The God's Game

Storm

The air around River was pulsating in the wake of the nightmarish screams. They lingered, echoing off stone walls like the bitter aftertaste of poison. Then it died a second time.

River inhaled and smelled a blend of metallic tang and an acrid undertone. Salt blessed his nostrils, the scent of the sea enveloping him in a comforting embrace. In this winding tunnel of dread and confusion, there was a glimpse of warm day light.

The soundlessness smothered him like a sweaty palm clamping over his mouth. The silence got heavier and heavier with anticipation. River held his breath to quieten his heart, afraid that its pounding would shatter the pregnant quietness. He waited for another cry or for something to move. Something. Anything to stop his mind from scratching itself into a bloody mess.

He was all alone in the darkness, with the silence.

And another pair of eyes.

River’s skin erupted into gooseflesh at the sight of them. How long had they been there? How had he not noticed? They were hovering above him—an ominous constellation in the moonless night sky. They held the dark brown of an aged, dry oak. Watching him. Silently.

There were crackling embers of a manic high in them, threatening to set him ablaze. They were bottomless and hollow. River felt as if he were a lone firefly being swallowed up by an abyss as he stared in at them. He felt his light being snuffed out.

"Shh..shh" A dismembered, silky voice soothed. "It's okay"

The animal that was howling till now started whimpering the way canines do in distress.

"Take your time." The eyes narrowed yet softened, like they were smiling. They held the gentleness of a mother for one second. Hunger of a starved beast the next.

Slick fingers brushed away a strand of hair that was stiking his face. They feathered over his skin, the feeling as revolting as the hairy limbs of a large cockroach on his face.

River struggled,desperately, to squirm away from the touch. Yet he was glued to where he was lying,unable to move an inch. Bile rose in his throat at how skin caressed skin,leaving a trail of warm wetness.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw that the fingers were connected to a pale forearm, adorned with an inked symbol. The pattern was of two intertwined, blossoming Forver vines, curling in opposite directions.

"You are doing great," the voice cooed.
"You are such a good child. I love you so much."

The animal puled and choked as if it could understand what the voice was saying.

Where was it? It was close.

Very close.

Too close.

There was a deep sigh above him. "Let's start over."

The animal sobbed. River was almost sure he heard it say no.

"An easy verse, okay?" The voice cleared its throat. "It goes like this:
Seek not vengeance, nor dwell in despair."

The eyes bored down at him expectantly,waiting for him to complete the next line. He did not know the rest of the poem. So he kept silent.

You know.

The animal spoke.

"I -I don't -don't ..please"
Its voice was nasal and pitiful. It was  a child. Feeble. Weak. Exhausted.

Broken.

You know. How can you not remember?

"Try again," the voice urged, sounding as sweet as honey-glazed fruit.

God's embrace is impartial and fair.

The child slurred something, but it only came out as a gurgle. Maybe something was caught in his throat.

"I'm waiting"

"Soul-soul red-"

Ding -ding! wrong!

"Ding, ding, wrong!" The voice was as cheery as a song sparrow.

His right-side vision blurred as his eye struggled to refocus on a sharp point that was being held above it.

River could not blink. He could not shut his eyes, even when his spine convulsed at how the tip almost grazed his eyeball.

From his left eye alone, he could make out the shadow of a rusted nail, bent out of shape.

"Say thank you." The voice commanded firmly yet gently, like he was a toddler who received a toy and forgot his manners.

The child sobbed violently, and River's sight was flooded with tears.

"Don't start crying. You can't cry."

The child choked, "Than-k y-ou."

With a crunch, his eye socket shattered under the hammer, and the nail sank into his eye.

River screamed and woke up to darkness.
*            *              *         *        *

How can you sleep like a dead person through a storm,brother?

The hatch window of their cabin was rattling and moaned as the tempest outside lashed at it. River could hear nothing over the clamor of the ocean. The lightning exploded every minute, followed by the deafening rumble of thunder.

It was indeed a big fucking storm, just like Raven Alistair had prophecied.

River wiped his face on the hem of his nightshirt. Seeing how disgustingly sweaty it was, he ripped it off his body. The cold wind licked away at his skin,cooling him down.

Wolfram was fast asleep like a baby, his hands curled into fists under his cheek. He had kicked his covers off his bed and was shirtless.

Despite knowing the man could survive buried under a tall pile of snow, River pulled his covers up for him.

River exhaled, exasperated. Throwing on a dry shirt, he pulled his hair into a bun. Strands of hair were glued to his sweat-drenched neck, and the pulse under his jaw was still galloping.

He needed cool,fresh air. He needed to go outside.

The storm, be damned.

The author has something to say.

This author just turned 22 yesterday!! That is why she was gone!

The author has nothing funny to say.

Also, the author found a song that matched the tone of the story, so she inserted it. Even though she is not a big fan of that. She personally thinks it disrupts the reading, but she really wanted to share it.

Adios!

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