all shapes and size littered the dingy shop house. Cardboards and cheap plastic chairs were strewn about, making for an impromptu bar area for half of the visitors to relax in. The other half of the visitors, however, were in the backroom.

    The rouge haired girl tried her best to tune out the invading smell of cheap booze, making her way towards the man who had been beaconing her by the front desk. He was much larger in size now that she had gotten close, but the man wasted no time in trying to intimidate her in any useless tough talk. With that in mind, the rogue made sure she remembered to give him a tip on her way out; if he stays long enough for it.

    ‘You’re one of us,’ He pointed out, almost cheerfully. ‘Didn’t think anyone else was brave enough to go outside after what happened.’

    ‘I’m sure that you’re well aware that there are many of us left once you’ve started working here,’ She retorted, whipping the man’s smile off his face. ‘How much did you owe her?’

    The man paused, his face subtly skimming through anger, panic, and sorrow. ‘More than my life.’

    Inca hummed, her eyes slowly skimming through the variants of cheap booze bottles displayed on the back of the desk; she knew that those weren’t the main products of the establishment. ‘Where is she now?’

    ‘She told me you would come,’ The man retorted back, ‘That you’d be immune to the gas, much like her I reckon.’

    The rouge expression remains unchanged, she’s seen that coming. Thus she’ll need to pry a bit more. ‘How many did you deal this week, then?’

    The man’s expression shifted, but he wasted no time putting back his poker face. He wasn’t deterred easily, it would seem. ‘She had a message for you, that’s why I wanted you to come inside.’

    ‘Was it along the lines of “Stay away or I’ll kill him” ?’ She asked, ‘Or was it “Stay away or I kill everyone but him”?’

    ‘Go to hell.’

    ‘Ah, the second one then.’

    The man swung at her from behind the desk, which of course missed her by the mile with the thick wooden stationary in the way. Inca steadied herself, observing the man’s movement as she waited for the storm out. Inevitably, it always does.

    ‘Look, we can do this the easy way-’

    The man swung a second time, missing again.

    ‘-Or the hard way,’ The rogue finally finished, undeterred by the sudden barrage.

    The man stood in his place, seizing his punches before slowly recoiling with a huffed breath; which despite his best interest to hide it, Inca had caught on to. As those were not breaths of restraint or mumbled insults, but of defeat; as whatever form of antidote his master had given him, was starting to wear out.

    ‘I’m gonna kill you…’ The man huffed, his body slouching by the second as the mixture of booze and heavy drugs invade his unfiltered lungs.

    Inca planted herself in place, noticing that the man was starting to eye for the window again. She had prepared herself to ask him again of the damned serpent’s whereabouts, but the plan was interjected by the man’s slurred voice. It would seem that he’s on the weaker side of d**g tolerance.

    ‘I…I didn’t ask for this,’ He said, half-way on his knees; his firm hold on the desk slowly slipping.

    ‘Nobody ever does.’

    ‘She was g-gonna…She was gonna l-leave me…’

    ‘From the bombing site?’ She inquired, asking herself why the serpent would even be on the site; it was a subject to bring up another time. ‘You were part of-’

    ‘Yogyakarta,’ The man finished; his mouth still half parted by the end of his answer, as his life story hanged from the tip of his tight vocal cords, untold.

    Though the man in front of her may never admit it, Inca can tell for certain that the drugs were pulling the worst heaps of memories from his mind. Her eyes drifted away from his, finding the sight too painful, however, it was then that she finally noticed the insignia tattooed on the side of the man’s index finger. It was of an older version of Yogyakarta’s flag, back before the initial national order to eradicate their kind. He was a core member.

    ‘Sh-she…She said she needed us for something…S-something big.’

    ‘Yes,’ The rogue replied, ‘But not this.’

    The man went silent, though not out of any will. His towering body cowered under what illusions the d**g had conjured up in his head, pink clouds slowly dominating his lungs.

    ‘Go home,’ The rogue ordered, her eyes still fixated on the man’s mark, ‘And take the money with you.’

