Broken Mirrors, Fractured Minds

by Carmilla Voiez

  But, when I opened my eyes, my father was still dead and I remained in this trap.

  I decided to sell the possessions, from which I could bear to part, and leave Helm as soon as possible in hope of finding greener pastures.

  Unfortunately, in my desperation for removal from darkness, I forgot those pastures (greener than anything in Helm) lay beneath the countenance of a merciless Goddess of Flame.

  All called her beautiful, but I knew her true power. One day, a wind would sweep over the meadows, making the grasses ripple as waves of an emerald sea; branches of lush forests roar and crack with every leaf screaming, some snapping free of the boughs to take flight with the birds as the Goddess of Winds bore them on her proud, sweet chariot. Whilst walking, my drinking the wine of horse-chewed ranchlands, algae-skimmed bogs and trickling springs beneath the skirts and the proud crinoline of leaf, pine, ash and brush which the hillsides in the outskirts of Auburn wear, I saw Her. Even when Her menace in stratus lay cloaked, I saw the indention of a previous eruption; a hammer blow to her bleached, ever-frowning face. Fuming lahar outpoured below growing cauliflower-blooms of pyroclastic flow, consuming all in its wake. One pale malignancy of the snow-clad body of mountain range; O, this Goddess of Death over each serrated summit towers. Her name is Rainier.

  Like Vesuvius before her, she...

  ...shall blanket all

  ...in

  ...grey.

  In ashes...ashes...ashes...

  Every man I met, every woman I saw, every child who cried and played in this city, I saw them in my mind's eye as they would be: Frozen in time, cradling one another, clawing at some invisible menace, for they would die with hands raised as if they could stop the onslaught. I saw some who would die crawling, dragging legs broken in the stampede. The ground heaving, cracks and glittering showers of glass would descend from erupting windows. Rain of stars cutting flesh amid shrieks and the crash of steel, cars colliding, bridges collapsing, the Puget Sound rising, swallowing the shore and eternities, every possible future of those who must drown or bleed to death by the blade of Poseidon. Corpses would lie, welded together in cemented mounds; others would die trapped in prayer and spend ages like unto cemetery cherubim - statues on their own graves. Every grimace and scream trapped forever, in a white flash of agony, before the great flame devours the candle of every life.

  There they rest... cadavers, row upon row. All grey. All ashes…ashes…They never rot. But they forever cry.

  I saw it all, at every waking moment of the day under the mountain's height. How many times in my life have I risen drenched in icy sweat from nightmares of the catastrophe? I do not know. Long before I ever settled into Auburn, I dreamt of Helm affected by the blast, always waking just as the cloud came. I felt the slowness of death as time lost all meaning; my heart nearly stopped. Then, I woke.

  Always...right at that moment...

  I ceased to rise in fear once I arrived in Auburn. I woke in tears, for I did not die. I would sit in my bed and cry, looking to the little urn of my father's ashes and wish I was dead, on the off-chance that an "After Life" may exist and I would find him there.

  "But not that way," I said, one night. "Not in the eruption, please! Not that way!"

  My heart was so cold, so heavy, so torn without him. I wanted to die, but...

  That night, I closed my eyes and found a pale dawn in the realm beyond. I had grown accustomed to arriving in the dark; when stars we cannot see in the mortal sphere mesmerized me with their gleam: the belt of Orion adorned in diamond rings, the Big Dipper filled to the brim with nova mists of sapphire, crimson and jade. Planets, rimmed in moons aglow with city lights, rolled across the starry dome. One fat world, incarnadine and smooth as a surface of glass, hovered just above a horizon of caliginous fumes. In the cold blue of dawn, these stars and worlds disappeared.

  I came often to this place, in the horrors of sleep paralysis. I learned to force my consciousness from the gelatinous hulk of my flesh. I remember my dread the first time I rose and looked, at my bed, to my own prostrate form. These were dreams that were more than dreams, for they felt more like wakening, but for so long after these episodes began, I swore I was dying.

