Category: fictionissue5

Ella staggered through the snow, the shackles around her wrists rattling as she pushed against its frozen grasp. Men were yelling somewhere behind her, but their words were lost, scattered on the wind that burned through her torn brown dress. She wiped drops of the gaol warden’s blood from her cheek and recalled the cracking of his head as she crushed it with her chains. She gagged and stumbled, flattening a patch of white icepetal flowers.

A bang like a crack of lightning sounded, and then another and another. Ella stopped. Fresh blood dribbled from her chest, layering the flowers beneath in red. Intense pain hit her, as if her whole body was screaming, and she faltered, clutching at the bloody wound in her chest. The pine-dotted landscape blurred and she fell backwards into the flower patch.

‘Please,’ she begged to the sky. Tears ran from her eyes, freezing against the dirt on her face. ‘Please, Great Goddess, don’t let me die.’

‘Then I will save you.’ A woman in a white dress materialised before Ella. She stood with the posture of a noble woman, unaffected by the whipping of her long fair hair in the wind. Ella tried to focus as she stared into the woman’s bright green eyes; eyes coloured just like her own.

‘Please,’ Ella whispered.

The woman stepped closer and, kneeling down, laid her right hand on Ella’s forehead. ‘When the seed blooms, your time is up.’

A tornado of snow and petals enveloped Ella, shaping a flower bud of blood-laced snow around her body. As the barrier solidified and the world disappeared from view, she thought she saw the woman smile.

 * * *

Ella gasped and dropped the pile of books she was carrying. The snowy landscape was gone, replaced by an enclosed area with wooden furniture along the walls.

Her room. Home. Safe.

Orange sunset shone through the window beside her bed and, straining her hearing, Ella could make out the sounds of the street-side stalls closing for the day as horses clip-clopped on the cobblestones.

She hesitantly touched her chest. No blood, no wound, not even a scar.

The bookshelf in front of her was empty, though she had filled it yesterday before her arrest. Vibrant orange and yellow lilies, her favourites, sat in pots along its top.

Feeling an itch on her shoulder she pulled up the short sleeve of her dress. Curled around her skin was a thin green vine topped by a shrivelled white flower bud. She yanked at it, but it wouldn’t budge.

A knock sounded on the front door downstairs.

Ella slipped out of her brown dress, no longer torn or stained but covered in the memory of her death in the snow, and threw on a green one from her cupboard. Taking a deep breath, she proceeded from the wooden stairs to the front door and opened it.

Three men stood on her doorstep. Two guards wearing metal armour with muskets slung over their shoulders flanked Sir Caleb Horncraft. The young captain wore the official green and brown uniform of the law and stood with shoulders straight. His short brown hair was slicked back and a handful of thin scars lined his cheeks, but there was a kindness in his eyes. A gentleness Ella had fallen for years ago.

‘Ella…’ he said, his face softening.

‘Wait… Caleb? What’s going on? Why are you here again?’

‘Again?’ He pursed his lips. ‘El-Miss Rosebane, you are under arrest on charges of witchcraft. We will take you to a cell while you await trial.’

Gasps and murmurs could be heard from a small crowd of passers-by who had gathered around.

Ella blinked. ‘W-What? I’m not a w-‘ she leaned in closer and whispered, ‘witch.’

‘We have substantial evidence to suggest that you are. For now, you will need to come with us.’

Neighbours and friends began to call out, soft at first, then louder.

‘Witch.’

‘She’s a witch!’

‘Kill her!’

‘Burn her!’

‘N-No, I have done nothing wrong,’ Ella replied, backing into her house.

Caleb quickly stepped forward. ‘Miss Rosebane, if you’re innocent then you have nothing to fear.’ His deep blue eyes smiled softly.

One guard produced chains and cuffs and locked her wrists together. The familiarity of the weight was unsettling. The other reached for a strip of cloth that Ella had seen them use to gag women they feared would cast spells.

‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ Caleb said and waved it away. He turned back to Ella. ‘While you are held, my men will search your house. Follow me.’

The streets filled with people who whispered and pointed as Caleb and Ella walked by. Women on balconies of tightly packed houses clutched their babies to their chest, while young men on the streets scampered backwards, uttering prayers to the Great Goddess.

Caleb opened the door to a small stone building and led Ella down the stairs. Moss and grime covered the walls, and the stench of unwashed prisoners hung in the air. He unlocked one cell door and motioned Ella inside, locking it behind her. Only a tiny window at the top of the wall let in any light or fresh air.

