Great I'm soaked and my hairs matted with snow. Right, you probably want to know why I'm stood in the rain, looking at moss covered stones in the middle of nowhere, well this a place where two sisters, a brother and an uncle grew up, and a place where all but one were left in anguish in air locked coffins were they probably relive their last moments over and over like a record on repeat. Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning shouldn't I... My story begins at the end of another actually, but that's not really relevant. This place never used to look as dismal as it does now, at one time it was lush with flowers and a house that still sits about a mile away, once watched as its three occupants roamed freely in the gardens expanses, though now it sees only me staring at the willow tree...
"Tag" Bellowed little 12 year old Narcissa as she slapped her small palm against my back, causing me to tumble slightly. "Great, now I'm it!" I mumbled, sarcastically under my breath. "10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5... 4... 3... 2" I shouted, but then from behind the nearby oak trees, three men emerged with guns, ready and waiting for the right moment to attack, and as my mouth began to form the last number a silver bullet flung itself past my teenage eyes and a hand clasped at my open mouth, turning my body along with my captors, I was faced with the blood stained floor of the forest that mere minutes ago me, my elder brother and younger sister had been playing a game of 'Seek and tag' in.
One man floated in the stream that ran by our home, his face the palest white, pupils dilated and his mouth wide in a silent scream, another curled up in a fetal position, claw marks ran from his hair to the base of his neck, eyes shut tight and teeth clenched almost as if he were being attacked in a horror movie, and the third, the youngest as it seemed, for some unknown reason, dropped the knife that he held at my neck and stepped back three paces while he descended into a heap of dust behind me.
My elder brother, 20 year old Wesley, had stood mere inches away from the stream, a poisoned blade embedded in his chest, he began stuttering something akin to the words 'Run' and 'Monster' but I was more focused on the foam crawling at his cotton jumper and the blood pouring forth from his now broken nose and busted bottom lip, it wasn't until I met his bruised left eye that I noticed what he was saying "Run, the monster needs you, don't let him catch you, run, the monster needs you, don't let him catch you" Over and over, it was like he was reciting his favourite book, Brick layered.
Narcissa sat slumped by the large oak, legs tucked under her lithe form, left hand covering her right eye and the other clutching her stomach as if she had severe stomach cramps and then from the corner of my eyes a teenage boy stood, drenched from head to toe in the essence of others even though he seemed relatively unharmed, his arm outstretched in an invitation for me to follow, which I did. Years later we were at a funeral, for my dear uncle Kain. That night we went to our new home, a large house in the middle of a wonderful neighbourhood and he asked for my hand in marriage.
Of course I looked into his large ocean blue eyes and said "Yes, yes Johann, of course I will!" And when we slept that night he held me in his arms while I curled up on his chest like a kitten would its mother, which was how I got my nickname, Kitten. But the day of our wedding, he never showed, I thought he must of been delayed or forgot something, but then the police called me in the middle of the ceremony, I still remember the exact words "Is this Seras" "Yes, is Hans there ,Alexander?" "No, sorry. But am I right in saying you and him live at 13 Almondbury Crescent" "Yes, why? Do you know where he is?" "No, so sorry Kitten, your house has been set alight"
As soon as those words registered in my brain I knew where my beloved was, and so I dropped the phone, picked up my skirts and ran through the church doors, down the ten mile road, past the station and stopped mere centimetres from the black and yellow police crime tape, soaked from head to toe in rain, my maroon gothic style dress stained with the mud I'd ran through and peppered with holes that my glittered fingernails had made and to top that of my black heeled shoes were broken from falling over and so I dropped to my fatigued knees as two hands grasped at my shoulders holding me, helping me through the throngs of my sobs.
Alexander never did know how to comfort a crying woman, so he'd said the truth, knowing I'd find out anyway "Sorry kitten. They said it was a gas fire, I think you must of forgot the cooker was... on... or... something..." he began to trail of as he realised what the source of my tears was, and just at that moment a fire fighter stepped out of the remnants of the building, carrying what was meant to be my dead fiancé and, as carefully as he could, placed the body in the ambulance, ready to be taken for X-rays and the final autopsy, but as my head snapped up I saw the burnt skin and blood splattered tuxedo and straight away remembered my sister, brother and uncle, my eyes widened as more sobs took over me.
