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Priyanshi Madaiyar

Children Fantasy

3.7  

Priyanshi Madaiyar

Children Fantasy

Falling Clouds

Falling Clouds

6 mins
1.1K


THE WOMAN: I couldn't find him.

I didn't know how long it had been since I'd begun the quest. I only knew that it took effort it shouldn't have to keep my back from slipping into a hunch, to raise my feet and lower them without my toes tumbling into a bash to the ground, to keep my eyes open and my thoughts (thought, singular) and myself from slipping into oblivion. 

I must find

A scream slashed my thoughts.

I halted, before immediately regretting doing so. My shoulders sighed, and my knees pleaded for a reprieve. Despite admonishment, my eyes slipped shut. Maybe it wouldn't

Another scream. 

Yes, it would. 

I wrenched open my eyes, before yanking them in the direction of the cry. There. Three people. No, four. 

A girl—small, unmarked, cold eyes. A boy—small, unmarked, bored eyes. Another—tall, obscure, tired eyes. A man—hunched, blistered, eyes lowered and knees digging into the ground. Something glinted in the shadows clinging to the boy's palms, and I looked away before I accidentally saw too much. It's better to see as little as possible. It's best if you see nothing at all. 

I wound my body—the scene having made it a little more compliant—to the other side. I could make out a cleft in the churning, ashen haze wilting before me. An alley—or what remained of it, anyway—snaking into a solid unknown. I made my way towards it, slipping into the haze and then through it.

 A woman slumped against a crumbling wall, her legs splayed on the ground beneath her. My eyes raked the blotches of white skin in the yellow crust that had devoured the rest of her body. Her face was Unmarked, her eyes closed, her lips chapped and pursed. A ribbon of oozing, yellow Mark criss-crossed her neck—a curved talon grabbing for her shrewd jawline, but never quite reaching it. Beside the woman, facing a yawning hole in the wall, sagged a man—or what I assumed was a man. The haze eddied around him, reluctant to let go. When it finally parted, my eyes swallowed his Marked back and thighs—the only bits of his carcass that had dared linger behind. The reek emanating from the pair was so annihilating that it left little room for any other stench.   

I should look away. I couldn't look away.

"Catch it, stub!" 

I started, my head snapping sideways. The haze swept apart. Near the dead end were a group of what would've once been called children. There were no children anymore; the official classifications were: Quandary (<1), Liability (1—2), Hermit (2—4), Pig—Headed (4—8), Adult (8—12), Lucky Bastard (12—18), Corpse (18—21) Zombie (21+). 

They were mostly adults (there were two Pig Heads, though; one Marked, the other Unmarked), and almost all of them were shivering and naked. They were fanned in a loose circle around a Hermit boy who was clutching something in his one good hand. The other one ended in a stump, and he seemed to be using it to fend off a snarling, bare chested Unmarked Adult girl with soiled, crimson underwear and dribbling gashes on her thighs. The Hermit stumbled, before hurling the object that he'd been clutching. There were shouts and a brief scuffle, before a Pig—head Marked girl cuffed the girl with the crimson underwear and stumbled to her feet, sneering as she delicately balanced the object between her cheek and shoulder (she didn't have arms). 

"She's got it, she's got it! Run, Run, before they get you!

Ah, so that's what they were playing. 

The girl with the red underwear had seized the object and was being chased by the little Hermit. The haze churned, swallowing them. Then it pulled apart. The game had paused. 

The children had clustered around the girl with the red underwear. She was splayed over the flagstones, silent and inert. A (Liability) boy prodded the curve of her waist with his toe. I noticed that all of the fingers in his feet were still intact. 

"She Corpse?" 

He nodded. "Yep." 

The little hermit kneeled, before beginning to pry the Corpse's fingers open. It was easy now. Too easy. "I call her wear." He rose, clutching the object and the Corpse's clothing in his palm. "I got her."  

The band dispersed, before beginning to circle around him. 

