The Two Divided

The goat that mumbled

These past couple of months have been a blur. Ever since dad died I've been on the run from all sorts of creatures and monsters that for some odd reason have wanted to kill me. Other monsters would try to talk to me about how I'm destined to be a leader in "Kronos's" army. Whoever that guy is. But no matter the circumstances, I would slash them in their faces and would make a run for it, seeing as how no ordinary weapon could work on these demon creatures from trial and error.

Currently, I'm on the run from who knows what. A monster with a melted face, whose eyes could burn holes in your skin, and a pitch-black body that would engulf you if you got too close. Before it had started chasing me, the monster had appeared to be a friendly trucker, whose engine died on the side of the road. The monster had come up to me and asked for help, but when I ignored him, he got angry. Which resulted in it chasing me into the woods.

Bits and pieces of leaves, branches, and dirt got caught in my long, blonde hair as I swiftly jumped and maneuvered through the thick forests of Maine. I held on tightly to my light green backpack that was tied to my back. My ripped jeans and banged-up flannel t-shirt didn't make me look any better and the scars on my hands and face became more visible in the bright moonlight.

When I turned to look how far ahead I was, I tripped and fell face-first into the ground, surely adding another bruise to the collection. When I finally mustered the strength to get up and keep my tired body moving, it was too late. The black demon monster swiped at me, slashing through my skin, and leaving three big gashes in my arm that looked like claw marks. I fell back and when I looked up, it was standing right over me. Thoughts of my life before Dad died. The things we used to do. How when I was upset about school or he would give me that nonchalant smile of his and reassure me that things would work out for me. How we would watch scary movies all night long, knowing damn well that I had to get up for school in the morning. There was stuff he didn't get to witness at all either. Like how he missed my 15th birthday last week. How I taught myself to become invisible to the world, or how I'm going to die right now.

Tears began to well up in my eyes as I covered myself with my arms, awaiting death before somebody called out "Catch!!" Both the monster and I looked up as a glimmering knife was being thrown at me. I watched the knife land in a pile of gravel right next to me, and made a quick movement to grab it with my good arm, and slashed the monster before it could even retaliate. As soon as the blade grazed its skin, it slowly started to disintegrate into dust, before being blown away by the wind.

I looked at the knife in awe, before becoming wary of my surroundings again. I stood up, holding the knife in front of me, turning to face the direction the knife was thrown from. "Show yourself!" I exclaimed, waiting to see if they would reveal themselves. After a moment of waiting, I saw the person come out from behind a tree.

"Sorry... Sorry... I'm coming. Just please don't stab me--" A familiar voice spoke out. I tilted my head in confusion until I saw the person's face. He was a tall boy, slightly muscular, and had a small satchel at his side. He was also wearing a dorky Star Wars t-shirt that had a corny joke on it, and his light brown skin and natural light brown hair illuminated under the moonlight just as the scars on my hands did. His hazel eyes were beautiful and reminded me of dad's, but the weird thing about him is that he didn't have human legs. From the waist down he looked like a goat.

His hooves clicked against the ground on occasion as he trotted over to me until he stopped a few feet away from me. And that's when it clicked.

"T-..Theo?" I asked, letting my arm drop to the side along with the knife.

Theo was a kid that went to my school, but we really didn't talk. After Dad died I kind of isolated myself from the world. I would sit by myself in the corner of the cafeteria on most days, and he would come up to me and have one-sided conversations with himself, seeing as I would never answer them because I thought he was a weirdo. It did feel nice to know that someone cared a little bit. Even if it was out of pity.