‘They’ll look for evidence this afternoon and have a trial tonight,’ Caleb began. ‘You know women accused as witches aren’t allowed to defend themselves, just in case they curse the judge. But I promise I’ll do whatever I can to get you out of this cell soon, Ella. Try to endure the smell until then.’ The corners of his mouth turned up into an almost-smile.

She nodded and slumped down against the uneven wall, head in her hands as he left.

‘How can this be happening again?’ she whispered, scrunching her eyes shut. Her sleep was restless and filled with nightmares of the cold snow and bullets piercing her body.

Ella jumped, woken by a clanging metal sound that reverberated around the stone basement. An old man was unlocking her cell; the same man she had bashed over the head yesterday in order to escape. Dim light of an overcast morning shone through the window, and she could hear the sound of rushing wind. She shivered. The snowstorm would be moving in soon.

By the time it hit, Ella was led to the stake.

She’d seen women accused of witchcraft before; the whole town would turn out, even children. Witches were tied to a tall wooden pole in the town square, kindling and logs at their feet, and then set alight. The fire was only put out once their bodies were charred and their screeching silenced.

In the burning cold and screaming wind the square was empty. Two guards escorting Ella pushed her towards the stake, tying her to it with a rough hemp rope.

‘Please!’ she begged. ‘I’m not a witch! I haven’t done anything!’

The guards said nothing. Once they had secured her they stepped back and a third man, Captain Caleb, came with torch in hand.

Their eyes met for a moment, and then he looked away. ‘Ella Rosebane. You have been found guilty of witchcraft and are sentenced to death by burning. May the Great Goddess have mercy on your soul.’

‘Caleb! No! You know I’m not a witch!’

He looked at her and his face hardened. ‘My men found a magical circle etched into your bedroom floor. It was splattered with blood and crushed icepetal flowers.’

‘What? I don’t know about any of that! Please Caleb! You have to believe I didn’t do that.’

He shook his head. ‘You are a witch and you will face justice.’ He bent, unable to meet her frightened eyes. ‘Goddess forgive me.’ And then he lit the wood.

Ella struggled against her bonds. ‘Caleb! Caleb, help me!’

He stepped away from the pyre and stared at his boots. Regret? Disappointment? Ella couldn’t read his face.

‘Caleb!’

An intense heat crept slowly upwards. She screamed as the fire consumed her feet, slowly melting the skin away. The fire caught her dress, setting it alight and engulfing her body in a blistering pain. Smoke entered her nose and mouth, choking her.

Over the next hour, Ella slowly burned to death. The wind would put the fire out, only for a guard to come and light it again. Her skin blackened and the stench of burning hair and skin enveloped her senses. The fire and wind competed against each other as Ella drifted in and out of consciousness.

As her eyes shut, she heard a female voice carried on the wind. ‘Return again.’

Unaffected by the fire, a second flower bud on her shoulder shrivelled up, and then the world went dark.

 * * *

Ella screamed when she opened her eyes, brain still overwhelmed by a pain that no longer existed. She was on her bed, alive and unharmed. Orange light filtered through the window and a knock sounded at the door.  Sweat pouring down her face she began to hyperventilate, coughing with the sudden intake of air. Turning on her side she vomited in the floor, gasping through watering eyes.

‘Miss Rosebane?’ she heard Caleb call from outside.

Trying to steady her breathing, Ella saw the reason for her guilt. In front of the bookshelf on the floor was a trail of blood in the shape of a flower. As she stood, she spotted a bud out of the corner of her eye and pulled up the sleeve of her dress. Beneath it, the vine-like flower had grown, wrapping its way down her upper arm. Two shrivelled buds sat on its side, while a third living one adorned its top.

‘Miss Rosebane?’ The knock was louder this time.

Wiping away traces of sick, Ella climbed onto her bed and yanked open the second-storey window. She looked over the edge to the back alley below. Empty. A moment later, she jumped, landing on the hard stone below. Pain exploded in her left leg.

‘Hey! There she is!’ A voice called from the street.

Ella hobbled down the alley, away from the main road. She ducked around the corner and pushed past the crates and barrels that littered the tight passageway. Residents peered out their windows, watching the chase unfold.

‘Stop!’ A guard behind her yelled.

Men and women with surprised faces edged away as Ella stumbled onto a back street. As she glanced back, someone stuck their foot out and she tripped, sprawling face-first onto the rough cobblestones. She rolled onto her back, blood obscuring her vision. Struggling to her feet, she limped down the road. The crowd retreated as the blood-covered woman moved amongst them.