The Pig Head cocked her head. "Yeah? Maybe I'll get you too, then." 

And so it began. 

I didn't know how long I stood there, watching her—the girl with the red underwear. The children, snarling and careening around her, playing a game that wasn't a game any longer. She wasn't shivering anymore.

I don't know how long I watched before he appeared. The man. He was watching the girl too. Then he raised his eyes, caught me with his gaze. I didn't know which one of us looked away first. 

I had lingered too long. 

I have to find him.

THE BOY: I had never been this warm. 

Actually, I had never been warm before. But this—this isn't what I'd imagined warm to feel like. Warm was supposed to feel, you know, good. Nice. (Although I didn't know what nice or good felt like, either). But this wasn't warm. This felt like—

"You're burning." 

Judging from the look on sis's face, 'burning' wasn't a good word. 

She pulled her palm from my forehead and reached for her ear, before faltering and letting her hand drop to her knees. She was going to tuck back her hair—she'd deny it if I asked her, but I know that she was going to. Except, she doesn't have hair anymore. For a long time, sis had been the only Adult that I'd known to still have hair (not that I knew many adults). Hair was impractical; the haze made it matted and tangled, it could be used against you in a fight, and it was a sign of weakness—you were too much of a child (bad word) to Let Go.

I'd cried the first time I'd seen the bulges and cords trying to poke out of her skill. I should've been happy—we were like twins now!—but I'd loved twisting and untwisting the tough strands between my fingers when (if) sis fell asleep. 

"You need that." A pause. "And That."

  1. that (small t; emphasis on the last t): food.  2. That (big t; emphasis on the first t): water. 

The two words I wasn't allowed to say, ever. Ever. In fact, I wasn't even allowed to think them, and sis would be mad if she found out that I was. People have been taken, she'd told me. And worse, for even whispering the words to themselves. I couldn't even imagine anything shoddier than being Taken, so it must be pretty, you know, worse. I would've lied and told her that I didn't, but I had stopped being able to feel my tongue. I would've shaken my head, but I couldn't feel my face, either. 

"I'll be back soon, okay? Just—just—stay here, okay?"

In my head, I frowned. Where would I go? Why would I go anywhere? I was a Pig-Head, but sis never let me go out with the others. Honestly, it would've really sucked if I hadn't loved our new place so much. Sis and I were constantly moving because of her 'work' (whatever it was; I didn't get to ask questions—she was the Adult, not me). I couldn't remember all of the places we'd lived in—I forgot about them almost as soon as we moved out. But I didn't think that I'd ever forget about this place. 

This wasn't like our other places (I think?)—It was an apartment. The walls were mostly intact (there was a giant hole in the window beneath our room that sis said I wasn't supposed to go near), and we couldn't keep The Haze completely out because the door didn't have a, well, door and the ceiling sagged in a scary way and the place was just so quiet and it smelled like sister had hidden a Corpse beneath the floorboards (maybe she had?) and we didn't have any furniture but it was an apartment. In a building. Or well, the bottom half of the building, anyways. The top had been blown off during The Small War.

The Small War. Once again, I found myself imagining it (I hadn't been born; sis hadn't either). I didn't know much about it, only what sis had told me. That some idiot had dropped the Big Bomb, and then all the other idiots had followed. Then there had been the Big Wars in the Aftermath. A lot of people had survived the Small War—more than they had estimated, anyways. But then the Big Wars had happened for that and That and people and buildings had started falling like—

Well, like the clouds that had fallen from the sky after the Big Bomb. 

And then in the after part of the aftermath, after The Haze was born and the sky vanished, whatever people were left behind started getting Marked from the aftereffects of The Small War. Like mum and dad and bro—they're all Corpse now. Soon, sis and I will be Corpse too. I was still imagining all of us being Corpse together (finally!) when I heard her voice. 

"There you are. I've been looking for you." 

THE WOMAN: The Afterlife was swept up in a revolt, and I was utterly exhausted. 

