Heroes in the Mirror

Chapter 3 - Past

As I calmly strolled away from the alleyway where a violent and heinous assault was happening, I threw my hands into my hair, fighting off the memories that flowed around me, threatening to consume me. I did not have time to reminisce my past horrors. There was too much work to do, too many people dependent on me to save them. But as a I glided down the street, eyes wary and alert, my mind continually focused on the image of a dead woman.

My dead mother.

I sped up, part of me wanting to submit myself to the images and the other desiring nothing more than to tear apart the nightmare the Daraians created. Instead of doing either, I watched the road and its inhabitants. People, most dead and some on their way, laid sprawled across the street and against buildings. The few who remained healthy enough looted the corpses, shoving rotted limbs aside and digging into the threadbare pockets of the deceased. They would find nothing, but desperation pushed them to the brink of insanity.

Memories still pushed at me, but I turned my attention to other things, like the smell of the dead, or perhaps that is the smell of the living. It was hard to distinguish whether the misshapen forms on the ground were breathing or were being moved by the rats chewing through tendons and muscles. One body twitched, and black beady eyes popped up from within a hole in the carcass, its gender unidentifiable. A piece of meat hung from the rodent's mouth, and its jaw nibbled on the decayed flesh.

I froze and stared wide-eyed. The disturbing image was enough to send my mind reeling back into the past.

I stumbled down the brick road, my short legs trying to get me home as quickly as possible. Mother did not like it when I came home after the sun hid. There are monsters in the dark, she said. There are also monsters that control the dark, she warned me. I did not like upsetting mother, so I needed to get home.

I looked at the sky, the sun almost hidden and the moon rising to take its place. Not good. Mother was going to be very angry with me. If she is too mad, she might not even take me out to the woods tomorrow like she promised. I loved the woods, but Mother was always sad when she looked at the trees. When I asked her what was wrong, she said the trees used to be bright and big and beautiful. I told her they are, if you close your eyes and pictured them that way. She laughed and said I was a very smart, special boy.

As if it would stop the memories, I threw myself backwards, tripping over my feet and slamming harshly into the rough ground. Pieces of rock, sharp and biting, dug painfully into my hands and tore through layers of callouses. I grunted, but pushed myself up quickly. It was not safe to stay in one spot too long.

Slipping into a dark alleyway, I turned toward the more abandoned part of Basaliad and followed the back streets to the storage district. I flew past carcasses and life alike, ignoring it all. Both in reality and in my mind, I had seen enough death to last me till my body became as cold as the corpses littering the town.

The closer my destination came the faster I soared down the dark alleys. Shadows flashed over me whenever the moon flitted out of view, and I sailed into the dark, its presence a comfort. The light may have taunted me, but the boundless dark would never have reveal my intentions, nor my identity. People underestimated darkness, suppressing and fearing it. But I would not, for I understood its value, its purpose.

The back street I traveled on stopped, opening into a wider road devoid of life. Even the dead avoided this area, known for bandits, thieves, and wild things. Maybe that is why I chose this place, or maybe it was because I found solace in the quiet, in the emptiness, in the darkness that wrapped its grip around the buildings. Approaching a dilapidated structure, I glanced around the street, searching for eavesdroppers. When I determined the area to be clear of unwanted beings, I crossed the brick road, taking care not to kick any loose mortar.