A bang sounded, then screams.

Ella fell forward as the bullet penetrated her back, smashing her face into the ground again. Blood flooded from her forehead and nose, swimming into her eyes and painting the tips of her fair hair.

‘Move aside!’ she heard a familiar voice yell. Caleb.

A woman in a white dress knelt down beside her; the woman from the snow.

‘Don’t give up. Try once more.’

 * * *

Ella sprang to action. She threw open the door to her bedroom and ran down the stairs. Taking a left, she entered her small kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife she owned. A knock sounded.

Caleb. The man who burned her. She approached the door, weapon at the ready.

Ella swung the door open, the faces of two guards and Caleb greeting her again. Without hesitation, she leapt forward, jamming her knife into the captain’s chest.

‘Ella…’ he spluttered, eyes wide.

‘Why didn’t you help me!’

A woman passing by screamed.

For a moment, the two guards were stunned. Ella reached for the sword at Caleb’s side as he fell limp, and swung it at one guard. He side-stepped her clumsy, untrained blow while the second guard drew his own weapon, jamming it into Ella’s back.

Her eyes widened and she fell forward, her blood and Caleb’s trickling together between the cobblestones.

‘Please… just let me die…’ Ella sobbed as her consciousness slipped away.

Ella awoke in bed, staring at her wooden ceiling.

‘Why is this happening to me?’ she whispered.

Her eyes wandered to her right arm. The plant growing there had extended its reach, twirling all the way to her wrist. Four shrivelled buds had sprouted from the central stem, but one that touched the back of her hand had flowered with petals red like blood.

The seed had bloomed. Her chances were over. Finally, she could die.

Eyes heavy, she pulled herself from bed and wandered down the stairs. She returned to the kitchen, grabbing the same knife she had killed Caleb with, then plodded back up to her room.

She heard a knock from downstairs, but closed her bedroom door. She placed her knife on top of the dresser and, with a grunt, shoved it in front of the door. Picking up the knife, she sat down on her bed and felt its weight in her hand. With a deep breath she raised it, pointing its tip at her stomach.

‘You can still escape!’ a soft voice spoke and a familiar woman materialised in front of Ella. ‘The seed has bloomed and my magic is at an end, but you have this final chance.’

Ella’s hand began to shake. ‘Who are you?’

The woman smiled, lips pressed together.

‘Why didn’t you help me? You could have rescued me!’

‘I can’t interfere directly, but I know you can do it. I know you can.’

‘I don’t care. I can’t go on like this.’ Ella raised the knife.

‘Stop!’

Ella hesitated and stared at the hair-breadth distance between the knife and her heart. A moment passed, and she lowered it. The woman released a breath and knelt down in front of Ella.

‘Did you put that there?’ Ella asked, pointing to the bloody flower on the floor.

‘Yes. It was a result of my magic when I first saved you in the snow and bound the flower to your body.’

‘W-Why did you do this to me? Why couldn’t I just die?’

‘I need you alive in the future when your powers awaken. What you’ve been through is unfortunate, but necessary.’

‘Unfortunate?’ Ella trembled. ‘This is all your fault!’

She turned the knife around and stabbed. It entered the woman’s chest and blood bloomed across her white dress. The woman staggered back, clutching the blade. A tear fell from her eye as she pointed to Ella before collapsing to the ground. Ella felt a sudden pang of pain and saw a hole open in her own chest, right where she had struck the woman.

Her head span and she slumped onto the bed. The woman’s eyes went blank and the flower around Ella’s arm crumbled to dust. Ella could see it now, the reason for the woman’s familiarity. The woman looked just like her. Older, but the same. Ella gasped, struggling to pull air into her lungs and instead coughed up blood.

As her eyes closed, Ella wondered if she could turn back time too.

The relationship was still new and shiny when Summer started fading, and when my episodes began to happen more frequently. One evening I rolled over and realised that I could, very faintly, see my bedside lamp shining through Summer’s head. She glanced up from her book – Janet Mock’s biography, because Summer only ever read books of substance – and saw me staring. She whispered, ‘Go to sleep.’

I nodded and rolled back over. It wasn’t a good time to talk about it, and in any case the bed was big and I was sinking into it and sleep was too close to be gotten away from. I did rub my hand over her thigh, but I didn’t say anything. I thought transparency was a topic better left for the morning.

