Of Minds And Souls | ONC 2021

16| Of Reasons And Disbelief

I pause between the aisles of the supermarket, a bottle of water in my hand, as I see the hair products aisle. It pulls me towards, and I stand in front of the shelves packed with hair care and hair dye. I skim over the colours, imagining Aiderall standing beside me. Green, he used to say, makes me look sexy. Black makes me look evil. Blue's nice and purple makes me look hot and red makes me look like I could beat you up. I smile at the memory.

Aiderall who had tried dying his hair every colour in and between the spectrum always returned to pink. Because pink, he said, made him look cute. It balanced out my fierceness, he said.

I never argued with his logic because the pale pink brought out the irresistible masculinity within him and because regardless of what hair colour he had he was still Aiderall. And that was enough for me to love him.

My phone rings, jolting me out of my thoughts. I glance at the unknown number flashing on the screen before answering it.

The voce is harsh, "Agent Asgard," he says. "we have given you a chance already, yet you continue to pursue."

I remain silent and listen.

"We cannot remain on standby. This is your last warning before we take your life. You'll find her where you grew up."

The implication registers almost immediately, "what," I gasp unable to control the outburst of emotion.

The phone clicks as the call ends. I spend a second staring at the flashing LED of my phone before the situation absorbs. I stuff the water bottle on the shelf and run out of the store. My legs carry me at a speed I did not know was possible into my car.

I am breaking all speed limits as I drive home. I had known something like this would happen, yet I did not expect it to happen so soon. My fingers create craters in the leather of the steering wheel and by the time I pass through the gates into our estate and stop in front of the double doors of our house, the pit in my stomach is gnawing at my mind in anger.

"Miss Astraea," the butler says as I tor the doors open. He does not look flustered and hope sparks within me.

"Where is Mother," I ask.

"In her study," he replies, his eyes creasing with worry.

I run past him. The doors to Mothers' study are closed but I do not doble take as I push them open. My breath hitches.

A woman I do not recognize is lying on the floor, blood flowing from the stabbed wounds on her stomach. She wears the uniform the servants wear and dread ills me.

"Astraea," a weak voice calls out. I tur in the direction.

Mother lies on the floor. My brows furrow, she looks unharmed, yet she lies on the floor. But then as I walk closer to her, I notice the paleness of her skin and the blue colour of her lips and the unearthly tone pf her veins. My fists clench.

"You're poisoned," I say. Mother smiles weakly and nods.

"The cure," I say desperately, "where is it."

My voice is calm, it betrays the storm raging within me. Mother shakes her head.

"Where's the antidote," I ask again. I know I am calm because I do not want to believe what is happening. I know I cannot take another loss especially within such a short time frame.

Mother beckons me closer, "I love you" she says.

Tears don't come. I just stare at her, my eyes wide open and shake my head.

"Do you know where my safe is," she asks and I nod, "the password is the day I adopted you."

"That's such an unreliable password," I mutter. Mother smiles again and her head rolls back limp.

"Mother," I cry out picking her head up.

"There are things I have not told you. Read it. You'll understand."

"Just tell me in person," I say. I am breathing heavily. Because the death is not visible, a part of me sees no reason to believe it.

"Astraea," she says again, "claim what is rightfully mine, take care of my people."

"Mother," I say confused. Worry starts to kick in as I mistake her words for deliria.

"Kill those who commit crime," she continues ignoring me, "and reward those who do good."

"Mother," I mutter.

Mother smiles once more and then begins to cough up blood. I wipe it away holding her carefully.

"Mother," I repeat once she stops coughing. Her eyes are staring at me, a smile in them. She shows no signs that she has heard me.

"Mother," I say shaking her limp hand. But there is no response. Only her eyes stare at me, no life left in them.

OOMPA LOOMPA