How to Make Life: Chapter Two

Inigo

It was that same day where the whole world was full of hummingbirds made out of fine dust and the clouds that blew over the concealing Wall looked friendly and told stories of wondrous, foreign lands. That same day where the fall wind carried with it, for a brief time, the sound of a mother’s chuckles and the promise of a later rainstorm.

That same, perfect day where nothing could go wrong.

That same, perfect day where everything unavoidably did.

The calm was broken as a group of soldiers, about twenty in all, hundreds in my mind, ran up to our small family. They were dressed in a crimson red and were adorned with frightening weapons, everything from terrible guns to awesome swords. They looked like the demons and boogeymen from the tales my father would tell me and my mother would say weren’t real. She would then check under my bed for monsters, but I didn’t know that those dark creatures could appear so suddenly from just around the corner from the protection of my front yard. I did not yet know that evil could have a human face.

“Are you Aza Janette Chayyim?” asked one soldier, an older man with short gray hair. He looked tired, I had originally thought. I was less scared of this soldier than the rest.

Mother stood up and moved in front of my sister and I; she held us behind her with her defensive arms as we peered around her back with confusion and fright. “Yes, I am.”

“And are you the wife of Henry Jocobo Chayyim?” the man asked. I noticed him fiddle with the gun holstered to his side, and I began to fidget with worry. This old man couldn’t possibly cause us harm, could he? His voice was so low and authoritative, and I began to wonder.

“Yes, I am,” mother answered, her grip tightening on us, her shaking children.

“And is he residing here now?” the man asked.

“Yes, he is.”                    

“Why isn’t he at work?”

“He received paid leave from the factory; he’s been ill lately,” Mother said.

“And can you prove this?” the man asked. His voice was never raised above a cool monotone. His was the voice of reason. I decided it made me nervous, and I took a larger fistful of my mother’s skirt.

“Of course I can. Let me send my children to go fetch him,” mother said, and turning to face us, I was frightened to see a serious, demanding expression dominate her typically warm demeanor. “Go get your Father. Tell him that we have visitors.”

Mikeita nodded and went to leave, but I grabbed my mother’s hand. It could have been instinct, that little voice in your head that promises that you will never again touch your Mother’s skin while blood still runs warm through her veins. “Mom, I don’t want to leave you.”

It took a few seconds for her lips to twitch into a smile, but she  kissed my forehead on the same place where her ashes now rested. “Remember what I told you, little prince? About always being there for you?” I nodded and gripped the pencil tighter in my hand, and my mother gave me a gentle nudge towards our home. “Good. Now go with your sister to get your Father.”

“Quickly now,” the soldier added, and his gaze bore into my back as my sister and I rushed into our miniscule house.

Once inside, we dashed across the cluttered kitchen and small living room strewn with toys our parents had made us (mostly consisting of dirt and copious amounts of magic like the hummingbird). We burst into our small, shared bedroom in which were clustered three tiny cots, one of which was occupied by a middle-aged man with messy blonde hair and fever-splotched cheeks. He barely lifted his head as we grabbed at him, and he coughed a reply.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” Mikeita exclaimed, shaking him until he slowly and laboriously sat up, blinking away the sleep of the sick to address the newcomers.

“Mikeita, not so loud. What is it?” he asked, letting Mikeita crawl into his arms. She buried her head in Father’s chest. It was warm and sweaty from his illness, but protective all the same; I would forever be haunted by that much.

I was the one who answered. “Mom’s in trouble; there are soldiers outside.”

“Soldiers? Really?” Father rubbed his eyes a few times, and then looked at me sternly. It was that same expression he gave me when I would talk back to my mother or call my sister names. “What do they want?”

“I don’t know. But they looked really mean and they were asking Mom all these questions, and Mom told us to come and get you,” I said, tears starting to form in my blue eyes. Would they ever leave?

With a drawn-out groan like an old piece of furniture finally starting to crumble, Father placed Mikeita on the floor next to me and swung his legs out of his bed. He wiped his hands over his face, catching the sweat. He stood up, and, leaning over slightly, he addressed us with the uncompromising, though thoughtful tone of a father.

“I’ll go check on your Mother, but you have to do me a huge favor, first,” he said.

“What is it?” we had asked. I knew by my sister’s gaze that we were both growing more nervous by the second.

“I need you both to go hide. Go somewhere far away, and don’t come out until I come get you,” Father said.

“What? I don’t want to do that,” Mikeita said.

“Yeah, I don’t want to leave!” I responded, grasping for my father’s hand; it was that same little voice that told me to do so. But my father merely snatched it back and stared intently into my eyes. It was like looking into a battle room that had been consumed by fire, dead and haunted. I never remembered his black eyes being so empty, and my heart thrummed against my chest.

“It will be fun, okay? It will be like a game. Inigo, take your sister and go hide. Protect her.” When we didn’t budge, he shoved us both towards the door with a firm, “Leave!”

With tears finally spilling from our eyes, I grabbed my sister’s arm and heaved her out of the back door of our modest home, prepared to lead her through the town to fulfill my father’s wishes. After all, it was just a game, right? That was what he said, and parents would never lie to their children.

But before I was able to disappear into the crowded, filthy town, Mikeita held me back by planting her feet firmly into the ground.

“I don’t want to leave,” she said me. I tugged at her, but she was adamant.

“You heard what Dad said, Kei. We’re just playing hide-and-seek,” I had said.

“I don’t want to leave,” Mikeita repeated, and, with a definitive frown, she said, “I’m worried, Iggy.”

“I am too, but we can’t disobey Dad. We promised we’d do what he said.”

“I didn’t promise anything. And you promised you’d protect Mama. And now you’re running away. You’re not protecting her!” Mikeita exclaimed, tears matching mine in agonizing ferocity. “We’re not protecting her, Iggy.”

After a long pause, I relaxed my grip on my sister’s arm. I choked back a sob when I realized that my short fingers had left soft bruises. “Sorry, Kei. I’m so sorry. You’re right. But I don’t want us to get hurt, either. Those policemen are scary. There’s something not right about the old one.”

Mikeita nodded in agreement. “But we can just watch, right? And if something bad happens, you’ll stop it, right?”

“Of course,” I said, and my sister and I peeked our heads around the corner of our small house, completely invisible to the soldiers in our front yard, but we could still hear and see all that transpired.

 Though, if I had truly known the events that were about to take place, I would have obeyed my father more strictly. I would have left with my sister. I wouldn’t of had to swallow the burnt flesh of my parents. I wouldn’t of had to grow up so fast. If I had just listened, then maybe the world wouldn’t have swallowed me up and ground my heart in between its monstrous teeth.

Maybe I wouldn’t have had to endure the horror that was to follow.