In the beginning, the streets weren't empty. At first, they were lined with bodies and begging hands, extended towards the survivors with open, pleading lips that revealed cracked tongues. At first, the buildings still stood halfway tall, the rubble only dropping to the ground when the weight of the rusted bridge shifted with the wind. At night, the lights from army planes blended with the stars, but the eager eyes of the ones below could see them moving, slowly, as if taunting them. As if reminding them that there was no rescue, nor would there ever be. And yet the dirty faces of starving parents holding their starving children still whispered, "It's alright. Everything will be alright." They hid themselves in forts of metal from the bridge or rubble or the rarity of a cardboard box found in an alleyway, as the time slowly ate away, and people started changing. There were always the howls from the inner parts of the city; howls of pain, howls of hunger, howls of rage at the machines that blew apart the homes and streets of Grandeur. But then there came the howls that weren't erupting from the mouths of humans. In the streets, the beggars disappeared, huddled somewhere hidden in the darker corners of the ruins. People started changing.
Abigail lived by the bridge, the center of what was once a great city. On either side, a rusty iron tower held it up, and lead up to the top with a steep staircase. The safest place was by the towers. Sharp, jagged pieces of metal lined the staircase, and would cut into her as she climbed, but it proved more difficult for the monsters reach her. Her bare feet were already bleeding, and each step was another jab into her wounds. The top wasn't too far. She could hardly feel herself moving at this point. The weight of the torn bag on her shoulders slowed her down, but it still didn't take long. The woman dropped the sack at her feet. Plants didn't grow here, and animals could not thrive, but sometimes you could find fungus growing on the inner sides of the ruin, and if it didn't make you too sick, it could keep you alive. Besides, she was eating for three now. As Abigail sat, she felt the twins kick. It didn't hurt. She sometimes liked to think that they were playing together, in her womb. A girl and a boy. Before the war brought Grandeur down, Jacob and Abigail went together to the hospital. A boy and a girl. Twins. They would have twins.
---
Panic. Panic settled in as Abigail stumbled through the dirt, cutting her calf of a sharp edge. A pair of eyes watched her from around a corner, and she could almost feel the breath of it on her back. Hunger. Abigail scrambled to the pile of debris and clambered up over it. Not fast enough. Its footsteps shook the ground as another chunk of the building to her left collapsed, breaking into four different pieces. It made no sound, but she knew it was just behind her. Kicking. Abigail felt the twins kick. Not now, not now! Diving to her right, she skidded and kept running. Almost there. The bridge could be seen just over the top of the houses. A few more yards, and she was there. A left turn. A couple beggars tucked back into there holds as she scrambled past them. The beast followed, but its target was set. Even the filthy stench of the starving couldn't grab its attention. Finally. Abigail's bleeding feet leapt onto the staircase. A few broke under her weight, but she managed to claw her way up. The spikes dove deep under her skin, and she let out a howl. She could hear it now, echoing its hungry reply. The sound shook the tower, threatening to tumble. It was her only chance.
Abigail reached the top in a matter of seconds, shaking with the terror so beyond anything she had ever felt. Not but herself, but for her children. She felt them coming. "Please, not now," she whimpered, begging them, begging God to spare them. It couldn't be now. It was a few feet ahead, on the ground below, but its head reached halfway up the building already. It met her eyes when she peered over the edge, and sent its blaze out to simmer her, but she ducked back quick enough that only the hair atop her head burned off. Not now, not now. The kicks grew more frantic. "Please, babies, it'll be okay. Mama will protect you." Abigail felt the instinct to grab something and fight, but it was too big. Now, as she forced herself to looks down again, she could see it spread its wings. Not now. Please, God, don't let my babies die.
The ground under the beast's heavy feet shook as the scorched wings started to move. It carried the air, tainted with the smell of fear, and lost hope, and death, and pain. In the tower, Abigail couldn't hold on, and she let her children come into the world, though she wished she could make it better for them. There was a world beyond Grandeur, where the towers stood, and the people thrived, and there were no monsters. But her children weren't born into that world. And Abigail began to hate herself for making them suffer. She hated that the first thing they would hear was the blaring of a monster's roar. She hated that today she would be leaving them alone. Then, finally, everything stopped.
Abigail looked down at her child, rested softly in her arms. She felt the tears and the joy and the sorrow as its eyes opened, glowing softly in the evening light. Her skin was midnight black and her hair was even darker, but she didn't let out a cry. Twins. What happened to the boy? Abigail let herself sob as the fate of her child dawned on her. There was one too many arms on the baby girl, and one belong to her brother. But still, this child was beautiful. God granted her life. She would survive. Abigail wiped her tears and smiled at the baby girl, wrapping her up in torn cloth and setting her down on the floor of the tower. She laid a kiss on the newborn's cheek, another tear rolling out onto the baby's face. Abigail kneeled beside her. "Avis...that name is yours now. Use it well, and remember it. It's all I can give you.
