The Flower Chronicles

Chapter 8: 17 Years Ago

Narration

I stand enchained in a dark space. I can barely breathe. Flickers of white light pass slowly above me. It felt like some force had blocked me out of my conscience, like I am living inside a waking nightmare. A while ago, I could hear voices, familiar voices. I swear it was Aaron screaming my name, but everything is so dark and faint in here. I guess the party's over for me.

I wish I could see Aaron again. His cute face makes me smile. I want to feel safe. Now I feel alone. I need him now.

My only comfort now is my past. I have always been depressed. I am so worthless. I cannot do anything right. Aaron is sweet, but he deserves better. I am not good enough. Dad was never around. Government sure kept him busy. Mom went mental on her drugs. And what have I really done in life? Nearly flunked school, fought in the streets... and cried hurting in the night. Aaron doesn't understand that. He wouldn't. He's too innocent. I would scare him away, like everyone in my life. He doesn't know the real me. No one does... except my father. He's the past I can cling to! If I am dying, this will be my dying memory:

____________________

"Daddy! Wait! Tell me the bedtime story again," little Kelly whimpered, tucked warm in her bed. I had not yet started school, perhaps only four or three years old. I always struggled to settle down at night, always imagining through my doodles and chapter books. My father, on the other hand, strained to stay awake with his work. That was when he was home. His government job required him to travel for months at a time. Mom proved the only caretaker in my life, but a dark past haunted her. Her heavy eyes and detached self struggled to physically care as she should. Left to myself most days, I sat in her room imagining with my stupid dolls and playhouse. I escaped from the loneliness with wild fantasies, fed by his dad's tales of grandeur.

"Pumpkin! It's nearly 9 o'clock. You know, I always get carried away with our stories. Mom wants..." the dad started off.

I interrupted with a pouty whine, "Mom's asleep! She's always sleepy daddy. But you can tell the short version... skip up to the Wedding! Please!!"

"Well alright pumpkin, but you have to listen very carefully. Don't fall asleep on me! These stories are important."

The Darkest of Demons

The brave man, Brandus by name, stood beside the fat tigron Faziar in the narrows of the catacombs. The undead Lord Largred waited beyond the bronze double doors. The gleam of the metal bounced off their torches. Luna brought them this far, but she would go no further. Her friend Melony had already fallen victim to the dead king's wrath.

"After you... Don't worry, I won't leave you to die. Though I don't particularly like you at this point, I need you alive. You know more about what's happening in the world than anyone in Garia," Brandus said somberly.

"I know enough," The cat creature hissed. Then he burst open the heavy doors. The cool wind rushed past them snuffling their torch light. A faint blue light illuminated parts of the darkness like shades of gloom in a faint dream state. Along the walls of the narrow passage  lay skulls lined neatly in rows with burial slots between. As they journeyed along, some sections of tombs appeared to have copper seals with an inscription. The writing, obscured and in an forgotten script, echoed curses over those who might disturb the dead. Perhaps this catacomb belong to kings or priest of an age long ago. The messages became more frequent and frightening. The walls engrossed with crude pictographs as they walked quietly. Depictions of destruction and pain in white paint covered the walls and skulls like the tattoos of a madman stretching over the body of stone. It sent shivers down Brandus' back, but he knew at least it meant he was headed in the right direction.