There are no such things as demons. Only fears, which give way to fantasy. Creatures of the dark, terrible and wicked, creep from our imaginations, but remain only this. Imaginations, and fictitious.
The small, brown-haired child in the corner continued her mutterings, the words drawn out and shuddering with each weak, strained breath. Again and again, she repeated her lines, hugging her legs with her arms.
There are no such things as demons. Only fears, which give way to fantasy. Creatures of the dark, terrible and wicked, creep from our imaginations, but remain only this. Imaginations, and fictitious.
Her head remained fixated on the floor; her eyes unblinking, vacant of any life. Her hair swayed gently as she rocked back and forth, thick with blood, matted and already drying.
Where had I seen her before?
I could not remember. I looked into the dark, stretching far above my head. Gripped with an unshakable feeling of dread, that with every passing second of my aimless gaze, something was about to happen. Or already had. My memory refused to reveal the truth.
I returned my gaze to the child. Her rocking had ceased, but she continued her mantra, now reduced to mumbling, but still tinged with the same dull tone of desperation, almost alike a prayer. Her hair still fluttered, pushed by a fleeting breeze across her face, streaked with dark lines of something I couldn’t tell.
How long have I been here?
My surroundings refused to be of any use in answering. Perhaps I could ask her. I pushed myself off the ground, the stone and rubble digging painfully into my palms. I walked unsteadily towards her, taking care to not frighten her. My voice came pained and laboured, clawing itself out of my throat. “Excuse me Miss, do I know you?” She did not deign to reply. I looked more closely at her, seeing now that she was clutching a dainty little teddy bear. The edges of her dress were tattered and discoloured. She reminded me of my own younger sister, back at home.
Maybe even the same age?
Her hair had concluded its swaying, now resting beside her eyes, which still stared at the floor in front of her. She remained motionless, producing no signs of awareness but for her repeated whispers. Maybe I could help her. I cleared my throat, painfully, and asked again. “I’m sorry Miss, do you know where your parents are?” Again, there was no response. Her mutterings continued unabated.
There are no such things as demons. Only fears, which give way to fantasy. Creatures of the dark, terrible and wicked, creep from our imaginations, but remain only this. Imaginations, and fictitious.
I moved closer, raising my voice slightly so as to get her attention. “I’m sorry, Miss, but-”
I was suddenly struck with a flicker of recognition, gone before I could even think to grasp it. I felt the cold feeling of dread return, coating itself heavily on my head and back. I heard the words again, though I could not see her mouth moving. I noticed for the first time the stumps of her arms, clutching her mangled, broken legs. I looked at her eyes, not merely empty, but lifeless. Tears formed in my eyes, unbidden, and rolled down my cheeks, but I felt no sadness. I couldn’t understand.
I stepped back, and stumbled over a pair of legs. My eyes traced them upwards to a body. A man, and a woman, as equally yet distantly familiar to my sight as the girl, laying on the ground beside her, their arms splayed outwards as if to attempt to reach her. Their bodies were torn and bloodied, twisted where their limbs had been snapped, their faces disfigured almost beyond recognition. Almost. My eyes welled up with tears, coating my face, as understanding unfolded, driving me to my knees. I heard the child’s words again, realizing it was my own voice.
There are no such things as demons. Only fears, which give way to fantasy. Creatures of the dark, terrible and wicked, creep from our imagination, but remain only this. Imaginations, and fictitious.
Once upon a time, I would have agreed with her. But in the face of the scene before me, I no longer could.