Revival (Camren/Norminah)

Chapter 1: Shadow Dance

They say we hold the most fear for the things we believe in, yet we can't see. That there's an innate attachment in us to snoop around and be curious, then to get scared and move on. The last few years have taught me the exact opposite. There's more fear in the things we can see, the things familiar to us, the pieces of our day to day life that may fall out of place once and a while.

I've learnt that it's all about patterns. We get comfortable, find relief and rescue from a sense of consistency. It's the change that disrupts that sense of consistency that hurts us the most. When pieces fall out of place, we become insecure, unable to react and even when we do, we do so incorrectly.

Then there are the pieces that fall further. Pieces that support a greater cause, and have more purpose. When they crumble, we feel more. We suffer more. We get hurt, and never find the strength to heal.

It had been two long years since the piece I valued the most had vanished, and since then it had seemed in a way, to be a forever state of falling. I had found home through the darkness, sneaking away from the hectic life of work and childcare to scan America's little rivera for signs of distress, yet none seemed to come. The world seemed to be at peace, just as it was before the horrors of Silent Hill came to be. I could recall the times I had spent in that forest, running across the thawing ground and yearning for even the slightest sound of a bird chirping, or a chipmunk waking from a long season of hibernation. None of it came however, not until we managed to break a cycle of mysterious abuse and torture, freeing hundreds of dying souls and cleanse a wound that the earth barely knew it had like a flea or tick on the back of a dog.

I had blood on my hands that couldn't be washed away. I had answers that I still needed to find, and people I needed to cut down to their knees. Things were far from finished, yet the world seemed to insist to me that two years of peace was enough to warrant a relaxed set of shoulders.

You have no idea the kind of emotions she could have been feeling the night she left you. My seemingly comforting subconscious would assure me each night things felt more and more lonely. There were street lamps that lit the sparse sidewalks from the moment the evening turned to night. They kept the bustling party-goers of Miami's most drunken populous oriented and off the roads, and were meant to bring on the illusion that Florida's most superficial community never slept. To me, the only thing they managed to accomplish was an abstract reminder of just how many shadows would dance across the off-white bedroom walls.

The coffee shop, which radiated painful nostalgia for more reasons than one sat unchanged from how it always looked. The neon open sign needed a battery change, the few front steps needed a handrail, and I needed an expresso. Walking inside, I unzipped my jacket and tore it off, slinging the well-loved item over the back of a booth.

"The regular?" A friendly voice behind the counter greeted me with a metal scoop full of beans ready for the grinder. James was part time co-owner and part time friendly clown for the independent franchise.

"The regular." I echoed, removing a number of sugar packets from the communal cup in the centre of the table and tearing off the corners in preparation.

"I ask it every night, and get the same answer, but do you ever sleep?" James asked, bringing over a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a plate in the other.

"When I need to, sure." I shrugged back, taking it with thanks and starting to sift the sugar into the delicious smelling liquid. "What've you got there?"

"We're going to start introducing all-day breakfasts to the menu." He replied with a smile, licking his lips. "Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage. Julie's been watching so many cooking shows that she wants to start making this place into a diner. We're still in the menu testing phase."