Writer Games: Humans (FULL)

Semi-Finalist: Aeron Kung

As my fingers fiddle with the string of my eye patch, I know exactly what’s up. This is the start of something that will probably destroy everything I know. This is probably going to ruin my alliance, my friendship with Myingun and Lykaias.

Myingun is already losing it. Machk, his half brother from the world of Strix, passed away during the night and it’s left a huge hole in all of our hearts; however, I doubt that the holes in mine and Lykaias’ hearts can combine and compare to the agony that Myingun feels. He claims that he can still see his brother.

If we’ve all been separated to do the same exercise as each other, I’m sure Machk will be present on Myingun’s wall. Lykaias has an interesting life; I have no idea what she’d paint about to represent what changed her in the past. Me? The only thing I can think of is Ankha.

Picking up the green paint, for Ankha was the master of disguise, I spread one tiny blob on the surface of the cave wall; I then place another. Adding dots of white, I merge the two colours to create sickly looking shades of green. Ankha looked like my sister in a way, without a missing eye. She had a few fingers and toes missing and a large chunk of her right arm was ripped away at some point.

It all started one hot afternoon in the land of Vivens, my home. My back garden was the location the two of us played at this time. We weren’t playing sports of any kind though, no. It was a simple truth or dare. However, our dares were always lame and sneakily related to truths, so it was really just a game of truths.

“I pick dare,” Ankha laughs out, wanting a change of game play. It’s always been like that: Ankha would be the one to run around and I’d be the one to sit and watch her partake in physically demanding activities.

It did always appear strange how a zombie could do that kind of physical activity, for it was usually the ghosts that ran around and competed in things. Of course, the truth unravelled later in the day. Anyway, I thought about how to get her to continue to lay here; I didn’t want to run around with her. “I dare you to tell me who your crush is.”

The green is now merged with a yellow beneath the basic bodies I’ve painted. Okay, I say basic, but they actually have detail: my eye patch, her bandages, little fingers, most things are actually painted onto the wall.

She strokes the grass beneath her and sighs. “Aeron, I can’t do that,” Ankha whines. “What if the guy ends up hating me for saying it?” Ankha fits in with the zombie stereotype; we always fear that a ghost is lurking around the corner, waiting to spread our secrets.

“How will he know if it’s just us two here?” I ask, looking at her big round eyes. They’re green, like everything else about her. Not a sickly green though; they look like the eyes of Catopian citizen – like Max or Kitty’s eyes, in a way.

Ankha looks back at my eye, blushing in the process. She looks like she’s about to open her mouth to speak, but before she can, the back door flies open. Three Sanguine men stand in the doorway; two grip the mother and the third advances towards us.

Adding the white uniforms in the background, I realise that the cave’s surface means that I don’t have to outline the white blobs. If I win and I end up having to develop a hobby, I may choose art. I do add black to the outfits though, just to highlight the visors and certain elements of their suits.

“Aeron!” Ankha screams out, holding onto my arms. Ankha’s mum looks petrified, but I don’t know what for. As we back into the fence, we realise that there’s nowhere to run. “Please, don’t let them take me away.” She clings to me, but I can’t do anything to save us.

The man grabs Ankha by her shirt and lifts her off of the ground; the two of us scream and Ankha’s mother lets out a choked sob. My mum stands in the doorway, sobbing. We all fear that we could be hurt by the men. “Mr Kung, are you aware of the crimes that your friend has committed?”

Bursting into tears, I plead innocent and run over to my mum as a screaming Ankha is carried over to the doorway. Ankha yells for her mum, but she is kept out of reach from her parent. “I have no idea what’s going on. Ankha, what have you done? Did you steal something?” Fear is the only emotion I feel; I sob and cling to my mother.

“Ankha isn’t a zombie,” one man growls, looking at the screaming child. “We’re going to take her to her real home. She belongs in Aegyptiaca with the other witches.” They say nothing to my mother and me as they march away with the child and her mother under their arms.

“Mum, what do they mean Ankha is a witch?” It’s scary, knowing that my best friend isn’t a good person. “Mother, they won’t hurt Ankha, will they? Will she ever return to Vivens?” Questions flood my head and tears run down my face.

It isn’t possible to paint audio; I paint the letters of screaming sounds and noises of torture onto the wall in an attempt to express the noises that I hear. Noises that still haunt me to this day.

“Nothing is Ankha’s fault.” That’s all my mother says, and I instantly know what she means: that Ankha’s mother will receive the brutality of the punishment and that Ankha will probably be housed in one of those naughty children homes.

This blood curdling scream fills the silence created between me and my mother. It isn’t Ankha’s scream – she’s too high pitched to fit the grunting and agonising yelps of the voice we hear. Of course, shrill screams of fear follow that belong to Ankha, but no whipping noises are present as she bawls her head off.

Both me and my mother run inside and stare out of the window; the Sanguine men must’ve let themselves out of the house. Blood is splattered on the dusty ground outside of our house and tears splash against the blood; Ankha’s tears.

I try to scream her name, but no words escape my mouth; only noises that can be described as inhuman manage to make it out of my choked throat. Giant sobs follow the noises I make as I watch Ankha and her mother – covered in blood – get taken away from me forever.

I never did find out who her crush was...

Adding the blood to the pavement outside of the three dimensional house I’ve painted, I stare at the scene and begin to cry as I think about Ankha’s face; tear-stained, tainted with blood splatters, drained of her innocence.

Looking down at my hands, I notice they’re stained with red paint; the way Ankha’s hands were stained with the blood of her mother as she held the dying woman in her arms for a second or two. That was the day my happiness was ripped from me.

And it wasn’t until years later that I managed to find happiness again. My happiness was found when I found Lykaias.

And if she’s ripped from me too, I think that I’ll end up dying; I cannot go through the same situation twice.