"I never wanted this for you...I never thought that this would be the world you were born in. You and your brother...But I'm sorry. Please forgive me. You may not understand...you may hate me for bringing you into this world, and I'm so, so sorry." Abigail shook with sobs that wracked her body, but she touched her child with a still hand as she spoke. "Someday, I know things will get better. You were made for something, Avis. Know that your mommy loved you, always, no matter what happens. And I'm sorry...if I could. I would stay forever and protect you. But I'll always, always be here, my baby...Mommy loves you." It was all she could say. Her vision blurred with tears, Abigail ripped herself away and left the child, stepping off the edge of the tower. Below her, the beast cried out, but it didn't reach her.
---
The shadow of the old woman stretched out behind her. The sun was lowering in the sky, spreading watercolor above Grandeur's horizon. It was the only beauty to be found in this forsaken place. The hag laughed, remembering her years long gone. If she could go back there, she could say otherwise. But things are the way they are. At least, that's how she saw it. There's no use reminiscing in the past if it costs you time in the present. She looked up, breaking through her fog of thought as the bridge rise up ahead of her. It was the safest place to be at night from the beasts, although more pitted than the allies and streets, and sometimes the green fungus grew in the wet spots where morning dew gathered or rain fell.
The hag dragged herself up the steps. Her old bones cracked, put the jabs of the metal couldn't phase her. Losing an arm was enough pain to numb her for a lifetime. She took her time climbing the steps, slipping up just as she reached the top. A scuttle came from the edge of the bridge, setting the old woman on edge. "Hello?" she called out, holding out her walking stick cautiously. A pair of dimly glowing eyes peeked out at her from a crack in the wall. The hag loosened up and put her stick down, beckoning the child with an open, shaking hand. "Well, don't be afraid, tyke, I ain't no beast." Her words seemed to bring the girl a few steps closer , but no more. "Well, come on! I'm not gunna hurt ya." Finally, the child scuttled out on all fours, looking up with fearful eyes. "What's yer name, tyke?" No reply came from the toddler, and the hag sighed a bit. "Come on, don't be shy."
Again, silence met the woman's question. "What, y'can't speak?" Finally, the old hag huffed and stood back. "Alright, y'little mute, come with me." The girl hesitantly stood, and pointed at a carving on the wall of the tower. Avis. "Avis, huh? That's yer name?" Avis nodded and stepped forward. "Alright, Avis. Come on." The woman began walking down the steps of the tower, glancing back at the child. "What? Yer not gunna survive by yerself, are ya?"
Abigail lived by the bridge, the center of what was once a great city. On either side, a rusty iron tower held it up, and lead up to the top with a steep staircase. The safest place was by the towers. Sharp, jagged pieces of metal lined the staircase, and would cut into her as she climbed, but it proved more difficult for the monsters reach her. Her bare feet were already bleeding, and each step was another jab into her wounds. The top wasn't too far. She could hardly feel herself moving at this point. The weight of the torn bag on her shoulders slowed her down, but it still didn't take long. The woman dropped the sack at her feet. Plants didn't grow here, and animals could not thrive, but sometimes you could find fungus growing on the inner sides of the ruin, and if it didn't make you too sick, it could keep you alive. Besides, she was eating for three now. As Abigail sat, she felt the twins kick. It didn't hurt. She sometimes liked to think that they were playing together, in her womb. A girl and a boy. Before the war brought Grandeur down, Jacob and Abigail went together to the hospital. A boy and a girl. Twins. They would have twins.
---
Panic. Panic settled in as Abigail stumbled through the dirt, cutting her calf of a sharp edge. A pair of eyes watched her from around a corner, and she could almost feel the breath of it on her back. Hunger. Abigail scrambled to the pile of debris and clambered up over it. Not fast enough. Its footsteps shook the ground as another chunk of the building to her left collapsed, breaking into four different pieces. It made no sound, but she knew it was just behind her. Kicking. Abigail felt the twins kick. Not now, not now! Diving to her right, she skidded and kept running. Almost there. The bridge could be seen just over the top of the houses. A few more yards, and she was there. A left turn. A couple beggars tucked back into there holds as she scrambled past them. The beast followed, but its target was set. Even the filthy stench of the starving couldn't grab its attention. Finally. Abigail's bleeding feet leapt onto the staircase. A few broke under her weight, but she managed to claw her way up. The spikes dove deep under her skin, and she let out a howl. She could hear it now, echoing its hungry reply. The sound shook the tower, threatening to tumble. It was her only chance.
