The Eden Projects (EDITING)

Chapter 7. Bridges.

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

Kasper had experienced both. 

Yet, Kasper was a conflicted individual, with two opposing aspects of himself constantly vying for dominance. This situation was no exception. He recognized his own brokenness. But still he wondered if the dead truly stayed dead. 

"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 shape. His father and all that he had been was diminished to a bag of decaying bones and caramelized grease, a hollow shell of dreams left unfulfilled. Like a fungus, the edges 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. 

Kasper bit back against the urge to vomit. 

Just to the left was another body, more fragile, more haunting. Her hand, or what was left of it, had slipped from under the blanket. Fingertips gnawed to the bone, having been tasted by some passing animal, curled and buckled at the knuckles. A single gaudy ring resting in the spoil of one finger. She rested on the muddy runner that had been kicked into the corner, the fabric stained and torn, a silent witness to the chaos that had unfolded. The air was thick with an unbearable stench, despair clung to the room like a shroud, and Kasper could hardly breathe.

He pressed his palms into his eyes. Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. There was pain there, somewhere along the chain linking that bound up his chest. But it was vestigial. Only a part of a bigger thing he had yet to identify. He had grown accustomed to its weight. So he stared, and the corpses stared back. 

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. "I tried to stop it. I really did." The words hung in the air, as Kasper's jaw clenched. "I did this." He tugged at his hair. "I tried." 

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.

Pushing through the darkness that reached out to him, he felt tormented, and it was often more complicated than the term implied. It was deeper than that. Even at this moment, his Father aimed to consume him; he represented an ideal, with the past being only a fragment of his affliction, it somehow cast a shadow over everything that followed. He felt powerless. Overwhelmed by fear, he stumbled down the stairs and crossed the unkempt yard.

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, fear, fear beckoned him to the now and away, away, away from his past. It fractured and splintered beneath his skin into countless sticky tendrils.

He felt as if he were burning from within.

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