  All I had to do was breathe. Just breathe, and in this night (or day), find the man who meant more to me than anything else.

  The moment I left my body, I yearned to go outside. Not simply to search for him, but to witness what this reality looked like, under the sun.

  Eagerly, I rushed down the stairs. The structure around me remained the same as in "waking life" but, when I threw open the door, I discovered much altered. There stood the familiar dirt road to my new home, but around it, the flora of Auburn grew among alien blooms I cannot name; such plant life has never been beheld in the dimension I left behind. To the North, where the volcano stands, the trees I knew had vanished from existence. Here small, flat greenery grew between crescents of thin, pallid stone. Beyond them, I beheld a hill. From this hill rose decayed fangs, tombstones ancient and inscribed by letters dissimilar to any of human tongue.

  Waiting on the emerald crown stood a figure. Far from featureless, yet at the same time without features, this being was wrought of polished, silvery luminance and, from every inch of its form, gazed wandering, unblinking eyes with irises of black.

  Hurrying, lest I "waken", I ran toward the creature, but found it shrank with every step I took, falling to a smaller and smaller character until it stood as little more than a flickering flame as I passed, between graves, to the top of the hill. However, this state of dismay moved aside to make room for astonishment and glee as I saw the specter replaced by doorway marked 108 - the very entrance to the apartment my father and I shared!

  My hand reached for the old knob. But before the tips of my fingers could touch the brass, I felt the one thing I truly feared. The high rise on which I stood became the belly of a beast, rumbling with savage hunger. The tweeting of morning birds rose to shrill utterances of despair; the world quivered and quaked. From the North, a sonic boom arose. I looked and, as I heard voices trying to wake me, crying out "Leon! Leon!" I beheld the mountain, her snowy gown stripped, leaving only her iron flesh. The skin blackened and peeled away, tumbling downward. From within, a blast of ash burst forth and clouds of atomic heat swiftly came, burying all in suffocating dark. To my surprise, I did not fear this. No! I welcomed it! The billow comes! It is coming now! I see it! I can feel it! One moment of true pain and I will be with him again, forever! The gloom shall take me, and together, my father and I, we shall be ashes!

  Ashes...Ashes...Ashes...

  * * *

  In a room of linoleum tiles, white as pearl save for tall paddings of green, a figure sits alone. As he has since that fateful night three months before when his father died before him. He rocks to and fro, muttering low under his breath.

  Attended by members of his family, time and time again the young man says, "We shall be ashes. Ashes...ashes...ashes...ashes..."

  The doctors have encouraged his family to call to him, to try (if they may) to wake him from the state in which he suffers.

  "Leon?" one says. "It’s me, Leon. It's Mom. Leon? Leon?"

  The only reply from the wild-eyed youth:

  "Ashes...ashes...ashes..."

  Guilt

  by Allison Zachary

  Four women puffed their way up the steep hill. Their muscles ached from carrying heavy backpacks. Jennifer, in the lead, looked back at her companions and smiled.

  ‘Hurry up, slowpokes!’ she shouted, ignoring glares from the other girls.

  ‘Slow down a bit!’ Laura yelled.

  ‘We can camp on that hill,’ Jennifer called out, pointing.

  ‘Next time we do this, I’m picking the activity,’ Doris moaned as she caught up. ‘I have blisters on my blisters.’ She threw herself on the grass and, with some effort, tugged off her shoes and flexed her ankles.

  ‘I warned you to break in your boots first,’ Jennifer chided, gently.

&
nbsp; Three of the women watched Pippa, amble slowly towards them, camera in hand. She stopped every few steps to snap a tree, or flower, or something the others couldn’t see.

  ‘It’s the countryside for Christ’s sake. What the hell is she taking pictures of, cowpats and puddles?’ Doris asked.

  ‘Wow, Doris, you can take the girl out of the city…’ Jennifer smiled.

  ‘I hate the countryside, you know that. It smells like crap, literally.’ Doris took a wet wipe from her pocket and attempted to wash the grime from her face. ‘My God, I need a shower.’

