Page 22 of Neon Pestilence
Incolent. Thump.
Devil’s child. Thump, thump.
My composure takes a back seat as I throw my arms up to the sky. The rain falls on my mask, blurring the forest’s night sky above me.
I let out a scream, filled with pain and poison. Sleeping birds wake, flying from their trees. Dropping my masked face back into my palms, I let out a breath.
The small sound of a twig snapping causes me to glance over my shoulder, following the sound.
A small figure stands in the treeline, barely close enough to see. But I don't need to have eyes to know it’sher.
She moves slowly, walking toward me with the reservation someone would have when trying to mount a feral horse. Each step she takes, every crunch of the leaves, causes my heart to race. Within moments, she’s in front of me, her eyes are swollen and red as if she’s been crying as well.
I reach out toward her. My worry for her being hurt overrides my problems, but she shakes her head as she pushes my hand down gently. I drop it back down to my thigh, kneeling below her like I’m ready for worship.
Dropping to her knees in front of me, she reaches toward me, palms shaking. Her fingers graze my mask, and I freeze, my breath hitching in my throat.
Instinctively, I move my hand to hers. She shakes her head again and mouths, “I’m so fucking sorry.” She places a palm on both sides of my mask. My fingers follow, grazing along her knuckles as we sit there.
She doesn’t push, doesn’t even move an inch. We just sit there. In silence. In the pouring rain, music thumping around us. She’s giving me the space to be seen. A luxury I’ve never experienced.
My mind becomes silent, the voices no longer assaulting me, and I smile as I realize it’s her, she’s my cure.
She’s the one who can save me. The one who brings silence.
My angel of death.
Chapter 21
Indy
We sit until the rain stops, the air is thick with condensation, and my hair is sticking to my forehead, but all I can focus on ishim.
I know I should be pressing him for answers, but he seems so fragile right now, like his whole world has tilted on its side. So I don’t say anything. I just sit, a silent comfort.
Before long, he rises to his feet, making his way over to the other side of the opening. I watch as he lifts a shovel off the ground and moves to his right.
He looks almost robotic, like it’s second nature to him, something that’s built into his bones. The sounds of wet dirt being pulled from the earth echo around us.
My body is still frozen in place as I watch him move around the self-created graveyard. Replacing dirt with the dead, then rebuilding the forest again. It doesn’t take long for me to become restless, searching for anything to make me feel useful.
Should I be helping him bury dead bodies? Probably not. But I’m so deep in this mess at this point, I don’t think anything could make it worse.
Rising to my feet, I brush the mud off my legs and walk over to him. He notices me, freezing in his tracks, a shovel full of dirt stuck in mid-air. His head cocks to the side, his curiosity piquing.
What are you doing? I hear.
“Helping,” I reply, glancing around at the bodies surrounding us. I don’t know where to start, so I just pick one. A girl lying closest to me, probably in her early twenties , who has the most beautiful crimson hair. It’s such a deep color that you can’t tell where her hair ends and the blood starts.
It’s interesting, seeing a dead body… there’s still the smallest bit of life left in her, her body hasn’t gone completely cold. The pinkish tint of her cheeks is still visible, and her skin hasn’t started to turn grey. She looks… peaceful. Like she’s frozen in a moment of beauty.
Call it morbid curiosity, call it crazy, call it whatever you want. But, I like to think in another life, I was probably a mortician.
I’ve always been interested in death. Growing up, there were always paranormal and true crime shows playing on my TV. I had such an interest in learning about those things; it was all I would watch. I never could’ve imagined I would actually beusing the knowledge, especially not to bury a dead body in the middle of the woods.
I know I don’t have enough upper body strength to pick her up fully, so I lock my arms under hers, pulling her toward the hole.
I’ve only moved her about a foot, but my muscles are already screaming. Who knew a dead body could be so fucking heavy?