    The man didn’t need to be asked twice, and the room quickly turned empty. The lack of any conversation in the room quickly filled in sounds of the drunkards who were too drugged up to teleport themselves out of the damned place. The rogue haired girl had mustered enough will in herself to not spot any other insignia, convincing herself that it was somehow immoral to do so. However, the sight of some of the amputated men strewn around the darker corners around the shophouse was enough to make her stomach turn. The sight was just as painful as it was of relief, as there were at least a hundred of her kind who survived the blast. She’ll need to ask Rachel about it later. However, as of now, it was time for her to dive further into the shophouse.

    After slowly climbing over the desk, making sure her school uniform stays clean under the piles of smoke ashes scattered through the cheap wood. Her eyes took her through the beaten wall in front of her, the yellowed-white paint peeling with age. She steps closer, noticing how the pink smoke drugging the entire room was slowly phasing into the wall. Her interest peaked, and curiously, she grazed her fingers through the surface of the wall. As expected, her fingers fazed easily inside the barrier, quickly introducing a peculiar feeling climbing through tips of her fingers. It was cold, unbelievably cold, but the difference in temperature had felt lighter than air until she pulled out one of her fingers. This was new.

    The rogue stepped back, pulling the rest of her fingers with her; quickly noticing that there was no visual damage to them. She wiggled and shifted her fingers, making sure they all worked as they should; just to be safe. Though, despite the normal appearance, the icy feeling stayed on the tips of her fingers. Her eyes looked around for any other entrance, though it always took her back to the wall. Then with the loud groaning from the drunk men behind her growing more intrusive, she walked through the wall.       

    Everything was coated in black, safe for the tiny disco ball spinning tirelessly in the middle of the stretched hallway. The place was different than what the girl had remembered it, the violent screams and moans emitted from inside of every damned door quickly rendering her thoughts mute. However, she kept her pace and quickly walked down the hall. It was an easy task if it were only to be written o paper; as the identical black walls and doors seemed to stretch endlessly despite the slight jogging pace she had opted.

    Each door was of numbered in fake gold lettering, though the fact didn’t help her much with finding the person she’s after. As it would seem after succeeding in prying open one of the doors, she was met with a very angry g**g of men; and a particularly apologetic young woman who insists that the rogue should leave the place. Despite so, she pressed on, with the tiny disco ball taunting her from the distance. She ought to be here somewhere.

    After what seemed to be a night’s worth of walking, she rests her legs and sat on the floor; making sure she wouldn’t be interrupted if any one of the visitors were to open their door. She attempts a quick call to Vincent, her mind still plagued with what the sirens had done to her friend. However, a few good tries on her phone had indicated that whatever barrier the creator of this place had set up, were intended that things can only come in, not out.

    There was, however, a voice message left for her; though it wasn’t from who she wanted to hear from. Yet despite her conflicting mind, she pressed the button to listen.

    ‘Hey Inca, it’s Ralph,’ The message started, earning a weak sigh from the rogue.

    ‘Just hoping to hear back to you about the little plan we made, with what’s going on and all…’

    Inca’s eyes flicked back towards the tiny disco ball at the end of the hall, noticing the flickering lights. She thought of how fitting it was for the place but decided going down that road would result in nothing good. She forced herself to focus on the message instead, quickly discovering that it was of no importance. She waited for a while, tuning out Ralph’s drawled dialogue about the importance of the woman she was sent to seek out; how critical it was that they need someone with the woman’s set of skills. Nothing out of the ordinary, until the message ended.

    ‘And if nothing works,’ He said, the doubt in his words clear as day despite the poor audio, ‘Just tell her I sent for you.’

    The rogue turned off her phone, the distinct feeling of being watched quickly overwhelming her senses. What Ralph said, why was that important? Despite the overwhelming need to solve her little thought, another, more pressing thought quickly overwhelmed her senses. The serpent was here.

    The rogue jumped on her feet, though her guarded stance didn’t last long enough to count once the floor suddenly became the ceiling. She drops on her back, quickly arching in pain, this was no illusion. However, the newly found fact does nothing against the quickly spiraling walls surrounding her. She tumbles again, catching herself just for a moment on one of the cheap doorframes, before falling once more with the shift of gravity. She grunts painfully, but quickly gets back on her feet, mustering enough force to coordinate her movements to catch the right amount of balance to stay upright.

