The Monster Within

Abomination

Year 2115

April

Province of the Pacific Northwest

"Hollis!"

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling onto her back in the tall grasses, staring up at the swaying tops of pines and evergreens. The smell of dirt and sap tickled her nose, but it was a familiar scent, a comfort, much like the old leather book in her grasp. She let it thud closed to her chest as her mother yelled again from their porch. Wasn't she always the one warning Hollis to be quiet, to never draw attention to themselves?

Hollis had always asked from whom they should stay hidden, but after last year, she had her answer in the form of a dark red puddle, her older sister's face pale and perfect and lifeless. Their small family still felt the sting of tragedy each day they lived without her.

"Come help with dinner," her mother demanded, and her tone had an air of finality to it. Sighing, Hollis pushed herself up, tucking the book under her arm and traipsing back through the brush to their quaint cottage, its slatted wood walls bleached in some areas by the sun, and the green tin roof covered in pine needles. It was all Hollis had ever known. This house, and their top three rules: never leave the property, never be seen by a stranger, and if you are, never speak to them.

As a child, Hollis had tempted fate more times than not, being the more stubborn and brash of the two, but without Willow, she'd reigned in her curious, fiery nature. Her duty was to care for her grandmother and protect her mother. They were the last of the humans, made even more rare because of their gender. Males seemed to have an easier go in this brutal new world, especially ones with wealth.

Mounting the porch steps, she swung open the screen door, greeted by the blaring television. She hated herself everyday for figuring out how to make the damn thing work, its noisiness permeating through even her dreams. Mother said it comforted Grandma, which felt ironic to Hollis.

"Damn these newscasters!" she quipped from her reclining chair, the reddish fabric worn and stitched. Hollis rolled her eyes, tossing her book to the table before rolling up her sleeves. Although it was nearing summer, this part of their province was still prone to blustering, frigid winds and unannounced rainstorms.

Her mother, nearing her sixties, stood at the sink in her favorite faded blue apron, peeling potatoes, her thick, dark hair streaked with grey and pulled back into a tight bun. She approached, nudging her mother with her hip in a playful manner. Their bond was deep and unbreakable, and Hollis had grown to be her mother's equal in the last few years, able to share her thoughts as an adult. It was a welcome change, but at times, Hollis still felt a child at heart.

"I don't understand why we are forced to listen to her shit—"

Her mother leveled her with a look, and Hollis rolled her eyes, gripping a small knife and dicing the peeled potatoes.

"It comforts her."

"Well, it grates on my nerves," Hollis said to the knife, wondering if that was the instrument that had ended her sister's life. Her mother shook her hands free of excess water, wiping them on her apron before moving to the stovetop. Their electricity was spotty at best, and they often had to resort to the hearth to prepare meals.

"Ignore it, then," she said as she passed by. Hollis grit her teeth at her mother's unwavering answers to everything.

"Hollis," she chided, and she glanced over her shoulder to the dining table, where her mother stood by her book.

"What?" she asked, still annoyed with her entire day—and life.

"This was your father's. Please take better care of it," she said. In truth, Hollis didn't remember her father. He'd died when she was less than a year old, and in that twenty-year span, she'd never met another human outside of her family. They used to have a neighbor named Elena, but she'd died of old age many years ago, and in Hollis' mind, she didn't count.