Opal

Chapter One I Guess

The War was over and the sides were smudged, like they were painted with watercolor that was too watery. People were mixing again, families reuniting, friendships continued, The War waved away like it was nothing more than a small argument. The rejoicing groups were having a feast in the great fortress between the two halves of the previously split country. The fireflies were lighting up the courtyard as the children of the families laughed and played. A shriek split the silence in the fields beyond the fortress. The doors were locked and bolted, but nothing could keep death out on that warm, spring night.

She stood on the hill, listening to the laughing and gayness of the festival in the old bastille. She wasn't welcome. She was different, alone, erratic. She hadn't asked to be different, to have hell living inside her own mind. She could see it when she closed her eyes, and it was just darkness sometimes, silent and still, but she could sense something lurking, waiting to strike. Other times it was a pit, like a well, with stones like blood of red and black, and she was trying to claw her way out but every time she made her way up, the light at the top would get further and further away, until it would disappear, and she would slip and only hard rock would be waiting. She closed her eyes and shrieked at the unfairness of it all, and the demons slipped from her mouth, shadows racing to the ramparts, and she cried as she listened to the guttural screams, and the silence of the dead following.