She Ran Faster

Not a single person knew the moment when the world died. Some said it died during the First War, along with The Fox. Others believed that it was when the bluebirds stopped singing. It has been argued that the world died when the rivers dried up. Esther believed none of this.

To her, the world had died when the plants had stopped growing. When the soil no longer nurtured her seeds. When they had stopped sprouting those little green tendrils.

She had been fourteen years old then.

Now, ten years later, Esther journeyed down an old road, seeking knowledge. It was a miracle that she had survived so long, when so many had died. She thanked Eleo for this every day.

She stepped to the rhythm of a song long forgotten. One that had left this world, along with the plants. One she had forgotten herself.

Her seeds rattled in their pouches as she walked. She had so many of them. She’d been collecting them for so long. Perhaps, soon, she would be able to put them to use. Of course, that was why Esther was here, walking in time with a song no one knew.

A scream cut through the air. It seemed to come from her left, through the forest of dead trees.

She ran towards it.

Leaves crunched under her feet as she ran. They were dry, but hadn’t decomposed. Nothing did anymore. Nothing except for the corpses of the fallen.

As Esther ran, she heard a voice, “Please don’t hurt us, ple–.”

Then, she heard a gunshot. She ran faster.

Seconds later, she saw a young child. He ran in her direction. Tears ran down his face. Behind him was a man. He held a gun, pointed at the child.

Esther slammed her staff into the ground. The tree closest to her bent it’s branches down, and they wound around the hand of the man, encasing it along with the gun. She stepped towards him, staff raised.

“Let go of me,” the man demanded.

Esther tilted her head, “Why should I?”

“Because I’m doing good,” the man answered passionately.

“Good? You’ve just threatened an innocent.”

“Take a look at that so called ‘innocent’. Don’t you see his horns?”

Esther looked at the child, and sure enough, little grey horns poked through his curly brown hair.

She addressed the child, “How old are you?”

The child looked terrified. And he had a right to be.

Yet, he answered, “S-six.”

Six. That was three years before nine.

“He is below the age of accountability. His horns are not his doing,” Esther deduced.

The man scoffed, “Nevertheless, he is a blight that must be purged.”

“Can you hear yourself, calling for the blood of a child?”

“It is what Eleo demands.”

She shook her head, “If you believe that Eleo demands you kill a child, then you have mistaken him for a demon.”

“Who are you to speak, witch?”

“Witch?”

“Are you not a perversion of nature yourself, did Eleo not say that neither man nor woman holds power over life or death?”

Anger lit in her heart, so she snuffed it out.

“How can you speak so much, while understanding, so little? I am a loyal servant of Eleo. This power does not belong to me, any more than I belong to myself. I only exercise Eleo’s power.”

“You lie.”

Esther sighed, “Believe what you must.”

She turned to the child, her tone softening, “Come here.”

The child obeyed.

“Is it alright if I pick you up?”

The man said something, but Esther ignored him, focusing on the child.

The child nodded, staring at her with his big brown eyes.

She rested her staff against a nearby tree, then picked him up. He was so small and light that she could hold him using only one arm. And so she did, grabbing her staff

and walking past the man.

Esther walked in the direction the child had run from. She needed to see the damage for herself. The child, however, did not.

“Okay love,” she whispered, “I need you to close your eyes.”

He did as she said. Esther couldn’t be sure whether it was because he trusted her, or because he was afraid of her.

A few trees later, she saw what she’d been looking for.

There was blood. So much blood. And, lying in the blood-soaked leaves, people. Three. Two women and a child.

They shared the same curly brown hair, though the women had silver streaks in theirs. They also shared the same horns. The horns must have been genetic for them. The remnants of a deal made with demons, marking the next generations for a slaughter they never deserved.

One of the women sat with her back to a tree, cradling the elder child in her arms. The elder child seemed to stare at her, pleading perhaps. Or maybe, it was an accusation. She had come too late. Esther almost closed her eyes. She wished she could. But

someone had to bear witness to this. Somebody had to care.

She sent a silent prayer to Eleo, for protection of the dead’s souls, then, she left them.

Esther returned to the old road, leaving behind the corpses and the man. She had done all she could for the dead. And she had no doubt that the man would find his way out of the tree’s grasp eventually.

She carried the child down the road for a long while. They didn’t speak. Subsequently, the world was almost silent. Devoid of the sound of life. The only sound

being the rhythmic beat of Esther’s staff. The beat of a song long forgotten.

After that long while, she stopped, and, setting that child down, made camp. She walked towards a nearby tree, and, pressing her hand to its trunk, requested for it to change. So it did.

It bent over, creating a half-dome.

Esther gestured to the child, “Come on in, love.”

The child did as she asked, and she followed. Then, she sealed up the tree, and there was darkness. Esther reached into one of her pouches, and pulled out a little vial of green liquid. She shook it, and it glowed.

She and the child lay on their backs, and she watched him. He watched her.

The child spoke, “Are you real?”

Esther nodded, “Yes, love, I’m real.”

“Does that mean everything else was real?”

His voice was so small. So fragile. It made her heart break.

She nodded again, “Yes, that was real too.”

The child said nothing, just buried his face in her chest and cried.

Esther hugged him.

In her mind, a single phrase repeated itself.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

She said nothing.

After all, what more was there to say?