  Pippa grinned as she ambled across the grass, enjoying the freedom. She lifted her face to the light breeze. Cooling air ruffled her hair. She knew the others were waiting for her, but too many years of bending to others’ rules made her want to rebel. This time someone would wait for her, instead of her following someone else’s timetable. She wasn’t free yet, but she would be. One day she’d forgive herself and live again.

  Pippa finally caught up to the others. She grinned at them, her green eyes shining. ‘I saw some wildflowers. Want to see?’

  ‘Maybe later,’ Laura replied.

  ‘We should stop. Let Doris rest her feet,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Thank God!’ Doris tore her arms from the straps of her backpack.

  While Doris rested, the other women got to work. Jennifer cleared a small area and made a circle of stones for a fire. Laura and Pippa put up tents.

  ‘You want any help?’ Doris asked, not moving or looking over at the others.

  ‘No thanks,’ Pippa called.

  ‘OK, good.’ She wriggled her feet and removed her socks to examine her blisters.

  ‘How about a bonding exercise while we wait for the fire to heat up?’ Jennifer suggested.

  The other women grumbled as they circled the fire. Doris pulled a small stool from her backpack, making the other girls giggle as they unrolled waterproof blankets. When they were settled, they looked at Jennifer, expectantly.

  ‘Well, we’ve all gotten to know each other pretty well over the past few weeks,’ Doris started. ‘So I think now is the time we finally tell each other who we’re grieving for.’

  Doris stared at her boots, wiping them on the grass. Laura found a hole in her jacket sleeve and made it slightly bigger. Pippa glanced at the others in turn before looking back at Jennifer.

  ‘I’ll start,’ Jennifer said. ‘I lost my mother. We were very close when I was growing up and she died of cancer six years ago. I thought I was drowning until I walked into the library one day and saw an advert for a counselling group. I joined and, eighteen-months later, started training as a grief counsellor.’ Her eyes misted as she recalled the woman who had meant everything to her.

  ‘Do you still miss her?’ Doris asked.

  ‘Every day, but I know she would want me to keep living,’ Jennifer answered.

  ‘It was my baby,’ Laura whispered.

  ‘How old?’ Pippa asked.

  ‘Ryan was three-months-old when he died. Cot death - no reason for it. He just stopped breathing one day. It was months before I could even leave the house.’

  Doris put an arm around a sobbing Laura as she pressed herself into Doris’ shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, Laura,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘For me it was my brother,’ Doris said, hugging Laura more tightly.

  ‘What happened?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘Drug overdose. He had everything to live for until one of his idiot friends convinced him to try heroin at a party. Less than a year later, he’d stolen from everyone in the family, dropped out of college, and was stealing to pay for his habit. The friend got clean, but Kevin overdosed in a filthy alley behind a shopping centre. He wasn’t found for two days.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Pippa whispered. ‘That’s awful,’

  ‘My parents were angry at him for throwing everything away. I just missed him. I haven’t taken anything for granted since.’

  The women turned to Pippa. She swallowed, unsure of how much to say.

  ‘I grieve for a man I killed,’ she muttered.

  ‘You killed someone?’ Laura asked sharply.

  ‘Yes, two years ago. I was driving on a country road and hit him. I didn’t see him. I prayed I’d hit a dog or a deer, but I panicked and kept driving. I found out two days later I’d killed a man whose car had broken down. I went to the police, pled guilty and served a year in prison. I just finished my parole two months ago.’

  Silence met Pippa’s admission; the other women had no words of condolences for her, no hugs. She’d expected no less, but she had to admit to them, to herself, what she’d done. They couldn’t look her in the eye, but Pippa still felt better. She’d finally told someone about the accident. ‘Ever since I was released I’ve been struggling to live with what I did.’

  The other women said nothing, making her feel self-conscious. After several minutes she couldn’t bear the silence anymore and stood up. ‘I think I’ll turn in.’

