The Only She

Chapter 1- Brother, Oh Brother

I awake to the smell of burning fabric. The end of my sleeve, or what was left of it, was burnt and a crisp black char. You'd think that over a year in the woods I'd know to sleep away from a fire.

My father was the one that taught me about nature; how to make camp and keep it and how to hunt animals.

He was the one who sent me out here in the first place.

I didn't understand then, why he would banish his only daughter to the woods, and for what?

Three months after he dropped me off in the middle of nowhere, I found my way back.

The house was still and quiet. Unusual because when it was sunny my mother would be outside, or my little brother, Jonas, would be running around in the grass.

I crept to the porch and knocked on the door. No one answered. The cars were in the driveway, but it seemed nobody was home. I would've left if it weren't for the X on the wooden door. I turned and slammed my weight against the door, forgetting it was probably unlocked.

Inside the floors were rotting, and it smelled like mold and corrosion. The living room was clear, and I called for my parents and for Jonas. Again no one answered. My heart raced and I went around checking rooms, dodging piles of broken glass or rotted floorboards. I got to my parents' room, at the back of the house, leaving a few rooms to explore later.

The door was shut, but I went inside anyways. It smelled like vomit mixed with smoke. I understood where the smell was coming from. In my parents' bed was my mother, her tan skin now pale.

On her covers was the vomit, and a substantial amount of something red. Blood? I went to her side of the bed and pulled back the covers. The face that was once beautiful was now covered in sores. Her hands and legs were shriveled, and she had dark spots on them.

I turned and ran out of the room, shutting the door behind me. Where was dad, and where was Jonas? My question was answered when I went into his room. I found Jonas, but not dad. He was curled in the floor, and I scrambled over to him, praying for him not to be dead. A stench worse than vomit filled this room, but all I could think of was Jonas.

I felt for his pulse, at first finding nothing. Then I heard a faint rhythm on my fingers. He was alive.

My heart throbbed now, and I held my hand over it. He died a few months later from the same virus that killed my mother. When my dad sent me away, he told me I needed to go and find something for him. I didn't know where to look, but I would find it. Whatever the cost.