 "Come, boy. It's time for you to die."

The boy looked like he was already Corpse. Though Unmarked, he seemed to be stitched of bones instead of flesh, and his eyes had already begun to seal when I appeared. I advanced into the collapsing room, before kneeling on the ground beside him and extending my arms. The boy wrenched open his eyes, and I noticed his crumbling body make a movement that would've been imperceptible had I been human.

I froze. People used to do it all the time, trying to escape me—or Death, whatever you liked to call us (yes, I'm a woman; no, I'm not the only one). But that had been before. Before, when people would sprint away from, not hurl into, our flickering, unfurled arms. No one tried to escape anymore. They only tried to break in. Sometimes—lots of times—they succeeded. Hence the revolt.

 "You—you must come with me. Your mother, she sent for you." 

Another movement—this time, it was his lips. It was weaker than the last one, and yet stronger, somehow. No. Sis. 

Ah. So that was the problem. 

She'd sent me here, their mother. She'd been a leader when she was alive, and she was a leader in death, too. Which meant she knew how to strike a bargain. I'd told her that it wasn't possible. The boy still had a couple of months of existence to eke out, and the girl had a long road ahead of her. The banks were swarming with enough souls as it was. Instances of stampedes and fights were mounting. It was getting tougher for us to weed out the Unwanted. There were but a few dozen of us and millions of them (and that wasn't even taking into account the ones that were still hovering outside the gates; we'd lost count at some tens of millions). Sneaking them in should be impossible—but she had a way. She always did.

The Afterlife had always been in a state of balance. Sometimes, of course, the scales would tip this way or that, but a few Emergency measures would put them back in place. But not this time. This time, the scales hadn't tipped—they had shattered. 

You must bring them to me—my children. It's time for them to die now. But bring the boy first—his sister won't come otherwise. 

Their mother had entered the Afterlife fair and square. I'd personally escorted her to the banks. But that had been when things had only been bad—maybe about to tip into worse. Now they were the worst. It wasn't just the souls who were rioting, you see. Weariness had caused some of Us to grow ineffective and corrupted as well. Inconceivable bargains were being struck, worsening the situation. It was almost impossible to sneak souls in through the Front Gates—they had been regulated too strictly since the First Uprising. So one of Us had gotten a little creative and started sneaking the souls in through Hell. The downside, of course, was that Heaven Marked souls would have to spend anywhere from nine months to nine decades ablaze, but after spending so long in the cold—and for a chance to never have to return to it again (Rebirth was in crisis too, but I'd been so caught up in Reaping I hadn't had the chance to visit)—they were willing to endure the heat. 

The boy was trying to move again. Have to wait. 

"I can't—you have to come." 

Go away.

I hesitated. I needed him to come with me—his mother wouldn't help me otherwise. She'd already been displeased when I told her I couldn't bring his sister—she was needed here, not there. I could force him, of course, but I was exhausted. I could wait—he didn't look like he'd be able to hold on for long—but I didn't have time. So I did what I do best: I bargained.

"Your sister—you want her to come with us as well?"

A movement—nod. 

"You could see the afterlife for yourself," I suggested. "You can make sure that it is safe for her. You'll be able to meet your mother too—all of us can come for her together afterwards."  

The offer of a better life (or death, in this case). The old bargain. The desire that had led to everything and then for that everything to turn into nothing. 

Indecision flashed in his eyes. I waited. He waited.

The Haze had begun to thicken. Already, the boy was fading underneath it—his feet went first, then his torso and his arms. Now only his face was visible. He was still looking at me. Unbidden, a thought arose—I remembered when I used to shroud myself with invisibility so that mortals wouldn't notice my arrival. But now I wove between this world and the next naked and observable, and no one ran away screaming. Humans had spent centuries being terrified of the monster underneath the bed. But the monster wasn't hiding in the dark anymore. 

It was out in the light—it had become the light. 

 

 

 

 


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