“Darn,” grumbled the piece of string. She wandered back outside, looped herself up and over then tattered her ends up. While straightening her tie she walked back in.
Reala eyed her with suspicion. “Aren’t you the piece of string I threw out a moment ago?”
Doris, 84, shocked to death by an electric blanket. She’d come in with black marks and burns across her face and body. Presumably, day shift had made her passingly presentable.
She didn’t notice the blood under the counter. Or the grin forming on Doris’ face.
She noticed a rustle when Doris sat up, but by then it was too late.
“What’s up there?” asked Hydra. “At the end of the road.”
“I’m not sure,” replied Yuffie. “We’ve never seen a god, but it’s possible one or many exist.”
“Do we go there as well?” asked Hydra.
“Eventually,” replied Yuffie. “Everyone dies.”
“I hope there’s sorbet,” pondered Hydra.
“That’s heaven is it?” asked Yuffie. “A place filled with ice cream?”
“Yeah,” replied Hydra. “That and all of the dogs that you’ve ever loved licking you awake every morning.”
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“I took you with me,” continued Yuffie. “Imprinted your image on the minds of a vast number of artists, creatives, dreamers and children in the living world. You grew to your current size. A giant idea, thought and memory. A part of the little girl that continues to survive.”
“What was I to the girl?” asked Hydra. “A dream? A toy? Hope or fear?”
“I don’t know,” replied Yuffie. “I just wanted something of her to live on after her death.”
“You’ve always taught me everything needs to end,” said Hydra. “Life, journeys, fame, books, love and the careers of politicians.”
“I know,” said Yuffie. “I’m sorry Hydra.”
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“I saw a young girl walking up the road to the afterlife with you in tow,” said Yuffie. “Usually, when humans die, a whole procession of us walk behind them. We linger here for a while before being forgotten and moving on. With the young girl, there was only you.”
Hydra furrowed his brows. “What else usually follows humans to the world in-between?”
“Everything they ever dreamed of, everything they hoped for, everything they remembered and did in their entire lives,” replied Yuffie. “Also, the tax-man and Facebook updates…”
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“Hello Hydra,” said Yuffie. “I’ve been missing you, where have you been?”
“Seeking my identity,” sighed Hydra.
“Ah,” replied Yuffie. “Are you having an existential crisis?”
“Not sure,” said Hydra. “What’s an existential crisis?”
“Well,” replied Yuffie, “it’s this thing that happens to humans when they can’t sleep at 3 am…”
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The door handle was hot enough to melt her skin. Her right hand useless. Her left hand wrapped in a t-shirt. Better luck this time.
Almost blinded by smoke, she could still see her. She ran down the stairs, the heat singeing her hair. Her tear ducts couldn’t function. Her eyes were dry. She reached the front door.
She stood watching from the top of the stairs.
She was outside, coughing, lungs filled with smoke. She felt dizzy. There she was. Standing over her.
In lieu of Hydra story because they’ll be Monday to Friday this coming week, a Sunday afternoon horror story.
She stood by the console, looking at her laptop screen. She composed herself. She hadn’t expected it to be like this.
She adjusted her screen. Interestingly, she had no reflection. She turned to look at the body, laying sideways on the floor, still half in the fallen chair.
As the paramedics hammered on the door, she sighed knowing it was too late. She wasn’t coming back from this one.
In lieu of Hydra story because they’ll be Monday to Friday this coming week, a Saturday night horror story.
Little Fears 