The Hurricanes are Beautiful
The shadows never lie. They crawl underneath your skin and seep into your bloodstream, they whisper hisses of encouragement into your ears, they snigger predictions into your mind as it spins out of control, and they bury themselves deep into the fragile bones of your body. But they never lie; they don’t need to. It’s their truth that destroys you.
We were once so beautiful. We lived off the wonders of the earth, and we thrived off the things that had no cost. All we needed was the green around us: the trees, the plants, the grass, the fields. But then we got greedy. Some imbecile decided to mix water, cement, and sand, and destroyed what was perfect. Cement truly is the devil's mixture.
Maybe that’s why we are where we are today. Maybe that’s why there’s not a world outside, but an ever crumbling ruin of what we once called civilisation. That’s what the shadows told me anyway, and the shadows never do lie, after all. I know that better than anyone. If I force my memory back far enough, I can recall the first time I talked of the shadows to Mum. Imaginary friends were what she called them. Until I knew any better, that was what I called them too.
I’ve learned to keep them from others now, not that anyone would be interested anyway. They’re too busy either pelting a bullet through their own brains, or draining the water from their bodies out through their eyes. I don’t have time for that crap though. If we’re going to go out, I say we go out in style. We’re going to go out fighting because for once, I’m not letting the shadows win. They’ve probably gnawed out any sanity left inside my brain, but they haven’t destroyed me. Not yet. They can gnaw all they like because I’m not going down without a fight.
For the first time in over ten minutes, I turn my gaze to the world outside the window. All I can see is grey. It’s not even right to use the term greenery anymore because the untamed bushes and trees outside have even turned the dullest colour known to man. Their stumps create crackling noises as they grow larger and larger, almost as though whispering words of smite at us. I see people walk by occasionally, but they’re often stumbling. They don’t acknowledge me.
“The sky is dark,” I mutter.
I spin my chair around and turn to the fireplace at the end of my living room--if you could call it that anymore. There are mounds of items thrown across the carpeted floor, from ripped up books to empty packets of food. It no longer looks like the room I spent so much of my childhood in.
I turn my attention to Chanelle. She raises her chestnut eyebrows at me. “When is it not dark, Xavier?”
“Last Sunday was pretty good. The sun said a quick hello, but then it probably noticed the mess and thought, sod this crap hole.” I show a crooked smile. “We should’ve thrown a welcome party. Balloons and all.”
“The world is screwed up, yet you still make snarky comments.”
“Hey, life not being a bed of roses ain’t an excuse for me to develop a new personality. I ain’t gonna go around like the rest of those miserable twats.”
The smirk is still on my face as I turn back to the window. I’m not sure how long Chanelle and I have been stuck in this house now. We only go out if it’s necessary: if the fireplace needs new wood or something, although that’s becoming an impossible task. Wood is rare.
When the great tsunami hit, we were at school, so it was a hell of a challenge finding our way back home. I think it took us months. Not that anyone was here when we arrived anyway. All that was left was a mess from strangers who’d come here for shelter. I click my tongue as I concentrate on the dump outside the window once more.
I think I’ve forgotten what grass feels like, even the rotting kind that’s been left in this crap hole. Grass does rot, right? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore: only what the shadows tell me. I cast my eyes back over to Chanelle as I lean back in my old computer chair. The shadows told me she’s scared. They told me as though I didn’t know it already.
It’s funny how some people show their fear more blatantly than others because unless you knew how Chanelle’s mind works, you would never be able to guess the amount of fear she holds inside of her. I think I can confidently say that I know how the gears work in her head; twins have that kind of power, even if we are fraternal. I wish I could help her.
There’s a gun in your kitchen, Xavier.
The chilling voices shoot through my blood. I jump. Those pillocks inside my head need to warn me before they talk. I close my eyes and sigh.
It’ll be quick and easy. Kill her. Save her from the misery.
I ignore the shadows. I don’t even question why there’s a gun in my kitchen. It probably belonged to some squatter that was in here once, but they completely forgot about it. Or they were killed. Yeah. Most likely rotting in the streets by now. Instead of even considering what the shadows are saying, I continue staring out of the murky window.
This is what the shadows predicted since I can remember: the crumbling of the earth. Maybe that’s what sent me insane in the first place. Maybe it was the constant nattering in my ear about destruction, death, hatred, greed, hurricanes, tsunamis, falling buildings, and just about everything else that made my chest feel as though it would cave in on itself. Ah well, if I am insane, then being insane is fun. It’s better than being miserable.
I feel my grin forming back onto my face when I spot a bearded man stumbling along the street. He’s screaming something about The Almighty. I’ve lost count of the amount of religious idiots that have rambled on about how this is the apocalypse, but that’s a load of shit. God gave up on us centuries ago. The shadows caused this: the shadows only I know of.
“Is the hurricane still outside?” Chanelle’s voice catches me by surprise.
I turn to the window, turn back to her, and then nod. “In the distance, yeah. We’ll probably have to get into the basement soon.”
Chanelle doesn’t respond, although I hear her let out a long sigh. She pulls her tangled waves over to one side of her shoulder, and then does her best attempt to smooth them down. It doesn’t work. Her dark hair is just as untamed as it was seconds ago. I turn back around and sigh.
Your sister will die.
Voices again. My heart makes a break for it out of my chest. I grasp the arms of my chair tightly. No, she won’t. She can’t. I won’t let her. The voices carry on with their whispers, and slowly, they begin sniggering. My blood boils underneath my skin, and it tries to burn through my flesh.
You can’t possibly think we’re lying, can you?
