Short Story excerpt: These Scarlet Eyes 2019.
The darkness was a heartbeat inside me. I could feel it like a hungry sword feels the hard encasement of a sheath. It had become me, pouring in through my nose, my ears, my mouth, molding itself to fit the curves and angles of my body. My bare feet slap the cold ground in an attempt to escape it. A futile attempt; even my hopeful self knew it. The darkness would enclose me, like it did to everyone else.
I fear it. Even at this age, when my fear of the dark should’ve faded. I fear the screams too, haunting my ears as I speed toward the town gates. They bounce around my head like rubber balls and echo in my ears. And the memory of his face haunts my eyes. My scarlet eyes. Their eyes.
Curse these eyes of mine. They tell my story just as if I drew it on my hand and shoved it in my neighbors’ faces. Even before my eyes changed, James always told me I was a terrible liar, that my eyes and face always gave the truth away. And he could tell when my eyes changed, even in that inky darkness. He’s there somewhere behind me, screaming like everyone else. It’s hard to believe how quickly he turned when he found out. Hard to believe how shocked and disgusted he seemed that one like myself had made it so far. That I was even alive. People like me never live past birth. Past the time you get tested to see if you’re one of Them. Us. I’m still not sure which one to use.
I feel the heat from the fires. I don’t need to look behind me to see how close they are. I feel it. I feel betrayed too, but I know I shouldn’t. I’m not supposed to be here. I should’ve died sixteen years ago. These people should’ve burnt me sixteen years ago. But they didn’t, and I think they fear me more than the darkness now.
But I fear the darkness, like them. Why do they hate me? Why did they turn against me so fast? How did my own brother turn so quickly? No child of darkness, no child of the Witches, would fear the thing that created them. That’s what the history books say. That They were born out of the darkness. That Their powers come out in the darkness. Our town - not mine anymore, I guess - is alight with lanterns and candles so no place can harbour the dark. We’ve closed ourselves out from the thick forest that surrounds us, with tall walls and lights. The light keeps the Witches out, because we can’t trust the walls. The Witches hate the light, once they’ve been exposed to darkness. I wonder if I’ll hate the light too. I doubt it though; the light is my only haven from the suffocating darkness.
Even though They are weeded out at birth - except for me, I guess - my town still hates the dark. I hate the dark, even though I’ve never seen it, or remember seeing it, except for behind my eyelids, and I hated it then.
I didn’t even know I was one of Them until this morning, when James came knocking on my door. I remember the cold sweat on my hands and the dread that suddenly surrounded me, when I realized that the light in my room had burnt out and my hands had begun to glow, dimly at first, then bright and blinding, like a newborn Witch exposed to light for the first time. And great blazes my hands hurt. Ached.
I hadn't glowed when I had been tested. I shouldn’t have glowed now. But I did. It has to be a mistake, I had thought. A surreal dream and nothing more.
But the horror written on James’s face wasn’t a dream. An expression like that couldn’t be part of my imagination. His eyes had stared at the light pulsing beneath the skin of my hands, then flicked up at my eyes. I knew they had changed, then. They weren’t gray or brown or blue anymore, like the rest of my town. They weren’t any normal, human color.
A scarlet red.
Then he’d grown cold, mouth a thin line, already separating himself from me, like we were trained to do when we discovered that our baby brother or sister was one of Them. He still hadn’t spoken a word to me. His muscles tensed, the pinkie finger of his left hand twitching, and I knew what he was going to do before he did it.
I dove under his outstretched arms and tumbled out of bed, landing in a crumpled pile before scrambling to my feet. The fear had already taken hold of me, my heart seizing, breath halting. Without a thought, I threw open my window and leapt out, falling the short distance onto the cold street. In my shock-ridden state, I hadn’t noticed that the lights were all burnt out in the town until I left my neighborhood. I ran, not even having a chance to say goodbye and not looking back. Running down the roads I once walked down without fear, where mother and James and I sold our delicate pottery. Where I had gathered to see the travelers that came to our small town. Where I stood beside my brother as the gravedigger buried the remains of my sister.
I don’t think they’ll follow me past the gates. That’s the Witches’ territory. The forest belongs to Them. Us. I still don’t know which one to use. And I think James is still screaming. Maybe my mother is too. It’s amazing how quickly they turn against you.