"It's death again – He's always there – watching, waiting…"

Mark R. Slaughter

Adonica's POV

I ran.

Cold sweat was dripping down my forehead and unto my eyebrows, but I did not care. I didn't have time to care.

My ribcage felt as if though it would crack and break under the intensity of the beatings of my heart, and my blood seemed to scurrying around in my veins rather than through them.

The cold caused the dreadfully familiar goose bumps to appear on my arms, and my breath was visible in the air.

Although my father told me to never fear, I was afraid. Terribly frightened and I didn't stop to think or care to calm myself.

I couldn't. My heart hurt too much. This wasn't just some other one of them. This was Jarrod. My baby brother.

I couldn't believe this was happening to me.

Scratch that. I could. I could because this was my curse. It had always been and I was just too desperate to believe that it wasn't a curse after all, but there was no escaping the truth.

The church was enormous. Bigger than I had originally expected but that was a good thing right now.

I hid behind one of the colored-glass crèches, kneeling as I bit into my knuckle to keep myself from sobbing aloud.

The cold just never seemed to go away.

Danny RedMoon and Jarrod Medina were declared dead along with thirty-three others. Burned alive.

Jarrod suffered, I knew.

I was in the funeral home. My mother had been sitting next to me in the wooden bench in the front, as we watched Padre Ruben, the Spanish friar that had once been my father's dearest friend, prayed in Latin.

My Aunt Fatimah and her husband, my uncle Farid were there to attend the funeral; Zus was there too, along with his mother Maira. Mrs. RedMoon was there too, seeing as my mother and I had attended her son's funeral.

During the funeral I felt the cold that felt colder and stronger than it ever had before.

I dreaded it.

I knew who it was.

"Why are you afraid?" Jarrod had asked me in a whisper that echoed through the church's enormous walls, I being the only one able to hear him.

Confused and hurt tears were running down his marred and burned cheeks, he was standing behind the wall that led to another room in the church.

My mother, noticing how rigid I was, wrapped her arm around my shoulder, squeezing my arm as she gave me a weak and trembling smile.

" 'O, Jesus, ὐnico Consuelo en las horas eternas del dolor'…" The priest recited the Spanish prayer in his deep and clear voice as everyone bowed their heads and clasped their hands.

But I couldn't tear my gaze away from my little brother, his good right eye staring at me, filled with tears.

He couldn't see himself for what he was; dead.

Padre Ruben sent me a confused glance when he noticed my head was still up and my eyes were wide open, but continued his prayer.

"Tὐ, Señor, a quién los cielos, la tierra y los hombres vieron llorar en días tristísimos;…"

"Why are you afraid?" Jarrod demanded angrily now, the cold growing stronger around me as he stepped forward, revealing his marred and burned body completely.

His once beautiful skin was now burned and cracked, pink and raw. That once blonde hair was now stringy and dirty with ash and dirt, his scalp was burnt through so blood was oozing slowly out of his head and unto his cheeks, looking so much like bloody tears.

His left eye was marred completely, as was the entire left side of his face.

With a sob, I stood and weaved my way out of the multitude of wooden benches.

No one said anything or objected to my leaving the room. I could feel my mother's sorrowful eyes follow my departing figure as I tried to keep myself from running.

They thought this was all just some process of mourning, and although that was partly true, this was more of a desperate attempt at escaping truth.

I could feel the cold follow me as I ran through the church, choking on my own sobs as my heart drummed loudly in my ears.

And I turned, and Jarrod appeared there, angry tears filling his one good blue eye, before he turned and walked away, disappearing back into the shadows.

"Help me, please!" I begged quietly as I glanced up helplessly at the glass figure of Jesus, His arms spread as if offering comfort and serenity. But He just stood and watched with His peaceful face as the cold encased me.

I heard a groan, and I whipped my head towards where the sound came from the wooden closet I knew contained table cloths and the friar's belongings.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, as I crawled back slowly, unsure of what to expect.

But my heart knew it was them.

I let out a small frightened shriek when I felt my back hit a hard wall.

"Oh, God, no!" I groaned in horror, my eyes widening until I felt them go slightly dry from the lack of blinking.

I had crawled into a corner in the friar's area, and I was cornered.

The friar's little cot of a bed was one the corner opposite of mine, and sitting there was Danny RedMoon. The walls were made of brick and the floor of tile.

It was a small little room and I was trapped.

There was a little window on the side of the small bedroom, the grey fog clouding up whatever peek I had of the outside. The dim and gray light that shone dully down into the room through the window beamed off Danny RedMoon.

Danny RedMoon was rocking himself back and forth, causing the old little cot to creak with his each and every move; he had his arms wrapped around himself in comfort.

His dark brown eyes looked up, seeming to notice me for the first time.

"Oh, Danny." I sighed, my voice quivering. "I'm sorry."

"Please, I didn't do anything!" he screamed, his voice hoarse, as if he had been screaming for hours.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry!" The sobs choking my throat caused my voice to sound so weak and whispery, I clutched at my chest. My heart was sure to burst any moment now.

"You have no right!" A young girl suddenly appeared at the door of the friar's bedroom, her gray eyes glaring at me accusingly as she stepped forward, pointing her raw and burned hand at me.

And suddenly there were so many of them, yelling and pointing accusingly at me, surrounding me as the cold caused my teeth to chatter and my breaths to come out in visible gasps.

I was shaking uncontrollably in fear and cold, "Padre Nuestro que estás en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre, venga a nosotros tu reino…" I prayed, not even attempting to keep my voice from quivering as they all neared me, still screaming and sobbing and pointing.

"This is your fault!" An old man whom was standing in the corner of the rooms screamed, and I closed my eyes with a small scream as my back hit the hard wall again as he suddenly stepped forward and his cold and burned fist collided against my face.

Zus had gotten beaten up once when he was in the sixth grade. I remember because I watched as the small gang that would often pick on him surrounded him in some sort of organized circle and began to kick him wildly and punch him angrily, not caring where their fists' blows fell.

The principle and a teacher had broken it up. Zus's cheek was swollen and he couldn't see well with his left because of the swelling. His nose was bruised as were his lips.

Two ribcages were broken and half of his eyebrow had been scraped off. Zus was angry for quite a while but soon he was healed and it was as if though it had happened in some other life.

I couldn't help but feel amusement as I cowered down, covering my head with my hands as they surrounded me in a similar organized circle and kicked and clawed.

Now I know what you felt, Zus. I thought in mild amusement to myself.

Their words and screams were incoherent, but I could feel their spit landing on me as they shouted.

"Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden. No nos dejes caer en tentación y libéranos del mal…"