Not Like You (The Simian Forest Saga: Vol. I)

The Illusion [XXI]

The rain seeped into his scalp, his coat stuck to his sinewy body. The woods were dark and dreary and deep, coaxing him further and further away from home, his little search party coming to stop near the old mill pond. A spider's web stretched between two blades of grass, the droplets from the misty haze of precipitation turning to glass in the tinny light. His chest felt heavy and hollow, as if his lungs were a burden within his rib cage. He felt nothing: food never tasted right, colours were absent, and even his sense of smell was lacking, only filled with the damp smell of water and earth. Heavy, hollow, colourless, tasteless, musty. Slate's amber eyes gleamed with nothing but burning ire, his stony facade having returned after the human he cared for had all but vanished, her whereabouts and ultimate fate unknown to him.

Ilam stirred the dirt beside him, leaf-litter slick from the sky's endless crocodile tears, the mud coating his feet. Slate wandered over toward the edges of the long-since empty, partially collapsed grain processing edifice. The rest of the group was settled amongst one another, huddled against the autumn chill, heads ducked as they spoke and made small-talk. They were reviewing evidence while their chief instructors explored the rest of the premises. It was human-made architecture, which had always been boring to look at until recently. Now, with nature claiming the earth as its own after a horrible battle against man, the woods were beginning to expand and feast upon once barren land. Moss and lichen choked everything in its path, emerald vegetation spreading like wildfire.

Slate disturbed a nesting rock pigeon, the bird taking flight in a panic and racing for safety. With a chuff, he raised a hand and warded off its vigorous wing beats, the concussive sound filling his ears. The floorboards of the old mill were stingy and beginning to bow, the concave ceiling and western wall allowing a steady stream of pooling water to fall to earth, along with slick tendrils of algae. The building stirred, the chimp following along behind in tandem. "Your brother," he rasped, drawing his attention as they split, scrounging for clues. Slate's head tilted up over his shoulder, raising one of the old floorboards, as if his hulking sibling could be hiding there.

'He has gone mad.'

"He has.. managed to," Slate paused, grunting within his throat, speaking drily to his companion. "Flee like.. a coward."

Ilam's amused bray hit the air. 'Much like Koba.'

The mention of his father had become something he was indifferent to, especially since the entire issue of Pine's sudden homicidal actions arose. Slate could still feel Krissa's constricting throat, hear her strangled cries as he held what little of her blood he could within her lacerated neck. 'Too much like him,' he agreed. Even after it had been four days since the incident, he still awoke each morning with that nagging fear, hoping that she would be dozing beside his sister in the next nest over, and that he hadn't watched her nearly bleed to death before his very eyes.

"Poppy," his companion piped up. His hands moved with hesitance, unsure if he should be bringing up his timid sibling at this moment. The petite female had not spoken a word to anybody, whatsoever, not even to old Maurice. 'Is she talking at all?'

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he did not dignify the chimp's question with an answer. Those thoughts about his sister-- the ones about how she could have been connected all along, the ones where he could not even trust his dear sister, the ones where he sometimes found himself wondering if perhaps Pine had not threatened her innocent soul into silence -- they grew thick and heavy in his coarse fur. It was as if he had been spattered with hot beeswax and he was struggling to tug it out without losing hair or bleeding. The subject that was Poppy was something he wished to keep on the sidelines. His main concern: the devil that was his brother. Slate crept along to one of the doors, hanging unceremoniously upon its eroding hinges. Dusty remains of human bones were tucked off in the corner in the neck room. A mouse skittered across the floor, as large as his palm.