The Demon In The West - An Original Work In Progress

Chapter Eight: A Seedling Birth

(( CW: Homophobia and Death )) 

 Everything had layers, time itself, including that wretched man. He carried more layers than you could count by the rings in a tree's trunk.

Curious.

That's what he made me. Curious to feel what it meant to truly be loved. To be loved is like birdsong. Whenever you get close enough, the singing will abruptly stop and the birds will take flight. But what happens if the singing continues even after I get close? What would happen if he was really in love?

Today was a mess of mistakes. I see it now. I had wandered back to Raven's cabin, once again, alone. I was to see Honey, at least that's what my intent was when I was on my way there. As I arrive I can see him through a window, pacing. I knock on the door and he answers it within a heartbeat.

"Bea. I'm glad you're here, actually." He says, his eyes flickering over my facial features, he seems sincere and somewhat insecure.

"Assuming you're usually not?"

"No... erm. Let's start over: Beatrice you're here! I have something I need to tell you." He's twiddling his thumbs at this point, almost as if to stall his next statement.

"You're acting weird. Do I need to sit down for this...?"

"Maybe. But I have to ask something of you first: No matter what you cannot speak about this to anyone else who doesn't already know or anyone outside of my gang. And I also need to ask you: If someone does or feels a way outside of your morals and beliefs, how would you treat them?" He seems almost scared or regretful as he flinches at his own question. I answer it with honesty.

"It depends on what it is. If that action can cause harm to someone or something else then I would treat them differently. If their feelings or actions aren't causing harm to others there's no need to treat them differently" I say, taking his hand in mine, "But what's this really about?"

Autumn. The leaves were changing colors, rich reds, ochre oranges, and blotchy yellows, not yet brown. Children ran the streets, merchants called their wares. The smell of smoke hangs in the air. My father had called the father and son of the Cailens over for dinner. The boy was at the ripe age of seventeen, a year older than me. My parents and grandmother discuss the latest gossip amongst the Cailens. As I risk unfathomable glances at the son who smiles with a sense of grace and concern for me, compassion. His eyes were deep hazel, but the green outshined the browns in the flickering chandelier light. His hair was long and jet black like a raven's plumage and was tied back in a low ponytail, he blows the fringe out of his face when he hears something he dislikes about their conversation.

The son, Emrick, and I had known each other since I was a boy. Hanging out on the rooftop drunk was our prime stage as rebellious teens and luckily he was there with me. I remember nearly stumbling off the two-story roof and that would've been my end If he hadn't caught me. But that night the downpour came hard, and it was too slippery to be up on the roof.

I was mostly zoned out as they spoke amongst themselves, coming back into the zone when the father announced that they were leaving. For good. "And so we're leaving the following morning and I shall be proud to call you my friends, but whatever you have to say cannot change our fate; it is strictly our duty."

"Father, why didn't you suggest that this is what you wanted to speak about?" He speaks calmly but his voice wavers.

"Emrick, you knew about this?" I nearly shout in a fit of confusion. He was leaving and he didn't even bother to tell me? It was unfair, outrageous even. My face scrunches up in betrayal and my eyes darken.

My grandmother was the one that suggested we spend time alone, so the "adults could talk". I know that if we hid it wouldn't go away, but I had to try something at least to get a little longer together.