    It worked, just for a while, before the room shifted in a new pattern, and her sense of gravity lost once more. She drops again, this time slamming her face on one of the sharp edges of the door frame. She whines in pain, wincing at the familiar shade of red smudging her sight. She stands again, slow, but just enough for her to catch another glimpse of the damned disco ball. It was still flickering, taunting her; though perhaps, she may have misconstrued the message.

    She walks, which turned into a jog as the rooms spin faster under her; but she eventually caught up the flickering light. Its colorful ray wasted no time invading her bloodstained eyes, but she stayed in her place.

    ‘Come on god damn it, think!’ She scolded herself, looking around the spinning doors and walls surrounding her.

    She had tried dethatching the damned thing, even tried shattering it with her shoe; which didn’t do much when she lacked the coordination. But just as her mind decided to give up, she had noticed that the hall had ended where the disco ball was placed; and that there was only one door placed on the hallway, unlike the rest of the place that had two doors on each side of the hall.

    She let’s go of the disco ball, jogging as she put together her discovery, though that fact alone didn’t put two and two together for her. She jogged in place, making sure not to slip on a particular twist on the current floor she was standing on. She waits for the right moment, then lets herself fall.

    As expected, it wasn’t as easy as it seemed, as the lonely door was not an illusion like the beaten wall she had phased through. It needed something to open. She looked back at the disco ball, noticing the patterns on the flickering lights.

    ‘Yellow, pink, pink, blue…’ She repeated on herself, jogging up towards the flickering lights.

    She touched the lights where the pattern had indicated her, then with a final and firm push on the blue light, she pulled something out. A Small golden key, just above the size of a marble, she shouts a loud ‘finally’ before being thrown to her side by the twisting halls. She hits the wall, a sharp pang of pain quickly surging from her right ribs. She rolled over, attempting to muster enough strength to pry herself off the wall. But her move was less than calculated, as rolls onto the door, which opened before she could even insert the key she had found.

    She screamed, the fear of another fractured bone quickly flashing in her head before her body slumped in an unbelievable slow pace. She hit the ground, but only with a small thud, as the center of gravity moved to accommodate her fall. She looked up from where she was, the blinking of the leftover blood out of her vision. The room was looked familiar, the sight of broken tube TV and the booze-filled knee-high fridge were the first things that jogged up her fading memory.

     ‘I see you’ve managed to send my new toy back to his crib,’ A voice said, it’s soft tenor taunting her from where she can’t see.

    She attempts at getting up, or at least flipping herself on her back so that she may breathe; however, it was made apparent that whoever was in the room with her didn’t want her to move. She grunts at the pressure increasing on her back, noticing the person was bare-footed. Her eyes bolted around in a panic, discovering more memories inside the room's beaten interior.

    The ash littered coffee table, the spacious yet uncleaned bed, the dim white light, the windowless walls... The lacy lingerie strung around on leftover booze, displayed proudly on the crooked nightstand. Yes, it felt more than familiar. It felt like home, it felt like a prison; though she wouldn’t be surprised if it, considering the woman standing in front of her.

    ‘Hello, dear daughter,’ The woman greeted, her pearly white smile clashing against her long stringy hair.

    Inca couldn’t tell when the last time she had moved on her own. Her eyes were foggy with the amount of pain her ribs were in, though she could still see the familiar raven hair drift about from time to time. She loathed the stringy tendrils her entire lifetime and makes a not to re-dye her hair when she gets the chance to escape.

    ‘I’m sure we both know why we’re both here,’ The woman spoke again, drifting out of her sight.

    ‘Oh really,’ The rouge scoffed, ‘Then why am I tied to your bed?’

    ‘Ah, well we couldn’t risk you manually casting a spell on me, could we?’ The woman hummed, seemingly amused by the attempts girl had been making to loosen her binds. ‘Though with that being said, I’m still gracious enough to grant you the ability to speak, Inca.’