* * *

I woke up at around three and kicked Summer in my frantic scramble away from some dreamed-up monster which I’ve forgotten now. I do remember that the bed was shrinking, either before or after I woke up.

Summer was with me in an instant, all soothing words and touches. I couldn’t stop asking if she was okay.

She laughed in response. ‘Me? Honey, are you okay?’

‘I kicked you, I think. Did I hurt you?’

‘You barely touched me. Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. This happens sometimes.’

‘Can I do anything?’

‘No, it’s fine, I’m just going to have to, um…’

It’s difficult to explain, but she got the idea once I started: shifting back up the bed I smoothed my fingers over the pillowslip. Left to right, right to left, over and over.

Summer pulled the covers over her and rested on one elbow, watching. I still wonder what she saw; what I looked like, in the light of the street-lamps, falling in sharp lines across the bed, around the edges of the blinds. I’d had episodes while sharing beds with people before, but always without waking them. Having someone watch was different. I needed to swing my head back and forth, tracing an infinity sign with my chin, but after two circuits I forced myself to still and focused on the pillow instead. Some things look too odd. Some things I can’t do with eyes on me, not if I want those eyes to see me the same way in the morning.

It occurred to me that perhaps that distinction only existed for me; that to anyone else evening out the pillowslip looks no different to swishing my head. I looked at Summer and she smiled, and so did I. Then back to the pillow – circles now – until I had touched every inch of it.

‘This could take a while, by the way. You can go to sleep.’

‘Okay. If you’re sure.’ Summer squeezed my hand, then settled herself down in the bed, but kept her eyes open, still watching. I rubbed my palm where she had touched it, round and round, and then a few more swipes over the pillow. I tentatively lay my head down and stroked my hands through my hair. Front to back, curving around my ears. I don’t remember anything past that.

* * *

When I woke up everything was warm and soft: the mattress, the pillows, the sunlight blushing through the blinds. Summer opened her eyes and smiled, and crawled over to me. She was warm and soft as well.

We made it all the way to breakfast before she asked.

‘That thing last night. Does that happen much?’

I squinted at the Blue Willow pattern, just visible through the back of her hand as she held her bowl of cereal. I thought about asking her the same question – does that happen much? – but instead I said, ‘Not very much. Every few months. When I’m stressed.’

She seemed more worried than she should have been, so I added, ‘Last night wasn’t all that bad.’ Because it wasn’t.

After that Summer looked at me seriously, then pulled me into a hug. She was holding me tight but she seemed less substantial than she had the night before. I tried not to spill my coffee.

That morning she was wearing a black pencil skirt with a pink blouse and flats. She’d brought them with her from her place, just in case she ended up staying the night. She was always prepared. When breakfast was done and the dishes were stacked beside the sink she needed to go to work, but first she gave me a mischievous look and pulled me in for a kiss goodbye. Kisses took a long time then. I had been late to class three days earlier because kissing goodbye took longer than anticipated. Like I said: new and shiny.

Summer planned things better though, and she’d allowed five minutes extra before heading off to work – counselling at the local clinic. I thought her hand went clean through the door handle first try, but I couldn’t be sure. By the time I processed it she was already gone, and in any case, what could I have said?

* * *

It felt strange to be alone once Summer had left. I sent her a text, but half a minute later her text-alert sounded next to me and I found her phone beside the bowl of cereal she hadn’t finished.

I was due in class in an hour, but I didn’t want to go, so I knocked on my housemate’s door instead of getting ready. Faye opened the door almost immediately. She was dressed all in green, from head to toe. Green shirt, green jeans, green shoes, and a green ribbon in her hair, and she couldn’t stop crying.

‘Is Summer gone? I didn’t want to disturb you.’ I hugged her the way that Summer had hugged me just ten minutes before, and guided her out to the combined lounge-room/kitchen. Faye sat on the couch and I got her a glass of water while she haltingly explained that she was crying because of a nightmare she’d had two nights ago, and because she would have to catch a bus in the afternoon. Her whole body was taut as she burrowed into the couch cushions and scrunched a fluffy blanket between her fists, saying over and over, ‘I can’t, I can’t.’ The couch was green like her clothes, but the blanket was blue.

I ran my fingers over each other – index fingers down and around my thumbs, and then palms smoothing together, and then fingers lacing and unlacing, and then repeat – and I thought, ‘I know how you feel.’ But I didn’t say anything.