  In her tent, Pippa lay awake until after darkness fell. She heard the muffled voices of the other women, but couldn’t make out their words. Finally, she fell into an uneasy sleep, their mutters ringing in her ears.

  ‘She doesn’t deserve to be here,’ Doris insisted. ‘She’s not grieving. She’s a killer!’

  ‘She seems sorry for what she did. We should give her some space,’ Jennifer replied.

  ‘Fine, but don’t expect me to be nice to her.’

  ‘Just try, please, Doris. She could have kept quiet, she didn’t. Instead she confessed and took her punishment,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘I guess so. I’m just grumpy from hunger and lack of sleep. I’ll be in a better mood tomorrow.’ Doris folded her stool. ‘But I’m still keeping my eye on her.’

  Pippa woke early and crawled from her tent. The other women were already up. She heard them chatting as she emerged, but their chatter quickly stopped as she stood up. They wouldn’t meet her eye, so she didn’t join them; instead, she started her packing her things.

  ‘Breakfast is ready. Sorry, it got a little toasted,’ Jennifer called over, indicating a bowl sitting on Doris’ camping stool.

  ‘Thanks,’ Pippa muttered, finally joining them.

  She picked up the food and sat down. The stool toppled over and she fell backwards, covering herself in the porridge. She noticed black bits in the gloopy mixture. Before she could examine them, the others rushed to her side.

  ‘Sorry, Pippa, I guess I forgot to check the ground was even,’ Doris apologised, wiping porridge from Pippa’s shirt.

  ‘You go get cleaned up, we’ll pack your bag,’ Jennifer offered.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Pippa grabbed a towel and headed for the stream. As she walked, she thought about the stool. Doris had never offered her anything before, and meals were always made as a group. Could they have set up the stool to fall on purpose? She didn’t say a word to the others when she returned, nodding thanks for their packing her bag.

  ‘OK, we’re heading for the woods today.’ Jennifer pointed towards a small wood in the distance. ‘And we’re each to point out something that reminds us of the people we miss.’

  The other women wore their backpacks already. As Pippa picked hers up, her hand brushed against something moving. She snatched her hand back and squealed, dropping the bag as something slithered in the grass.

  Jennifer ran towards her. ‘What is it?’ she asked, scanning the ground.

  ‘There.’ Pippa pointed.

  Jennifer walked slowly in the direction Pippa had pointed. The other women came over to see what was happening. Jennifer parted the grass to reveal a small, brown snake with a black diamond pattern along its back. Doris screeched and jumped back several feet.

  ‘It’s an adder,’ Jennifer said. ‘The only venomous snake in the British Isles. I’ve only ever seen one other.’

  ‘V-v-venomous?’ Pippa stuttered.

  ‘Yeah, they rarely bite though, unless they’re threatened.’


  Pippa hung back. She tried to shake the doubts in her mind, but struggled to excuse both incidents as coincidence. Her mind kept returning to the black bits in the porridge, the stool, her bag packed by one of the other women and the venomous snake hidden inside. She stared at her feet, stomping on flowers and kicking stones and clods of dirt.

  ‘Is Pippa OK?’ Jennifer asked, glancing back at her.

  ‘She didn’t say anything this morning,’ Doris added. ‘I feel bad I didn’t check the ground before I put that stool out. I was trying to be supportive.’

  ‘It was hard for her to admit what she did,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘But should she really be here?’ Laura asked. ‘I mean she’s hasn’t lost anyone.’

  ‘Grief can come from any loss,’ Jennifer said. ‘With her there’s bound to be a hefty amount of guilt thrown in.’

  ‘That snake reminded me of my brother,’ Doris told Jennifer and Laura.

  ‘Why?’ Jennifer asked.

  ‘He used to have a pet garter snake called Slither. One day it escaped and ended up in the couch. I sat down and got the fright of my life. It had snuck between the arm and the cushion. All I saw was this little head poking out of the couch, its tongue flicking out. My brother’s lucky I didn’t chop the thing’s head off!’