      The rogue couldn’t help but grit her teeth at her name, placed so crassly on the woman’s tongue. ‘Don’t call me that.’

    ‘Oh don’t be so difficult.’

    The rogue let out one last grunt, twisting her arms in hopes of one of it slipping from the leather bindings. She wouldn’t like to think why the damned serpent had that sort of equipment on her. However, the thought didn’t linger very long as the woman began speaking again.

    ‘I’ve noticed you’ve found my spare keys,’ The woman said, edging close enough for the rogue to see the glitzy gold. ‘I suppose I’ll have to hide it better.’

    It was the first time the rogue had a proper look at the woman, though she did try her best to hide any form of emotion from the sight. The woman had looked skinnier compared to when they’d last seen each other, pale skin draped over the bastard’s bones in a way that reminded Inca of produce sealed in airtight plastic bags; though she was quite certain that the sight would be worse under the woman’s long inky nightgown.

    ‘Why are you recruiting them?’ The rogue started, steadying her vocal cords just enough to not sound strained. ‘What do they owe you?’

    The woman shot a look back at her as if offended. ‘Recruiting? Oh, my dear Inca, I was merely saving them from the destruction in Yogyakarta!’

    ‘At what cost?’ She barked back.

     ‘I merely ask them to do one thing, dearest daughter,’ The woman replied, ‘I needed the protection.’

     Inca paused, though the girl was not by any means at a loss for words.

    ‘And in exchange, they can acquire any type of escapism they so desire,’ The woman cooed, ‘Any d**g that’s strong enough to render any of our kind wasted, shipped straight from the best.’

    ‘They’ll die trying to protect you.’

    ‘Well, there’s no use in keeping alive something so easily replaceable,’ The woman continued, ‘Though I do have compassion, believe it or not.’

    The girl scoffed, suddenly regaining the feeling of her fractured ribs. ‘And if they don’t do what you say?’

    The woman paused, then laughed softly, the weight of her hand suddenly hemming the sides of Inca’s neck. Though only for a moment, just enough to get the message across. However, once the woman’s grip fell away, so did the chatter between them. Inca was lying breathless on the bed, no having the energy to fight back. The painfully cold sensation of the woman’s hand imprinted on her neck, reminding her of the cold sensation she had felt when she entered the hallway. Though it wasn’t as brief nor forgiving as it was with the wall; the feeling stayed with her, making it hard and painful for the rogue to breathe normally.

    The woman, on the other hand, retreated back into a place where the rogue couldn’t see. Though they both knew what she was doing. A familiar sound of scrapping wood bounced through the dusty walls, as the woman slowly opened the nightstand. The dim light reflected harshly against what she was retrieving as if the object itself had a knack for absorbing light.

    ‘I know Ralph needs me, Inca,’ The woman said, closing the drawer on the nightstand. ‘You need me.’

    ‘What’s holding you back?’

    The woman paused, her shadow lingering just out of sight with the dim white light. ‘I require protection.’

    Inca couldn’t help but laugh.

    ‘I cannot risk getting killed just to help a dying district get back on its feet again,’ The woman went on, ignoring her daughter’s laughter, ‘Worst of all getting caught.’

    ‘Still a coward I see,’ The rogue finally said.

    ‘Cowardice, as you so gracefully put it,’ The woman replied, ‘Let’s me live.’

    ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve lived alright.’

    As if on cue, her lungs stopped moving. Lungs, they were the first thing Inca had noticed gone, though her slipping consciousness had told her everything else was unmovable. She recognized the spell, even without its vocal recital; though that didn’t stop her instincts from panicking.

    ‘I didn’t let my barriers down just to argue with you,’ The woman said, knowing well the girl couldn’t answer. ‘But you’ve been nothing but wretched from when you first arrived here!’

    ‘Go to hell!’ Inca screamed, though no words came out of her spellbound vessel.

    Though it was loud in her head, loud enough that someone as powerful as her mother can hear it. The dim light that aided her limited vision stopped flickering, it’s absence welcoming a new shade of blindness around her. Though the object the woman had retrieved from the nightstand still kept its light, and it’s presence lingered just out of reach from her field of vision. Though it wasn’t nearly as important as the new figure holding it.