Words and tears kept tumbling down, collecting in her lap – I can’t, I can’t – and then both at once we noticed that she’d begun to float, just a few centimetres above the couch. The words spilled out onto the floor as she kicked her legs, trying to get down. The more she tried, the worse it got, until she was almost to the ceiling. In one hand she was trailing the blanket which she’d dragged up with her off the couch. Her other hand was clutching the light fitting.

A green balloon on a blue string.

She said, ‘I’m stuck.’

I jumped up and took a hold of her leg. It wasn’t hard to pull her down; she was floating so gently. Once I’d gotten her back to the couch I tucked the blanket around her and under the couch cushions and that seemed good enough to hold her for a little while. Then I went to her room and found a heavy pair of boots.

* * *

Once she started floating while we were walking home after grocery shopping. I stood on her foot while I sorted through the bags, then I put the two litres of milk in one of her hands and a bag holding flour and rice in the other. That kept her down until we got inside.

I was good at looking after Faye. Or I was used to it, at least. I was used to the floating and in comparison fading seemed rather small, and maybe that’s why I held back, with Summer. I didn’t want to make a fuss over something that could have turned out to be no big deal. Fading isn’t all that uncommon and often people come right back into focus in their own time.

When I returned to the lounge room Faye had stopped crying. I helped her put the boots on so she wouldn’t drift away when she went to catch her bus. Sometimes I dream that Faye is out alone and no one stops her from floating away into the stratosphere. Sometimes I’m awake and I just can’t get the image out of my head.

She tested the boots, walking around the room. Holding onto the counter she did little jumps to see how high she’d go before the boots pulled her down. ‘So, Summer stayed over last night? How was that?’

I shrugged. ‘It was fine. I mean, it was good. I had an episode but she seemed okay about it.’ I can talk about it with Faye. She floats, so my episodes aren’t a big deal. I don’t know why I thought to mention the episode and not the fading, but then, the fading wasn’t really mine to talk about.

‘Are you going to see anyone about that?’

I shrugged again. Big, whole body shrugging. Mostly I look at the ground so I’ve gotten good at expressing things with my body rather than my face.

After that I decided I’d try to get to my class after all.

* * *

These days Summer fades in and out. It varies, day to day. Some days she fills right back in, until it’s hard to believe she’s ever flirted with transparency. But the change isn’t permanent. Once she got the idea she couldn’t let go of it. Even now things will happen: last week she tripped over and fell through a chair instead of into it. There was something familiar in the way she stumbled forwards, and I thought of Faye, drifting up, as I watched Summer falling down.

Sometimes I don’t picture Faye just floating away. I imagine pushing her. Last week when Summer reached out a hand, asking me to help her up, I saw Faye in front of me, just starting to lift off the ground, reaching out to me. I saw myself taking her hand, then her waist, then flinging her upwards as hard as I could, and watching as she flew up and away. Out of sight. Out of breath. The image comes to me more and more often these days. Sometimes when I’m walking, or in class, and sometimes at night until I can’t close my eyes without seeing her staring helplessly down at me as I shove her into space. Perhaps that’s what I dreamt of, the first night Summer stayed over.

What I’m trying to say is that once I get an idea I can’t let go of it either, and that neither of us do it on purpose. Thoughts take root sometimes. Something took root so firmly in Summer.

* * *

Just the other day she was trying to get into bed – I was sitting up on the other side with my laptop, writing an essay – but she couldn’t quite grasp the edge of the sheet to peel it back. The fabric is too thin for her to hold when she is stretched so thin as well.

I took her hand, very carefully, or it might have gone through me, and I said, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

She tugged my hand to her lips and kissed it. ‘Me too.’ And after that her hand found purchase on the sheet, although when she lay down the floral pattern of the pillowslip still shone through her hair.

Sometimes I can help like that, a little, and sometimes I can’t. Sometimes when I try she only gets more translucent. Either way it’s not permanent.

Summer watched me rubbing slow circles over the back of my hand, where she’d kissed it. When I was done I went to type, but I had to run my fingers over the sides of the keys, and then over each other, and then the keys again.

‘Shouldn’t you get help with that?’ Summer was looking at me, hard, so that it was difficult to look back.

I shook my head. ‘It’s fine.’ I said, because it was. I don’t understand that question. Not from Faye. Not from Summer. ‘I’m fine.’

* * *

I am fine. They see things differently, is all. Faye’s perspective has gone all bird’s eye. Always looking down. And Summer, well, who knows how Summer sees things, especially at the times when there’s barely anything of her to be seen.