More words. More and more and more. They’re seeping into my brain and depriving me from the oxygen I so desperately need. The shadows are tugging at my body, and they’re scraping my skin. My heartbeat accelerates. And then I hear her voice.
“The hurricanes are beautiful.”
My head shoots towards Chanelle. On her face is a smile: the smile I recognise all too well as my own. She’s gawking out of the window, and her head sways from side to side. That’s when she stands up. Everything about her looks the same, from her dark hair that falls just below her shoulders to the way her lips curve upwards. But then I notice her eyes. They look glazed over, almost lost.
“Chanelle?” I whisper.
She will die.
My sister doesn’t reply. Instead, she ambles towards the living room door. Her steps are slow and heavy, but as I try to move out of my seat, a force stronger than my own weighs me down. I try to get up again. And again. And again. The pressure now on my chest is so tight, breathing has become a thought process. Chanelle’s no longer in the room.
“Chanelle!” My voice is weak. The pressure in my chest becomes heavier. I cough. “Chanelle!”
She will die.
As the words slide into my ears, I jump to my feet. I have no idea how I’m able to, but I do. The weight is released from my chest, and finally, I’m able to breathe again. I run. I run like it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. When I’m in the hallway, I realise the front door is open. No! No, she can’t be out there! I have to help her. I need to save Chanelle. Then the shadows speak again.
You will kill her.
I force the voices out of my head, but they always linger. I push onwards, and soon, the freezing air hits my body like a thousand tiny needles. I ignore it. Instead, I manically glance around for my sister. All I can see is the greyness of the street, and the greyness of the sky.
“They’re beautiful!”
My head is immediately shoots to my left. I freeze. Sitting on the stone wall that separates the street from a vast field of untamed grass is Chanelle. She has her back to me, and her head is still swaying from side to side.
“Look, Xavier!” She suddenly turns to me with a smile. She points towards the field. “The hurricanes are beautiful!”
So I look. I look and my heart collapses to the bottom of my gut. In the near distance, and as grey as everything else around me, is what looks like four cloudy daggers. Daggers that spin uncontrollably, and daggers that are powering straight towards us. Chanelle jumps off the wall, and moments later, she’s wandering along the field. Towards the hurricanes.
“Chanelle! Stop!” I call, but she doesn’t even flinch.
You should have listened to us.
She’s not that far away. I can catch her. I force my legs onwards, and before I realise I’m even there, I’ve reached the stone wall. Chanelle’s not far ahead. I jump over the wall, and sprint over to my sister. The winds are becoming more violent as I run further down the field, but I continue nonetheless.
“Chanelle!” I grab my sister’s arm, forcing her to stop.
“But they’re beautiful.”
“You’ve bloody said that a hundred times by now.”
What the hell have they done to her? All the shadows do is snigger in response. Chanelle tries to move forward again, but I keep hold of her. As I move my foot though, it bashes against something hard. I look down. Lying on the overgrown grass is a silver gun.
Kill her or the winds will.
No. No, no, no. I try to pull Chanelle back towards the street, but she doesn’t move. Not an inch. The shadows laugh. I try again, but it’s even harder this time. The winds are stronger now, and I don’t need to be a genius to know that in the matter of minutes, the hurricanes will arrive. I glance at the gun beside my feet.
We brought that out of your house, just for you. It would be a shame to waste it.
I shoot my eyes back up. No, I won’t.
It’s a lot less painful.
The shadows can encourage me all they want, but they can’t force me to do anything. They know that. I try pulling Chanelle away again, but it’s useless. All she does is gush about the beauty of what is about to kill her. My hair is blowing all over my face and the freezing air is making my eyes water. Chanelle isn’t even fazed by it.
She’s going to die. We’re both going to die.
You caused this... It’s all you. We spilled our predictions into your brain. You listened to them, and they became truths. You caused this.
They’re right. It’s my fault. All of this is my fault. My legs are trembling underneath me, and despite the harsh winds, sweat is racing down my forehead. I have to do something... but I... What can I do? My legs are turning even weaker.
But then I remember something.
The day I was born, the first storm occurred. That was the first time they whispered in my ears. They’d been waiting for me. For years and years, they’d been waiting for me for their whispers to become truths.
It’s all your fault.
It’s my fault, and they need me... They need me for the world to crumble into absolute nothingness. I grin. I’ve never known something so dark to be so stupid. They need me. How can their whispers be truths when no one’s able to listen to them? It’s now I finally realise how I’m supposed to fight back.
Without letting go of Chanelle, I bend down and grab the gun from the ground. Its metal is cold against my skin. I massage it with my palm. It’s so smooth.
That’s it... Kill her.
I gaze at the silver object in my hand. I could be wrong. Heck, this could be another nut job act of mine. This could just kill me and that will be it. The shadows might still win, and they might find someone else to share their whispers with, but they might not. They couldn’t do what they’ve already done without me, after all. All I can do is try. What have I got to lose? My hands are shaky as I lift the gun to my head.
No! No, kill her!
“They’re so beautiful...” Chanelle again.
It’s funny really: it’s funny how eighteen years can be stolen away with a single silver bullet. It’s a tiny thing really. Then again, so is eighteen years amongst the lifespan of the earth.
The shadows lied. My sister will not die. I won’t let her. I shut my eyes. The shadows are yelling at me; they’re screeching with their crabby voices. But they can’t stop me. I flick my finger, and that’s it. Quick and easy.
I’ve won. I know I have.
Spoiler! :
Gender:
Points: 44360
Reviews: 1087