Abigail reached the top in a matter of seconds, shaking with the terror so beyond anything she had ever felt. Not but herself, but for her children. She felt them coming. "Please, not now," she whimpered, begging them, begging God to spare them. It couldn't be now. It was a few feet ahead, on the ground below, but its head reached halfway up the building already. It met her eyes when she peered over the edge, and sent its blaze out to simmer her, but she ducked back quick enough that only the hair atop her head burned off. Not now, not now. The kicks grew more frantic. "Please, babies, it'll be okay. Mama will protect you." Abigail felt the instinct to grab something and fight, but it was too big. Now, as she forced herself to looks down again, she could see it spread its wings. Not now. Please, God, don't let my babies die.
The ground under the beast's heavy feet shook as the scorched wings started to move. It carried the air, tainted with the smell of fear, and lost hope, and death, and pain. In the tower, Abigail couldn't hold on, and she let her children come into the world, though she wished she could make it better for them. There was a world beyond Grandeur, where the towers stood, and the people thrived, and there were no monsters. But her children weren't born into that world. And Abigail began to hate herself for making them suffer. She hated that the first thing they would hear was the blaring of a monster's roar. She hated that today she would be leaving them alone. Then, finally, everything stopped.
Abigail looked down at her child, rested softly in her arms. She felt the tears and the joy and the sorrow as its eyes opened, glowing softly in the evening light. Her skin was midnight black and her hair was even darker, but she didn't let out a cry. Twins. What happened to the boy? Abigail let herself sob as the fate of her child dawned on her. There was one too many arms on the baby girl, and one belong to her brother. But still, this child was beautiful. God granted her life. She would survive. Abigail wiped her tears and smiled at the baby girl, wrapping her up in torn cloth and setting her down on the floor of the tower. She laid a kiss on the newborn's cheek, another tear rolling out onto the baby's face. Abigail kneeled beside her. "Avis...that name is yours now. Use it well, and remember it. It's all I can give you.
"I never wanted this for you...I never thought that this would be the world you were born in. You and your brother...But I'm sorry. Please forgive me. You may not understand...you may hate me for bringing you into this world, and I'm so, so sorry." Abigail shook with sobs that wracked her body, but she touched her child with a still hand as she spoke. "Someday, I know things will get better. You were made for something, Avis. Know that your mommy loved you, always, no matter what happens. And I'm sorry...if I could. I would stay forever and protect you. But I'll always, always be here, my baby...Mommy loves you." It was all she could say. Her vision blurred with tears, Abigail ripped herself away and left the child, stepping off the edge of the tower. Below her, the beast cried out, but it didn't reach her.
---
The shadow of the old woman stretched out behind her. The sun was lowering in the sky, spreading watercolor above Grandeur's horizon. It was the only beauty to be found in this forsaken place. The hag laughed, remembering her years long gone. If she could go back there, she could say otherwise. But things are the way they are. At least, that's how she saw it. There's no use reminiscing in the past if it costs you time in the present. She looked up, breaking through her fog of thought as the bridge rise up ahead of her. It was the safest place to be at night from the beasts, although more pitted than the allies and streets, and sometimes the green fungus grew in the wet spots where morning dew gathered or rain fell.
The hag dragged herself up the steps. Her old bones cracked, put the jabs of the metal couldn't phase her. Losing an arm was enough pain to numb her for a lifetime. She took her time climbing the steps, slipping up just as she reached the top. A scuttle came from the edge of the bridge, setting the old woman on edge. "Hello?" she called out, holding out her walking stick cautiously. A pair of dimly glowing eyes peeked out at her from a crack in the wall. The hag loosened up and put her stick down, beckoning the child with an open, shaking hand. "Well, don't be afraid, tyke, I ain't no beast." Her words seemed to bring the girl a few steps closer , but no more. "Well, come on! I'm not gunna hurt ya." Finally, the child scuttled out on all fours, looking up with fearful eyes. "What's yer name, tyke?" No reply came from the toddler, and the hag sighed a bit. "Come on, don't be shy."
Again, silence met the woman's question. "What, y'can't speak?" Finally, the old hag huffed and stood back. "Alright, y'little mute, come with me." The girl hesitantly stood, and pointed at a carving on the wall of the tower. Avis. "Avis, huh? That's yer name?" Avis nodded and stepped forward. "Alright, Avis. Come on." The woman began walking down the steps of the tower, glancing back at the child. "What? Yer not gunna survive by yerself, are ya?"
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