The Eden Projects (EDITING)

Chapter 7. Bridges.

There's a difference between knowing that someone has died and witnessing their death firsthand. 

Kasper had experienced both. 

Yet, no matter how much he tried, his mind was conflicted, Kasper wondered if the dead truly stayed dead. Was death truly the end? Or a simple transfer of consciousness. 

"Dad..." He dropped to his knees slowly with a huff.

The white sheet that covered the remains of his father had molded in the body fluids to an oddly human-esque shape. Uncanny in the way the folds fell. Like a fungus, the trimmings of his jerky-crisp skin had melded to the wood veneer floor, swelling the surrounding surface in a macabre display of death's insidious grip. It was all of it filled with moss, spiders, and creeping things. 

Kasper bit back against the urge to do anything other than sit. 

He reached to the lump of blankets that sat just to the side of his father. His fingers grazing the hollowed corklike bones of another hand. The air was thick with an unbearable stench, despair clung to the room like a shroud, and Kasper could hardly breathe. Somehow, he knew this was where he belonged. Out there he simply played at living. He pressed his palms to his eyes. I'm so tired. There was pain there, somewhere along the chain linking that bound up his chest. But it was vestigial. An aching part of a bigger thing he had yet to identify. This is my sin. Isn't it.

It was then he realized that he had gotten taller. Or maybe the threat those two bodies posed had gotten smaller. Either way, something had changed. His foot hit the corner of the bed, and he jolted, the sudden impact sending a ripple of discomfort through his body. He wiped his nose, feeling the moisture on his skin, setting the gun on the bed as he settled against it. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, speaking to the house that had raised him. "This is all your fault." Kasper's jaw clenched. "Look what you did to me." 

Something rattled near the window. 

Kasper cringed. 

A soft clicking echoed beyond the broken pane. 

"Shit-" He whispered, quickly wiping the heated sweat from his face. "Shit-"  

...RUN...

Kasper's head throbbed and his muscles tensed.

...RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN...

In a flurry he was up and moving through the living room, trembling as he took the front steps in stride. The night buzzed with vibrant hues, blending together like oil swirling on water, as the blood coursing through Kasper's veins surged in a frantic rush. Fear beckoned him to the now and away from his past. It fractured and splintered beneath his skin into countless sticky tendrils.

He felt as if he were burning from within.

He shouldn't have done this. 

"AGH!" He stumbled over the curb, and his head collided with the ground in a dull thud. The firearm he was clutching skidded away across the asphalt. Kasper buried his face into the fabric of his jacket. He inhaled, though it offered little relief and tucked his legs beneath him.

Witching hour.

"Breathe-" He shut his eyes, curling up in the shadows. His stomach twisted; his heart raced with a fury unbecoming of something so given to death.

....they can smell you...

"I need-"

...get up...

"A minute." He felt himself slip. The sensation of losing grip wasn't entirely unwelcome; it starkly reminded him of the calmness he currently lacked.

I need to run.