* * *

Summer was in hospital for it, a little while ago. She checked herself in. She must have seen something that properly scared her, or maybe it was what she didn’t see; maybe she looked right through herself in the mirror because she was barely there, for a while. It got bad. She’s sensible though, and she checked herself in and they got some shape back around her edges then sent her home to fill in between the lines herself.

It got bad, and I saw, but I never said a word.

* * *

The week before she went away she walked in through the front door without opening it first. I’d heard her car and come out from the kitchen to meet her, so I saw. I saw but I pretended not too. I had to get back to the soup I was making for dinner and she was all smiles, if not at full opacity, and it didn’t seem like a good time to bring it up. She looked so happy, so it didn’t seem like a problem.

* * *

In the end it was Summer who brought it up first.

I remember exactly: she said, ‘Honey, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been having some issues lately.’

At the time we were sitting on the couch and the tartan pattern showed through her, from her shoulders down to her feet. Her head looked almost as though it were disembodied, suspended just above the couch.

I said, ‘What kind of issues?’

Gasping, Ged woke up with a start. He had the dream again, the one where everything was green. His body felt constricted, like he was still submerged, but he soon realised that it was just his blankets tangled around his body. Letting out a sigh, Ged sat up in bed and ran a small hand through his messy mop of chestnut curls. A slither of light peeked through the curtains across the room. Getting up, Ged crossed the room and pulled open the curtains. Light flooded in, highlighting the pieces of paper and colouring pencils strewn across the wooden floorboards.

Muffled sounds filtered through, shadows fluttering here and there. A sharp, piercing noise rang out, not muffled like the others. It hurt.

Cringing, Ged covered his ears as the dream flashed through his memory once more. Teary-eyed, Ged hesitantly hugged himself, shivers racking through his small frame. Looking through the window, Ged’s eyes scanned over the lush green lawn and swaying trees. Noticing a dot of red crawling across the window, Ged slowly leaned forward, careful not to startle the little creature before him.

‘Ladybug,’ Ged whispered as he stared at the insect. He wasn’t sure how he knew, it just came to him. He’d never seen a ladybug or even heard the name before.

Smiling, Ged carefully prodded the ladybug onto his hand. Cupping the other carefully over the creature to prevent its escape, Ged quickly scampered out of his room.

Look, it’s a ladybug! Did you know they eat all the bad bugs that try and eat all the pretty flowers? Let’s go bring it to the garden so it can be the flower’s knight.

Stopping, Ged looked around. He thought he heard a woman’s voice, but there was no one in sight. Shaking his head, Ged turned back and without a second thought continued running through the dark corridors of the house, finally arriving at a big oak door. Ged stopped. Shuffling worriedly, Ged’s car patterned pyjamas rustled with his movements. Having seemingly made up his mind, Ged took a deep breath and pushed open the doors.

The doors opened into a brightly lit room, the walls covered from floor to ceiling with thick volumes of the most intricate of sciences. In the centre of the study stood a large mahogany desk overflowing with books and papers, the slightest breeze seemed like it could make the whole thing topple over. Sitting behind this desk was a round man, his tan complexion contrasting with his baby blue eyes and white walrus moustache.

‘Dad,’ Ged called out as he walked towards the desk, careful not to run.

‘Ah, Ged m’boy! I just heard from your teachers. Great job! You’ve already mastered computer programming and it’s only your second day! And not only that, you were able to throw a rock so far it was like a bullet!’ Harold praised as he playfully messed up Ged’s curls.

‘I’m so proud of you, boy.’

Smiling up at Harold, Ged enjoyed being praised by his father, revelling in the warmth before sticking out his closed palms.

Opening his hand carefully, Ged said excitedly, ‘Look, look! I found a ladybug in my room.’

‘A ladybug, hmm? And what will you do with it m’boy?’ Harold said as he struggled to get out of his chair, but soon gave up the feat to motion Ged closer to him.

‘Well, I was thinking I’d take her to the greenhouse. Aren’t ladybugs good for plants? It can be the flower’s knight!’ Ged replied, his excitement barely contained. Flesh slammed against wood, causing Ged to flinch. Paper flew around him as Ged looked up at Harold who was leering down at him.

‘Flower’s knight?’ Harold asked as he towered over Ged, ‘Where did you hear that term?’

‘I just thought of it,’ squeaked the trembling Ged.

Letting out a long sigh, Harold swept his meaty hand through his thinning hair. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, how his puppet could not follow the processes he was trying to instil into him. Biting his lip in frustration, Harold glared down at Ged.

