in which a girl with a heavy burden tries to find her way through the trials and torments of the earth they've come home to.
OR
in which she must rebuild.
EMBERS
JOHN MURPHY
DEATHLIES 2016
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN T...
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F O R T Y F O U R
Everything happened so quickly. One minute, she was flirting with Murphy, curling her hair around her fingertips and the next the entire food tent was up in flames with the four of them stood outside looking up at it in disbelief, despite it being inevitable.
And they sung to her in her mother's voice: positively mellifluous. Simply wonderful to the ears and it only made Althea want to dance with the flames, allow her body to sway in time with their flickering movements and to feel the power of their roar in her veins, but she did not move.
She let the nefarious flames spin their tune and absorbed every word of it, letting the memory of her mother's voice drift between her ears. And it was absolute serendipity. The food was burned and the flames only seemed to be curling higher and higher into the sky, their heat only growing, but the voice of the only one who had ever understood her curse seemed to revive her, even if just a little. It was still enough to dust the feathers clean.
And, in a sudden epiphany of true love, the voice simplified and she soaked up every utterance.
"Mother," She whispered, the flames reflections in her eyes.
"Althea, my beloved daughter, you have grown so much. Your aura pulses with power and... strength against what threatens to swallow you whole. The boy... you must be weary of the boy. His anger swells, it swells like the rivers long ago. Be careful and be smart, darling. Do not let the heart compel you," Her mother's voice said, drifting through the evening air. If she could bottle it up, she would. Althea never wanted to forget her voice: not if it meant letting go.
"I will be who I need to be," Althea breathed, her fingers curling into her palms.
But there was no reply. The flames lurched, bending and struggling as if there were a force tugging on its very being.
And Althea swore she could see her mother's face in the flames, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. It was briefly soothing, but, as soon as the image dissipated, the ache swelled once more.
There wasn't time to cry.
Not as Murphy launched himself at Del, shouting at him with anger that could compare to the grieving flames as they wailed into the night. Althea's lips parted, but no words could escape her. They choked her: getting caught in her throat and seemed to burn into her flesh the longer they lingered as if they were fighting to be released.
"This is all your fault! We told you it was too much wood!" Murphy shouts, pushing Del back and snapping Althea out of her enraptured state.
The euphoria was dismissed in seconds, which in a sense she was thankful for because the urge to walk into the flames to her mother was growing within herself. Whilst she was aware of it, there was little she could do to control the compulsion. She was corrupt, but a part of her still fought fiercely.
