Young Writers Society

Chapter Three

If you choose to brave the freezing blizzards of Northern Droa, you would eventually come to a place known as Konkliska. Quartz crystals glitter the ground, purer than the purest gold. It split the pouring sunlight into a sparkling field of rainbows. Beyond these fields Droans say the unicorns make their home. No one ventures there. At least, no one sane does. Few who goes ever come back, and though they bring back unicorns, it is universally acknowledged that such specimens are weak and malformed, unable to survive the harshness of their natural world. But that is, if you choose.

My eyes watered as my head spins. Blood trickles from the prick from my needle. Dizziness clouds my mind. I squint.

“Aley?” My mother’s tone sounded worried, as though she had spoken to me earlier. I couldn’t recall.

“Yeah?” I asked, my head pounding.

“Put it down. Get some sleep, we’ll talk about this tomorrow.” She stretched out her hand to take away the doublet I had been working on, clicking her tongue as she surveyed the piece. With a sigh, she dismissed me.

My pounding feet and heart took me up to my room. It had become mine alone ever since my twelfth birthday, when Mom decided she would shift her own bedding downstairs. Not that I minded, her constant harrassment of my insistence on keeping the prakfura was really getting to me.

I stuffed the finger into my mouth as I fell onto the straw. The traitor brain that I had burst to life, filling me with thoughts. I slammed my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep. I but succeeded in adding fuel to the fire of thoughts.

I forced my mind to drift, playing out a daydream like an old cherished memory. It was of birds, free to fly in the sky. I envied them. No limits. In the dream I would crush birds in my hands after luring them with bread crumbs.

The daydream soon shifted into a nightdream. It was no ordinary dream, for the light shifted in dancing shafts of glossy black. I dreamt I was being hauled along a narrow passage, a sword at my hip, my wrists tied tightly together.

I shuddered. Such dreams had been plaguing me ever since that birthday party. I never had held another one for the past four years. Even though Dwinfer never found out who peppered his breads the next morning, the prank brought no mirth. It was as though a great burden had been placed on my heart. Sometimes a tear would spring to my eye for no reason I could tell.

I popped my eyes open, shivering under the blankets. A black dread had seized me, and I lay on the straw, the sides of my vision narrowing. Taking a deep breath, I hailed myself up to sit, before dropping my head into m hands. A rooster called. The dreams always ended with that rooster calling. I could tell it from any other rooster. It's call was shrill, like a screaming man.

Shoving aside the blanket, I stood up on wobbly feet. A cold nausea ran inside me. I gripped my stomach, willing it all away.

I gingerly traveled down the steps, its shadows rushing far out into the work room. My eyes caught the single flame of a candle. Cocking an eyebrow, I whispered, "Mom?"

No reply came, so I tip-toed the remaining steps, peering through the dim light. "Mom?" I repeated. A black silhouette sat at the table, her head sunk under the protective folds of her arm. "Mom!" Louder.

She made no motion. Creasing my brows, I crossed to stand beside her. Still she did not stir. Worry knawed my insides, making it feel like ash. Mom never slept this heavily. I plucked the candle from the spot where it ha melted into the table. It had burnt for a long while, the wax was thick at the base.

I placed a hand on my mother's shoulder and a shocking chill raced up my spine. She was cold. Frozen cold. My nostrils started to swell, and my lips parted in a grimace. I had seen enough bodies to know what was before me. A soft hiccup-sound broke from me. It seemed to open the floodgates, because I never remembered myself crying as hard before or after. I leaned over the table to grasp her body in an awkward hug. My fingers clawed at her flesh, as though willing it to live yet again.

I did not know how long I remained there. I was broken from my grief by sharp talons of sunlight jabbing through the cracks in the walls. My hands were shaky, and I felt hollow. I forced myself to get up, and struck out at the world. Shouting with all the force I could muster, I cursed the man who had abandoned us to a life of pain and took away out future. Screaming imprecations soon brought the Buffons to the door, irritably enquiring as to the cause. I sunk down on a chair, exhausted by the turmoil all around.