Of the Darkness

(this is the fifth part of Claire’s story. It is not an end. The rest may be found here) “You have the most fascinating eyes, little sprout. I think I’ll take them with me.” Claire wakes with a start into an emptiness more profound than any darkness she has ever known, a void utterly unlike her bedroom’s greyscale night. For a moment she thinks that she’s tangled her blankets around her head—that the silver-eyed darkness has forced its way into her parents’ house—that she’s fallen under the bed. But she feels nothing against her cheeks, nothing but clean air on her face and blankets on her body. ...

(this is the fourth part of Claire’s story. The rest may be found here) The forest floor is cool against Claire’s cheek, sun-warmed ground no match for the fearful heat radiating from every inch of her body. Her wounds burn, sharp and dripping; her eyes brim with tears and her unwise fingers still clutch the flower. Yellow and gold rise around her like a buzzing tide, each little bee-body blazing like a jewel in the sun’s bright light—a mob nerving itself for the first strike, eagerly awaiting the violence that will follow as soon as some brave soul gives the rest permission— ...

(This is the start of Claire’s story. The rest may be found here) Bonk. Claire pulls her blankets tighter, burrows a bit deeper into her bed’s comforting warmth. Bonk. She pointedly turns her back on the window. Bonk. Her patience breaks. “Will you stop already?! I’m trying to sleep here!” The glare she directs at the darkness outside her window could power her entire town, if it were ever properly harnessed. It is her most powerful weapon, and it frustrates her to no end that the darkness appears to be immune to it (as are her teachers, classmates, and parents). ...