    ‘Why you?’ It croaked. ‘Why did he send you?’

    The spell grasping Inca broke, though not all the way. Her lungs compelled her to breathe again, and she did so with no hesitation; despite the lingering pain on her right ribs. She coughed, noticing the small spittle of fluids flying out of her mouth that was just too heavy in consistency to not be blood.

    Out of instinct, she attempts in shifting her limbs, knowing the effect of the spell was still there. Though one thing she’s noticed was that her bounds were loose. The figure was still on the corner of her eye, watching; waiting for her to voice an answer.

    ‘He thought I’d be ready,’ The girl finally said, ‘I thought I’d be ready.’

    The silhouette stayed in silence.

    'But we need you.’

    ‘And I should help out of the kindness in my heart,’ The voice croaked, in what feels like an attempt of sarcasm.

    ‘We have assets.’

    A peal of laughter echoed through the room, long enough for it to sting.

    ‘I was a God once,’ The voice said, this time a bit closer, ‘A prophet of the future, they worshiped me to be.’

    ‘You can still have your glory, we-’

    ‘No!’ The voice growled, the light orb it was holding growing closer. ‘I did not surrender my power just to see you fool around with what little potential you have left.’

    ‘Then what is it that you want?’ The rogue barked.

    ‘Leave this place, it is of no use protecting.’

    The figure was close now, close enough for the girl to notice its long claws. However, the rogue was much more caught by what her mother had said. The phrase sunk a little bit deeper than Inca would like, but she couldn’t help but try and reason with it. Indonesia was a sanctuary for every kind of magic there was, it still is. Was it not worth protecting under the eyes of someone so that thrived in it, yet they were indeed greatly betrayed by it.

    ‘You can’t expect me to just-’

    ‘Really?’ The voice growled, ‘What is it that’s stopping us, most of all you.’

    The rogue opened her mouth to answer, however, whatever though she had formed in her mind was quickly swept away by the sharp pain resting on her stomach. It would appear the creature had sunk one of its claws, though keeping just enough cautions to not break the skin. Still, the rogue grunts at the foreign pressure, writhing under the possibility of a bigger hostile.

    But whatever it was doing, it didn’t stop. She didn’t stop. The pressure on the girl’s stomach stayed present, as it slowly approached to look at the girl. Of course, the girl’s hitched breath was not missed by the creature’s sensitive senses. It perked up, looking at the girl it had paralyzed, revealing it’s jet-black eyes.

    ‘I’m not leaving,’ The girl continued, ‘Not without trying first.’

    ‘Stubborn.’

    Inca opened her mouth to retort something but found her clever head empty for the moment. However, the creature stepped back, releasing its grip from her stomach. Slowly, she’d realized that her body was regaining its movement.

    ‘Why don’t you ever understand,’ The woman said, her voice back to its ordinary tenor, ‘I’m only trying to keep you alive.’

    ‘Not like this.’

    The silence was deafening, Inca slowly paced herself; re-orienting her stiff muscles to sit upright. The woman had retracted back into the corner, letting the dim white light refill the room with next to proper vision. Inca’s mind couldn’t help but keep thinking of the creature, the form of her mother she hadn’t seen in years, how small it was compared to the woman’s prime.

    ‘We will ensure discretion,’ She offered, suddenly finding how off her tongue sits in her mouth.

    ‘As Ralph had offered before you,’ The woman replied.

    ‘He…’ The rogue’s voice trailed off, finding no point in pursuing the question.

    The woman looked up. ‘I am the last of my kind, Inca.’

    The rogue kept her mouth shut, her eyes lingering at the object the woman was so keen to keep close. The object that made her mother who she was. The crystal ball glistened despite the dim light, it’s soft translucent light brushing on the soft folds on her mother’s nightgown.

    ‘If I get killed, there will be no one strong enough to make a dent on them,’ The woman said, her bony figure growing paler as she spoke. ‘And if I get captured…’

    The girl’s eyes snapped back to meet her mother’s, finding what felt like a thousand years’ worth of sorrow reflected under the raven iris. She knew of what would come next out of the woman’s mouth. However, it was only at this moment that the fact had registered properly in her mind. The woman stepped forward, just enough so to snap her out of her thoughts.

