World Eater

50

THE TELEVISION FILLED THE AIR WITH A LOW MURMUR, BUT IT WASN'T ENOUGH TO DROWN OUT THE RINGING IN SARIEL’S EARS. He reclined his head against the back of the couch, watching the ceiling fan spin with half open eyes.

His stomach was empty, but the gnawing in his gut had reduced to a mere annoyance. Sariel didn't have the energy to eat, even if the nausea that had plagued him for days finally ceased.

How could he have been so blind? The man was right- this was his fault.

He was Alzar’s legal guardian, his father. He was supposed to take care of him, not let him go off the deep end.

Sariel had been reliving the entire month leading up to that day, but nothing came off as suspicious. Had there been warning signs? Could he have stopped this?

Could he have saved all those lives?

Sariel let his eyes fall to the amber bottle on the coffee table. He hadn't taken his medication for almost a week. What was the point?

He pulled himself to his feet, swaying as he stumbled into the kitchen. His hands followed his brain’s directions with a lazy delay, sluggishly bringing a glass from the cabinet. Lukewarm water dribbled from the faucet as a soreness clutched his throat. Vacantly, he gazed out the window, watching raindrops slide against frame.

He brought the glass to his cracked lips, only for his heart to skip a beat. For a split second, his hand changed. Was it a claw? A hoof?

Sariel dropped the glass with a shriek, staggering into the counter. He slid to the floor, his breath ragged. He open his eyes, daring to look.

All he saw were pale knuckles and quivering fingers.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sariel let his head slip between his knees. The puddle of glass and water only made him feel silly. It was all in his head.

Again.

A curt knock broke his feverish silence. A visitor? He hadn't seen another person for days.

A soft voice spoke, one Sariel thought he would never hear again: “Uncle?”