They swung open the cage door, cattle prods at full power, humming with electricity. The man lazily lifted his hands in surrender. "Now, now." He said softly. His voice was like velvet. "No need. I'll do as you please." The man in the cage said, his...
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The cawing of crows woke her from her nightmares of fighting men and wolfs eyes. Her sweating face was flush to the soft fabric of a cream pillow case, faint white beams of light shining cold through a gap in the curtains onto her. Theo cracked an eye, and was met by the soft brilliance of a rising moon.
The treetops reached for that soft light, but the apartment building rose high enough above them that she had an unobstructed view of the sky. There were a billion stars in that sky, like dust scattered across a canvas.
Even the carpet was cold on her feet as she stood and moved to the window. A raucous caw broke the silence of the room again, and yanked the curtains back the rest of the way to reveal a bird on the windowsill with a horribly red piece of meat in its beak. It sat there for a moment, studying her as she studied it. A branch and the rattle of something against the brick of the building sent it flying.
Her breath hitched, and she almost considered not looking. When she mustered the courage to lean forward, her forehead pressed against the glass, and laid eyes on it, she let out a flustered breath. Just a deer picking its way to the edge of the building where the dusting of snow was lightest to nibble at a clump of dead looking grass.
She made a concerted effort to laugh at herself, blaming an overactive imagination. She pulled the wispy orange curtains closed. They were thin and gauzy- perfect for turning all the light in the room a gentle shade of orange if the sun were to ever come out. They were so fitting for her. The whole room was. Dime was.
That night she'd come haggard to his door, fingers clenched tightly together to give her even an ounce of luck and to hang onto the little warmth in her hands as the cold wind nipped at her through her too-thin gloves. Her brother had opened the door, but it wasn't really him. He was so much bigger, broad in the chest and shoulders, muscles rippling down his arms and visibly through his sweater.
Behind him unfolded a lovely home, with its expansive kitchen that smelled like vanilla and lemon. Great big plush couches were artfully arranged around the living area, perfectly cast in the soft yellow glow of the many lamps in the room. The paint on the walls was immaculate, not a spot of color on the white ceiling.
The only thing that she recognized of her brother was the haphazard way the Christmas lights were strewn up, and the cardboard box of decorations tucked into the corner. It had their most precious ornaments from home- he'd taken them when he left.
Their father had been mad at the thievery, but only on principle. He couldn't have cared less about the missing memories, the haphazard popsicle stick picture frames with their childhood pictures. Mother had been different- wounded- but she fought not to show it. She was a good woman, but she'd always been stiff and cold and unwitting as to how to go about raising children. Theo had always wondered in passing if her biological mother would have been any different.
Theophania unfurled her fingers from around the delicate material of the curtain as she forced herself off that train of thought. This visit was about her brother, not her parents. She'd gone as far as to leave her phone behind so that they couldn't contact her, and she wasn't about to spoil the isolation of her brothers home on tainted nostalgia.