‘How many times have I told you? No compassion! No niceties! I want to see you pull that bug apart! Rip it apart like you will those bastards that ignored everything I did for them!’ screeched Harold, spit flying from his mouth as his eyes grew round and wild.

Cowering, Ged looked fearfully up at Harold. He had never understood why his father was so focused on those ‘bastards’, as he called them.

‘I . . . I’m sorry Daddy. B . . . but I don’t like doing those things. It hurts them. They’re always crying and begging me to stop when I do as you say. I don’t like it.’

Harold let out a long sigh as he contemplated what Ged meant when he said that he could hear the creatures crying and begging, but that wasn’t important at the moment. He could always study that at a later point. What was more pressing was Ged’s lack of obedience due to his developing emotions. Everything was so much easier when all the boy would do was nod and do as he was told. It was crucial that Ged obeyed his commands without question. After all, how else would he be able to prove how valuable his research was to the Board of Directors that shunned his studies and practices? They would learn though. They would learn that his research was necessary and they would regret making a fool of him.

Smiling greedily, Harold finally managed to sit himself upright as he leaned over his stomach, his large hands resting on top like it was a pillow. Ged watched carefully, his eyes trained on the movements of Harold’s hands. They reminded him of the hands in his dream. The feelings from the dream returned to him now as his small frame quaked.

‘My dear boy, I do this all for your benefit. I know you don’t like being cooped up at home all the time, even though I go out of my way to make you feel comfortable.’ Pausing, Harold looked down at Ged. He could see his words had sparked guilt, wracking through the boy’s small frame. Emotions were good sometimes. Made things easier.

‘So, m’boy, I am hard on you, and make you do these things, so you’ll be safe when I can finally take you with me on my little trips out of the house. You’d like that wouldn’t you?’ Harold continued, his Cheshire grin hovering over the small figure before him.

‘I . . . I’m sorry father. I never realised it was all for my sake. You do so much for me. Thank you.’

With a small bow, Ged hesitantly began to pull at the ladybug’s legs, wincing slightly as its small squeaks of pain reached his ear.

‘Please! Stop! It hurts!’ the small creature cried out. Ged couldn’t quite explain how he could understand the language the bug was speaking, but he knew that he wished he didn’t. His task would be much easier.

Unbeknownst to Ged, Harold’s eyes gleamed as he watched the boy dismember the bug. This was exactly what he wanted. His research would finally be given the funding and recognition it deserved for he now had the perfect proof of his research sitting at his feet. Creating GED – Genetically Engineered Devices – was possible. Utilising a human child and genetically modifying their DNA while removing their memories would make them the perfect bio-weapons. It was a perfect, indisputable method. Who could go against such effective work?

* * *

‘- subdivision of the peripheral nervous system that controls the body’s involuntary motor responses by connecting,’ droned the tutor standing in front of Ged, a book on the human body propped in the tutor’s right hand as he continued to read out loud.

Ged, however, was elsewhere. He could still feel the numbness in his hands from a couple of days ago when he had been ordered by Harold to dismember the ladybug. Looking down at his hands, Ged clenched his fists as he was submerged in the guilt of killing the little creature.

It’s ok dear, it isn’t your fault. You were just protecting Mummy.

‘Ged, are you listening?’ called out the tutor, snapping the book closed.

Startled by the sudden sound, Ged looked up at his tutor.

‘Um, attractive stimulus is paired with a noxious stimulus in order to elicit a negative reaction to the target stimulus, right?’ Ged answered timidly, knowing full well he wasn’t actually listening.

‘It seems like Ged has already mastered all you have to teach him, professor,’ laughed Harold as he walked into the room wearing a pristine white suit with matching white tie.

Unable to look at Harold, Ged continued to stare at his hands. Noticing this, Harold scowled. He didn’t like that Ged was avoiding him. It made it all the more difficult to control the boy. Waving his hand to dismiss the tutor, Harold dragged a chair over to Ged and sat down with a groan.

‘Look at me,’ Harold commanded, his cold, blue eyes trained on Ged’s every movement.

Shivering slightly, Ged looked up while his hands clutched at his clothes in fear, Harold’s cold eyes piercing into his own. Seeing these actions, Harold couldn’t help but smirk. It was good the boy was afraid, fear made everything obedient, but he needed the boy to be loyal. So Harold plastered a smile on his face.

‘Good job, m’boy! It’s only been a few days and you’re already mastering what others took decades to accomplish! I’m so proud of you Ged!’ Harold exclaimed as he ruffled Ged’s brown locks.

