Ece counts the frameless doors she has passed so far. Fifteen devastated oaken and twenty half-broken ones.
Splinters of cheap chandeliers litter beneath her soles after the quake she caused.
She ignores them. Only focusing at the continuous squeaks haunting her earshot like a cornered rodent, sourcing from the trembling woman in front of her.
"Please...spare us." Said the woman, whose room is stripped bare of normalcy.
Blood stands out amongst the batik patterns of her loosened hijab, revealing a gashed forehead and a sticky black Rapunzel hair. Her pleas radiate from her nested fingers around her infant to the hot tears mixing with her facial blood.
All the while, a conflict between ambition and sympathy explodes within Ece's head.
The jewel gets irked and slashes her internal palm, causing a gasp to erupt. The recently captured souls swarm like eels, urging to break free from their prison.
All while her head's in a severe tantrum.
"What makes you think you'll be spared?" When her voice exits, it's a mixture of pain and rigidity. "After you witnessed how I swept your entire colony?"
The woman's knees succumb to her fear's pressure, toppling her to the tidied bed. The baby crawls out of his protection, still plastering an unmasked joy, which cuts Ece's hardened defense.
"Nobody's killed. I'll only borrow your days temporarily, and set you free afterward. I'm here to save others' lives, while sparing yours." And I'll trade your souls for money and fame to those who needs to be healed from the dark plague.
The baby's grinning screech blasts midways, shaking Ece's lowering faith in her schemes. The woman, however, has difficulties in apprehending her situation.
She's never suffered something as confusing and risky as this back in Rohingya's camp. She's scared for her life. For Asmat's future.
If only her husband is here to shield them both.
And this girl mustn't be older than her unschooled nephew, Salah. Still, the girl's capability is as feared as the violence she suffered from the militaries.
The woman expects a shift of mood. Hesitation. A transforming tone and a receding glare. A calming breathing phase, an apology, and a retreat.
However, her stomach skydives to the floor once none of those occurs. Instead, a sentence sends her insides thrashing like ravagers.
"I'm deeply sorry."
The lights suck themselves off her vision, in sync with a sniff. A scream races off her throat but smothered by the thick darkness hugging her.
Her brain racks for an escape route. But none of her sensory abilities can respond.
Asmat screeches, wailing. He has destroyed her motherly confidence by surrendering into this torturing whirlpool.
He should've clung to her shawl only. That way, her arms, no matter how pathetic they are, can shield his year-old body.
The sobs continue as the darkness presses tightly around her, squeezing her soul out like whipped cream. Her limbs fail to avoid the rough materials grazing her coarse skin, resulting in stings from her physical defense.
Everything—her world—is collapsing, piling over her to-be-corpse.
Zap! The world stops rotating. And there's a gap of emptiness within her physique. Yet, after all those, the darkness never dissolves itself.
YOU ARE READING
Sinister (COMPLETED / TO BE REWRITTEN)
FantasyLife has many things in store for Raiden within a week. His parents' debts result in his house being confiscated. His sister, Ece, is missing, leaving anemone petals as his only guide. Shortly afterwards, his ex-crush, who's supposed to be dying at...
