Cayden: Dawn of the Harvest

Prologue

The ash fell from the sky slowly like dancing snowflakes, and the air smelled putrid as if they were being showered with sulfur, yet all Cayden could feel was the warmth of Brooke's hand. The two lay in a dead, infertile field and stared into the blackened night holding each other's hands tightly as they laughed.

"That one looks like a lion," Cayden whispered as he pointed to the few stars that shone through the smoke that blanketed the sky.

"What are you talking about?" Brooke giggled softly, "It looks nothing like a lion."

Cayden rolled over to face her with a smirk on his face, "Oh yeah, smartass? Then what does it look like to you?" He couldn't help but grin as he stared at her flawless face. Brooke's light-brown hair sprawled across the ground, and her smile made his heart thump so hard that he swore his chest would rip open at any second.

"It looks like an old man," she continued, not even noticing Cayden's intense gaze, "with a gross looking beard."

Cayden whipped his head up to the sky and furrowed his brow, "What? Where the hell do you see that?"

"Right there," she outlined a circular shape with her finger, "and there's his long, raggedy beard."

"You know they say you see what you want to see, don't you? That we each see our own image."

Brooke tilted her head and met Cayden's eyes, his smile more mischievous, "Are you saying that I want a raggedy old man?"

Cayden let out a deep laugh, "No, weirdo," he shook his head, "Maybe you're seeing what you're going to be stuck with in fifty years."

Brooke blinked slowly with her eyebrows raised, challenging his remark. After what seemed like minutes, she finally brought her hands together and gently began to twist a silver, rusted ring that rested on her left hand.

Cayden turned his attention to the ring on her finger, and saw the chips and dents as she continued to twirl it. It wasn't much more than a cheap piece of tin, but somehow he felt proud that she had accepted his gift and cherished it.

"You're sure as hell not going to have a beard in fifty years, that's for sure," Brooke finally broke the silence, "In fact, you won't have a beard in one year, or five years, or ever."

"Ha," he scooted closer to her, "maybe I'll just grow one for the hell of it, and when you sleep, I'll rub it all over your face."

"Don't you dare, not if you want me to keep wearing this ring."

Cayden didn't have a reply, nor was he afraid of her threat because he knew he would do anything for her, even if it meant shaving five times a day. She gently tilted her head toward him, and with a soft smile she stuck out her tongue.

He scoffed and dropped his head. She may have been stubborn but he knew he would have to get used to it. Before he knew it, he felt her soft fingers on his forehead, gently making their way up to his hair, and he pushed closer to her hand. She combed his short, black hair with such compassion that Cayden could've melted in her hand. He shut his eyes tightly, savoring the moment, trying to burn every feeling into his mind so that he would never forget.

Cayden knew it was only a matter of time that they would be separated. Albeit only a few months, but a few months might as well have been years to him. They hadn't been apart for more than two or three days since they were barely preteens, and he dreaded just the thought of sleeping alone, of not being able to see her face every day.

"What are you thinking?" Brooke broke his train of thought, "I can never get you to shut up for more than a minute and now you're starting to freak me out."

Cayden wasn't ready to let go of this moment, he smiled gently and lifted his eyes to meet hers, only it wasn't Brooke.

Cayden's gaze was met with red, piercing eyes, he jolted up, stumbling to get to his feet. The person that lay in the field was not Brooke. It wore the same hair, but its skin was shriveled and a dark gray, what he imagined a decaying corpse would look like. Her clothes were gone, and in their place was a leather-like skin wrapped around protruding ribs and a sunken pelvis.

"Wh-what?" It was all he could muster before the corpse on the ground began to laugh. It extended it's arms toward him, and it's long, pointed fingers waggled in his direction.

"Come here, my love," it taunted; its voice was deep and gave Cayden chills.

"Get away from me!" He stumbled backwards, unable to take his eyes off of what used to be Brooke, "What are you?"

The corpse frowned so deeply that it looked as if its fragile skin could crack. "I'm disappointed in you, Cayden." It slowly began to lift to its feet, head hung low until it was able to fully stand up. It whipped its head up to gaze into Cayden's wide, terrified eyes, "You don't remember anything, do you?"

"What...what do you mean?" he stuttered in shock, "What are you talking about?"

It stepped closer to him, and with every step it took, he took one back.

"You remember nothing. Were we just meaningless beings to you? Vessels that had no souls?"

Cayden lowered his eyebrows, and his mouth gaped open, his voice was low and hoarse. "I don't know what you're talking about. Where's Brooke?"

"Is that why it was so easy for you Cayden?" It swayed toward him, as if it were dancing seductively, "Is that why you were able to do what you did?"

Before he could reply, Cayden suddenly felt something cold in his hands and his heart skipped a beat. Reluctant to look down, he gripped his hand tighter; it was metallic and had several hard bumps.

"Do you cry at night?" the corpse continued, "knowing what you did?"

Cayden no longer stepped backward; instead he slowly lowered his head and gazed into his hand. In his grip was a gun.

His eyes widened as he stared at the gun that so naturally rested in his hand. He lifted it closer to his face for closer inspection; it looked old-fashioned, like one of the antique twenty-first century types, with a metal barrel and plastic gripping.

Cayden ran his fingers over the barrel, and contrary to the freezing grip, the barrel was much hotter. Had it been fired recently?

"What is..." he softly trailed off in disbelief, "what's going on?"

As he lowered the gun from his sight he saw that the corpse was no longer coming toward him, in fact, it was no longer standing at all.

What used to be Brooke now knelt in front of Cayden, facing the opposite direction. He felt a quick surge of relief that he no longer had to look at its face, but the feeling quickly evaporated when he saw the back of the corpse's skull. Its hair was snarled and clumped; he could see rotted skin and even bone where hair was missing.

The feeling of relief was quickly replaced with dread when he found his arm was now fully extended and had the gun directly against the corpse's skull.

"Do you see their faces at night when you sleep, Cayden?" he could hear the corpse whisper, "Do you see them cry?"

Cayden's heart pounded louder than he ever thought possible as he felt his grip on the trigger tightening. What am I doing? His thoughts screamed, what the fuck am I doing?

As if the corpse were able to read his mind, it quietly replied, "What you were born to do."

He had no control; his finger was tightening by the second against the trigger of the gun. Cayden tried as hard as he could to lower his arm, to throw the gun away, to do anything else than what he was about to do.

It was no use.

Cayden tightly shut his eyes and felt the moisture of his tears pushed out and they began to roll down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

The corpse remained still, but grinned as it closed its own eyes just before Cayden pulled the trigger.