Surprised at Harold’s actions, Ged stared blankly up at him, unsure what to do. Ged remembered the cold way Harold looked at him and the anger the last time they met, but now it seemed like everything was back to normal. Harold had once again gone back to being the caring father Ged remembered. Still cautious, Ged began to relax around Harold.

Seeing Ged lower his guard, Harold had to hold back his laughter as he continued to pat Ged’s hair. It seemed to Harold that everything was aligned perfectly. The Board of Directors meeting was a few days away and Ged was ready to be presented to them. Everything was going according to plan.

‘Hey Dad, can I ask you a question?’ Ged said as he looked up past the hand on top of his head.

Curious to know what Ged wanted to ask him, Harold removed his hand and motioned for the boy to continue.

‘Where’s my Mum?’ Ged asked, unaware of the growing darkness clouding over Harold’s features, ‘Sometimes I remember – well, more like hear – a woman’s voice, and maybe that’s my Mum?’

Looking up expectantly, Ged’s eyes began to quiver in fear. Never had he seen Harold like he was now – a sinister smile with cold, unemotional eyes searing into him. It was all over in a flash as Harold leaned back into his chair, all hints of the intimidating aura gone, causing Ged to question whether what he saw was real or not. Standing up, Harold extended his hand to Ged as he smiled happily down at him.

‘Would you like to go see her?’ he asked as he waited for the boy.

Eyes growing wide in surprise and excitement, Ged eagerly took hold of Harold’s hand as he nodded several times, all thoughts of fear forgotten at the possible opportunity of meeting the voice he had been hearing.

‘She’s by my lab, but before I can take you I need you to promise me that you’ll do exactly as I say and be a good boy, ok?’ Harold said as he began to make his way out of the room.

Eagerly following, Ged looked around. He had never ventured near Harold’s labs. Whenever he did stray too close someone would always find him and turn him the other way, not allowing Ged to ever pass beyond the stairs leading to the basement. But here he was now, standing at the precipice. Taking a deep, excited breath, Ged followed Harold down the wooden stairs.

Seeing how excited Ged was, Harold could barely contain himself. Soon everything would come to an end, and he would be the one to create a new beginning. Standing before a metal door, Harold looked down at Ged.

‘Now, Ged m’boy, remember your promise?’ Harold asked, waiting for Ged’s nod before continuing, ‘I want you to close your eyes tight, ok? Don’t look until I tell you. After all, I want the first thing you see to be your mother.’

Closing his eyes as directed, Ged’s other senses heightened. He could hear the rustling of cloth and feel the soft coolness of silk as Harold tied a bandana around Ged’s eyes. Feeling Harold’s large, sweaty palm encircle his smaller one, Ged obediently followed Harold as he pushed open the metal doors.

The smell of disinfectant stung Ged’s nose as he crinkled it in displeasure. Tightening his grip on Harold’s hand, Ged began to breathe faster. The air around him felt oppressive as his heart squeezed inside his chest. Something felt wrong, but he didn’t know what. His only source of comfort was the warmth of his palm against another, but this too was quickly taken away. Panicked, Ged began to quickly look around despite being unable to see.

‘Now Ged, there’s a step in front of you, ok boy? Be careful now,’ Harold said, placing his hands upon the panicking boy’s shoulders, guiding him.

Feeling relieved at the touch, Ged complied to the command and carefully lifted his leg. Feeling the hands move away from his shoulders once he had gone over the step, Ged turned around, insecurity welling inside of him.

‘Dad?’ he asked as the sound of creaking echoed around him.

Pulling off the blindfold, Ged winced at the blinding light that pierced his eyes. Shielding them with his arm, Ged carefully looked up to find himself in what looked like a giant glass tube. Not understanding what was going on, Ged looked around until his eyes lay upon Harold, his icy eyes piercing into Ged. Shivering from the look, Ged called out.

‘Dad, what’s going on? Weren’t you going to take me to Mum?’

‘Ah, but this is your Mum, Ged. I created you after all,’ Harold said as he walked towards a small computer pad to the side of the tube, ‘I’m the Father that invented the whole idea of using genetically modified people, and this,’ Harold motioned to the contraption Ged was held in, ‘is the mother that held you as I modified your DNA.’

Smiling up at Ged, Harold pressed a button on the computer pad, causing a green liquid to begin filling up the tube. Panicked at how fast the tube was filling up, Ged pounded on the glass as hard as he could, begging to be released before it once again caused him to be submerged, constricted.