    ‘There will be no one left to stop me.’

    The drive home had rendered Vincent useless for the rest of the day, with the ever-present ringing inside his skull barraging whatever thoughts he may form in his strained physique. Not to mention the fact that Inca was nowhere to be found. He was still lucky he had people waiting for him at home.

    His steps felt heavy as he approached the front door of his house, trying his best not to fall on his face as he attempts on opening the message Inca had just sent him.

    ‘Got the deal,’ She said.

    It was all he needed for now; though it didn’t stop him from thinking about his part of the job. Retrieving camera footage from PURE systems was surely an easier feat compared to what Inca had done in his absence; though it was in no form an easy task. Still, he pushed the thought in a corner in his mind, too weary to think of it.

    He pried himself off the ground for a few more steps, cursing at gravity as the front of his foot scraped against the front doorsteps. By the time he had reached the handle, his vision had grown too blurry. However, it was only after a few disgraceful attempts at opening the door did he gave up and opted to knock the door with his head; which had already felt akin to a ton of bricks.

    The voice hadn’t registered well enough in him until he looked up, the worried expression spread across his mother’s face quickly jogging his memory back into place. He groans, clearing his voice as he re-orients himself into his surroundings.

    ‘I had to drive a friend home,’ He said simply, fighting the urge to pass out.

    ‘Your father was worried sick!’ The woman said, her hand finding its way to twirl on her long bangs. ‘He even contemplated calling the police.’

    ‘It’s fine mom…’ The boy said, hoping the wobbling he felt on his feet wasn’t as noticeable from an outsider perspective.

    Despite his efforts, the woman in front of him was still reluctant to pry more out of him. Her questions were adamant, inexorable in her impossible to ask questions. The boy stood his ground, repeating the age-old responses of a lying teenager until the second his knees gave out. He felt it as it hit him, the sudden sweep of black in his vision before the sensation of gravity winning over him. He drops, though not far enough to hit the ground. However, it worried him that hi didn’t realize his mother had caught him until he had looked up.

    ‘You went to M Block,’ The mother said, finally putting the pieces together.

    Vincent said nothing, knowing there was nothing more he could do to ease the wave of worry presented in front of him. He could hear the door being closed behind him, and he could feel his body being dragged to the dusty living room couch. He winced at the impact of his head hitting the cushiony surface, his ears still much too sensitive for any sudden environmental change.

    ‘We told you not to get involved,’ His mother said.

    He opened his mouth, though nothing ever came out.

    ‘Vincent you have to understand that this fight isn’t one you can win,’ The woman continued, kneeling beside the couch to stroke his head. ‘When your father and I realized what you were-’

    ‘Stop…’

    ‘-We knew we had to hide you away,’ The woman finished. ‘To protect you.’

    Vincent grits his teeth, finding the pressure had hurt his ears more; though he could care less about it. He wanted to speak, he wanted to argue. He wanted to do so much, however, the urge to sleep was beginning to form a tidal wave in his eyes. In spite of it, he could still feel the pressure of the couch scrunched in his palm. He was angry, most of all he could feel it.

    It was a good sign.

    His mother didn’t leave his side until he had slept, churning on phrases that had once kept him docile as a child. Phrases of impossibility, phrases of the same hindrance, phrases that marked the people he saw as cowards. However, as the will to keep himself awake slowly seeped away, he did acknowledge that there was some truth to what his mother had said.

    It was one of the last few phrases he had heard before drifting to sleep, just after the remark of how his father initially wanted him dead. He remembered what his mother said, verbatim to her tone of speech.

    ‘To tell you the truth, no one wins in war.’

    It was maybe then that she may think he had already slept, and she went on to sing his childhood melodies. It was also then that she had recited a quick healing spell, something he hadn’t seen her do in a very long time, yet the sensation he had felt had remained all the same. The soft emerald light, the feeling of floating, and the faintest smell of calendula. She was always a good healer.