Season 2 - Blogisode 17

Persia stumbles quick over the fallen wall through the gap to catch pace with Constance now standing station on the other side. Constance was the name that Christina had donned him with several nights prior. What he had gone by in his life before, what his friends and family had at one time called him was still a mystery.

She steps to him, her eyes instinctually following his line of sight.

“Jesus Christ.”

Towering over her, bodies stacked wall high, filling the center court. Flames pour up out of them flickering at the sky, dancing sadistic over the fresh corpses of fallen men and women, fallen man and beast.

The interior a proper reflection of the exterior, destruction and run abound. The center court mangled and tinted vermillion, bits and shards of this and that spraying a rough portrait of events of recent past at every angle.

Persia stands stunned, eyes unflinching, paralyzed with a sort of encapsulating bewilderment at the sight of some several hundred men stacked sky high, one atop the other.

“How the fuck…”

She trails off to a whisper, speaking only to herself. ‘What the fuck’ would quick become an internal mantra.

She turns to her dark companion, slowly, the shock of life quivering on her lower lip.

“How the fuck…”

Her voice cracks. The tears that build now behind her eyes, to the sight of more people than she has seen in so long now stacked mass grave in front of her, choke heavy in her throat.

She holds as well as she can, this world has no place to play host to a woman’s disposition. She knows this too well.

“Wait here.”

His eyes cold, too cold to be faking it.

He speaks to her in calm monotone, unmoved by the scene that surrounds him. Her dark companion turns slow and makes step to the far side of the court.

Persia watches his walk for the faintest of seconds, paying note to the regal step, the definitive glide.

Too cold to be faking it.

“Christina!”

The revelation of her one true acquaintance’s whereabouts and present condition sends snap through her center. She sucks back the feeling, managing to suppress them to a place more appropriate for passing news like this to a new mother with a mind half lost in late.

Persia climbs back out over the rubble, slide rushing down the face of gravel and plant.

Christina looks up from her child, smiles at Persia, that same vacant, peculiar smile that had made her take a second eye once before.

“We’re fine Persia.”

“We may have to go.”

“Don’t be silly. Why would we go when we’ve only just arrived?”

Persia stops the words from churning about in her mind, the readymade arsenal of assault weapons made specifically to combat a wrongly sided argument, anything but this.

Christina, the look of her.

Something in her eye gives away her fogged demeanor, staring more past than at Persia, that lights off grin on her face.

“Christina, how do you feel?”

A quick ponder, with restraint.

“I feel fine, we feel fine.”

Her eyes drop down to her child.

Gone again.

“Christina you need…”

Those eyes peer back up at her again. Something so lost about them. Enough to shake Persia’s nerves, slight.

“…nothing, maybe get some rest.”

Fear in her voice replacing the concern.

Christina only smiles faintly, no recognition to the change of pitch.

A sound of shifting from behind spins Persia round in defense.

From over the heap he comes, seventeen strong, survivors.

Mostly women, two small ones and a few men in worse shape than the rest of them stand in pack, a shimmer of relief pushing through the torture brought on my prolonged exposure to uncertain moments.

Their calm companion looks down at them from the front of the small pack of worn and worried. He cocks an eye in subtle form.

“You can come inside now.”

SOMEPLACE ELSE

The two figures progress in silent towards what they both hope to be an end to this long subterranean journey.

Set keeps a foot ahead of Christian, his gaze fixed about the vision of what would be.

Christian walks with a slump about the shadow, as if weighted by the dark; Over his shoulder a mass, draped potato sack down his back, her arms dangling loose and weak to the ground.

The shimmer of light begins to bounce off of the tunnel wall reflecting a dim rouge of soot and stone.

The illuminated outline of door becomes apparent at passage end.

“I hope you’re ready for this boy.”

“I’m still not sure what this is.”

The tussle or the tone, Jade’s eyes flutter cocoon, the life only just coming back to her, small doses. She doesn’t make a sound.