Category : Stories

Sub Category : Science Fiction

A storm came that night, one of the worst I’d ever seen. The thin walls and rotting roof provided little shelter to Venetia and me from the raging sleet and horrendous rainfall. The thunder was loud and frightening and near, crackling in the night sky amongst the gray mushrooms. Venetia and I could not sleep through the pounding against the house and the plateau’s surrounding it, so we filled our time with pointless conversations and musings. I thought about my parents, the people I had never met but thought about all too often. I wondered if they could hear the roar of thunder on the other side of the wall. I thought about Nena too, whether she could hear the noise as well, behind whatever wall she was behind. The thought that the powerful and ominous thunder in all its glory could be heard by everyone everywhere was a strangely comforting thought to me, ridiculous though it was.
The thunder and downpour stopped in the early hours of the day, and while Venetia finally let her eyelids close and the blanket of sleep furl itself around her, my eyes stayed firmly open. I spent the time between twilight and dawn contemplating my life so far, the good and the bad. Venetia was my good luck charm, I would not have survived in the lonely world of solitude, but she was also inadvertently the source of danger and bad luck that followed us more than anyone else.
When I was young and foolish at 7 years old, Nena was much older and wiser at 15. However, her wisdom did not keep her from making a grave mistake, a mistake that was costly and forbidden, a mistake that ultimately led to her death and my always lingering sadness. Nena’s mistake, mine as well, began with a boy named Evan, chiseled and handsome and loyal, a quality that was hard to find in the boys in our world. Evan was a truly good person, but just like Nena, he is gone. Nena’s mistake may have begun with a boy named Evan, but it ended with tragic death and a little girl named Venetia. The same Venetia.
The sun finally rose, and with it came the destruction and wreckage left in the wake of the mighty storm from the night before. Venetia and I skipped breakfast, spending most of the hours before the sun reached its peak picking up tree limbs and shingles of plaster torn from our roof. We eventually concluded the little dwelling we resided in was in worse shape than ever, another storm like the nights before and it may no longer resemble a house at all. Thus, we took the storm’s wreckage as a sign that it was time to move on.
By the time the sun began to set, we had put a large distance between us and the crumbling adobe home. That night, we set up camp down by a river the color of the sky on a good day. The rippling water created a satisfactory breeze that kept us from getting to heated, but even so, I spent another sleepless night next to a snoring Venetia.
We wasted no time the next morning, setting out before the sun had even begun to light the desolate wasteland. I did not have a particular place in mind, only a single idea: away. My hair was a short and choppy blonde, a length of hair that came in handy on sweltering days like today was. Venetia’s, on the other hand, had length 4 times mine. As gorgeous as it was, she overheated easily under her thick head of hair. After several hours of trudging along faded pathways lined with broken bottles and assorted rubble, I stopped to braid Venetia’s hair out of her face, sitting on a stump that had once been a tree. She told me it helped significantly, but she bit her lip familiarly at the same time, a sign she was lying.
Grabbing our packs, we began the repetitive walk to nowhere with no real purpose. Every so often, I peeked a look at Venetia’s eyes, green emeralds shining in their sockets, always making her appear as if she is about to cry. I have always thought Venetia’s eyes mirrored Nena’s, even though Nena’s eyes were a velvety brown rather than green. I suppose I saw the similarities not in the colors of their eyes, but in the sadness trapped underneath them. Venetia started to peek glances at me too, meaning I’d probably been discovered staring at her. I stopped then, staring at the torn and ripped dirt beneath my bare feet.
Nightfall came and went and came and went while we continued our routine: walk all day, scrounging for berries and nuts, stopping only at night to sleep (or pretend to), by a stream if there was one. We avoided sectors now, places that had the chance of being occupied by a few living people, children really, it was safer that way. So many days passed that I lost track of how long it had really been since the storm, or how the looming threat of my 17th year was drawing ever closer. The best indication of time passing came in the form of my usual short and choppy hair, now growing past my shoulders. We were never safe, never, but we’d managed to avoid danger better than usual, creating a sense of comfort and security. It could be argued that was more dangerous than anything else. Of course, it didn’t last.
The sun had set, and the sky was nothing but a vat of darkness. The temperature outside had transitioned from hot and stifling to cooler with a breeze over time. Venetia slept sounder and longer now. As for me, I barely slept at all. Nothing new. Venetia’s head lay on my shoulder, we both lay under a woolen and musty blanket. We were camped in the middle of a literal forest, although there weren’t many trees in sight. Everything was silent.
The silence was broken so suddenly I did not have time to breathe. The sound of footsteps, running fast over branches that cracked and logs that tripped. Right before the figure reached us, alone, they tripped over one of several longs Venetia and I had surrounded our camp with: our semblance of protection from the unknown. Venetia continued sleeping deeply, there was no time to wake her.
Carefully I crept towards the figure lying on the ground. My heart was racing and my eardrums pounding. It took only seconds to reach him, even walking slowly. There he was, lying on his stomach, only his face raised above the ground to look at me. The said face looking at me was covered in the mud littering the ground, the sky had cried earlier, but still I had no trouble recognizing him. His eyes were the emerald green color I knew so well, shimmering with wet tears and widened in fear. Evan was still chiseled and handsome, the face of the boy I’d once fallen for when I was too young and very naive.
There was something different about him too, other than age. Now, just by looking in his eyes, I could tell he’d betrayed me, us. Evan, the boy who was supposed to be loyal and kind was anything but. Venetia’s older brother stood before me, the one who was supposed to have died honorably beside my good friend. In that instant, I knew real trouble was coming, and I knew it was all Evan’s fault.