The Lazarus Effect

Prelude

Centuries bled into seconds.  If I squinted and tilted my eyes to the stars, they almost didn't look like they were burning. 

I started the evening as a murderer. That wasn't the issue. Nor were the burning bodies. It was that my hands were turning blue instead of red. 

The faceless crowd cheered—moving under the veil of night. 

I knew the man missing half his face as 23.

Divide your hold by threes by sundown and settle for empty hands come sunrise. Oti bet four shells I would never return. I didn't take him up on that one, I didn't like my odds.

Humans waste time stockpiling tools. Just for The Something to come in many different forms and pockets of time swallow every dimension they persist in. It never came all at once, and never in its expected shape. 

It was a thin tightrope we walked, and nothing was certain except for the ground. Oti and I were the first twins born since the End Bringer. I had an invisible line tethered to his throat and vocal cords, looping back to mine. Sometimes, we came to an understanding without a single word exchanged. Mostly, it took hours of frustrating practice in secret.

Oti enjoyed more alone time then I could stomach. He enjoyed few voices. I didn't blame him. People had a way of staying and leaving.

Margaret said this would happen. In fewer words than I could have managed. Though I should have been building my stability on top of hers the story didn't end with her, and it wouldn't end with me. Someone, somewhere, with a bleeding heart would try what they believed was their first and last time to revolt. One was all that was needed to spark a fire; two to cause a reaction. The myth came from somewhere. Somewhere the torrid dirt pleaded for rainfall, where even a drizzle warranted celebration. Any leader worth their weight goes down with the ship. 

I follow the friar's lantern and find the hand of my sister.