Within that month I was taken to 'The Harker institution for the mentally unstable', it looked like a medieval castle from outside, but from within it held cobbled corridors, brick walls, stone ceilings and cool metal doors that held a slit about head height so that the guard could see what the inmates were doing inside. Throughout my stay I was encased in a large white jacket complete with many buckles and belts along with white tracksuit bottoms and a white mask to cover my mouth so that I couldn't bite any one, though twice a day they force fed me vegetables, pasta and a cup of orange juice and three times a week they would let me loose in my room so that I could release my pent up aggression.
Instead of bashing my head against the wall like my fellow cellmates did, I drew pictures of my family, imagining my siblings, uncle and fiancé playing games, before the fire, before all of this, usually I drew Wesley sat at the top of the table, Johann at the bottom, Narcissa on the left, me on the right and uncle stood against the door frame, a pack of cards in the middle, all but one facing down, the black and white joker lay unharmed upon the polished oak, taunting me, tempting me, the tell-tale sign that you've lost the game, but no matter what picture I drew in my prison, that one card consistently appeared.
After spending four years in my prison hold they set me free, and so I got a job as a book store owner, that way I could forget what happened and get lost in the stories of other people and compare them to my own. Most nights salt stained droplets would tumble from my red tinted, ice blue eyes and clotted streaks of my life's essence would weep from myself inflicted wounds, spilling onto the black and white marble floor of my bathroom, creating a blood moon, bobbing in a sea of serene stars and other blood moons from nights past.
In the day I would act as emotionless as possible so as to not reveal that I still remember every detail, the innocent voices in my mind lay dormant whenever I sleep, partially stopping their tainted cruelty, waiting for when my body would give into the darkness so that they could finally be released. As I slept the memories of lost ones taunted me, engraved into my skull like the carvings made by men long passed in caves, used only by the nocturnal creatures of the dark.
I walked the twenty miles of forest and snow so that I could see my childhood home once more, Wesley's stone lays beneath the acorn tree, his favourite place to read, Narcissa's stone beside the tire swing I made for her when she was four, Johann's stone by the willow tree, were we first met, and the final stone is where my uncle is buried, next to the stream, he used to say "Bury me here, next to the stream" of course I asked why, he replied with "I flow free and unharmed, so does the stream, and unless man interferes, the stream will continue to flow free and unharmed".
Of course I've just told you my life story but to be truthful, my life is my story, without it I wouldn't have made it here. A few months ago doctors said I have a terminal illness and predicted that I should die on Christmas eve, you probably know what day it is, so if you were to give me a present, I would want it to be, to finally move on from this place, to become one with the earth beneath me and never to see the sun or moon again. I told Alexander to meet me here in an hour so he should be on his way now, I have a note for him, and it reads;
'Place me next to Johann; we can finally be together now. I hope you can understand that, it's just my time to go. Please forgive me. Kitten'
I can't take this pain any longer. My hearts quickening with adrenaline and the knot in my stomach is coming undone. Can you hear that? The turning of wheels, is he here already? That cool breeze hasn't passed me by since the last time I was here. Hans? Take me with you please. Oh gosh, my stomach. Yes! My hearts stopping, purposely reducing my blood source. A hand? His hand? "Johann?" "Gutentag, I hope you got what you wanted this year, Kitten" "Yes, yes I have! Please take me with you this time. Will You?" "As you wish, my love"
It's been three months since Christmas and now it's my birthday, my body lies curled up like a kitten under the willow tree, beneath my own stone, encased in a black box, maroon velvet cushioning my body, I'm wearing my wedding dress, a corpse bride, I do love that film and I couldn't wish for a better birthday present. Lighting parts the sky like the red sea, but I don't care because I know that storms can't separate me from my family, only a wooden wall, mere centimetres of dirt and another wooden wall.