~Day one~
In the haunting embrace of an apartment living room bathed in eerie shadows, a young child sat huddled in the dusty recesses of a cob-web laden corner, her form a heart-rending display of anguish.
Her silhouette, frail and near skeletal, carried with it the weight of an insurmountable burden.
The narrative of her harrowing past and the ceaseless cruelty of her present found expression not solely on her face but also in the violent tremors that shook her frame—a haunting testament to profound sorrow and the merciless theft of innocence.
Each whimper, each ragged breath escaping from her cracked lips, every quiver that wracked her body wove together a tale meticulously penned by a fate determined to entangle her existence in an unending tapestry of trials and tribulations.
The room's ghostly hues and melancholic atmosphere seemed to blend into her pallor, casting her as an otherworldly figure—a specter attempting to dissolve into the very desolation that encompassed both herself and her surroundings.
The walls, once vibrant and full of life, now wore a veil of neglect. Time had etched its story onto their surfaces—peeling paint and remnants of forgotten wallpaper whispered tales of abandonment, each crack and imperfection a silent reverberation of the sheer terror that pervaded the air.
A solitary window fought to usher in traces of daylight, struggling through blinds that hung askew, twisted, and only partially drawn. Its effort was complemented by a fractured, grimy pane that offered a distorted glimpse into a world both remote and malevolently harsh, echoing the child's reality.
Stiffly enfolded within herself, the child tightly hugged her knees against her chest, her face buried between her legs and torso. Her hands, mirroring the tremors coursing through her body, pressed against her ears in a frantic bid to shut out the terrifying symphony outside—a dissonance where humanity's sorrow and rage clashed in an unsettling harmony.
The echoes of anguished screams seemed to transcend the boundaries of time, intertwining with the heart-wrenching cadence of gunshots that pierced the very fabric of the soul as mournful sirens wailed their lament, carrying the heavy burden of grief for the dead and dying.
These sounds, born from the ashes of a world's demise, etched a solemn elegy-an anthem of finality where hope and despair grappled in what would be an eternal contest for dominance within the hearts of those who remained to bear witness.
In the depths of her distress, the girl felt a profound sense of disconnection, as though she were adrift in a bewildering haze that stubbornly refused to lift.
Fragments of her past emerged like shattered anchors to reality, each one a distant star flickering in an expansive cosmos of memories.
There, she captured ephemeral glimpses of her brother's smile, the resounding echoes of her father's screaming that reverberated through the apartment's walls, mere snippets of news anchors in a frenzied discourse about flu season, and the phantom feeling of her mother's touch that now lingered like a spectral whisper.
Yet, these threads of recollection remained enigmatic, their connection elusive as they wove together a mosaic of emotions and experiences. It was as if the puzzle pieces were scattered before her, yearning to be joined, yet defying her attempts to find the unifying thread that would bind them into coherence.
Reality felt distant, unreal, as if she were observing her entire life from a distant vantage point, separated by an invisible barrier.
Time lost its grip, hours merging seamlessly with minutes, becoming indistinguishable. She struggled to grasp the ebb and flow of temporal currents. How long had it been since that distant, numb sensation had crept into her being, severing her from the world's touch? How much time had slipped through her fingers as she clung to the shadows of non-existence?
The fear of fully reentering reality gripped her, its talons digging deep into her psyche. It was a terror born from the sporadic moments of clarity that pierced the shroud of dissociation.
In those instances, the world rushed back to her senses: the metallic tang of copper scenting the air, every sound echoing in her ears, even the vibrations of turmoil coursing through her hands. And then, just as swiftly, she was plunged back into the void, the tether to reality slipping from her grasp once more.
The fear, the uncertainty, held her captive, and she clung to that fragile nothingness, even as the world trembled at the edges of her consciousness.
In the midst of her inner maelstrom, an abrupt, jarring knock on the door shattered her tiny semblance of composure, yanking her senses back to the present moment.
She pressed her small hands harder against her ears, her nails digging into flesh, a visceral attempt to shield herself from all the external stimuli she was terrified to confront.
Soft whimpers escaped her lips as she clung desperately to the corner of the room, seeking refuge in the tight, limited space it offered.
"Not real," she whispered, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of her own voice, "not real. not real. not real." Her mantra, a lifeline amidst the terror, echoed like a distant plea, a prayer whispered to the universe that begged of blissful denial.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ--ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Outside; a young Asian man, his features partially obscured by a baseball cap, stood with a small book bag slung over one of his shoulders.
A plain kitchen knife, its blade dulled by countless tasks, was strapped unceremoniously to his belt.
The simple instrument bore no proclamation of aggression; rather, it stood as a symbol of the harsh realities that had irrevocably reshaped the small neighborhood in a matter of mere hours.
With a resolve that almost bordered on stubbornness, his knuckles rapped against the door in front of him again and again, each tap carrying a plea, an entreaty for a response that would pierce the veil of unsettling silence.
And with each unanswered knock, and each little sound that echoed behind him, his growing anxiety seemed to coil tighter around him, a tenacious grip that failed to extinguish his determination.
Slowly, he grasped the brass doorknob a little too tightly and he twisted it open - the door yielding with a high creak.
In a time where every soul scoured the landscape for fragments of meaning and pockets of safety, the air was fraught with the unknown.
But it was not enough for him to merely remain stagnant, to take refuge in the shadows, to succumb to that fear. No, his heart was gripped by the imperative to act, to venture forth into the tempest rather than succumb to the primal urge to flee and save only himself.
The weight of terror clung to him like a second skin, but the decision to stake his own life for the safety of his little neighbors was not one borne of hesitation.
He had woven a poignant routine of companionship with the young siblings. Whenever their father's harsh actions left them locked out, isolated and vulnerable, or when his presence inspired fear that drove them to seek refuge anywhere but within their own home, he was there.
And as the weeks danced on, it was no surprise that he grew closer to them, protective almost.
The sight of their hidden bruises and concealed injuries was a constant weight upon his heart, a relentless gnawing that ignited an inferno of anger deep within his chest. Each mark they tried to hide from his gaze was a painful testament to the torment they endured behind closed doors. But, despite the raging tempest of emotions that threatened to consume him, he held his tongue.
A bitter silence wrapped around him, woven from threads of apprehension. This silence was a product of fear - fear that taking a stand could lead to CPS getting involved, the siblings being separated, their father getting angrier.
When the widespread cacophony of violence erupted hours ago, amidst the swirling chaos and imminent danger, his thoughts instinctively gravitated towards them - the innocent souls he held dear in his heart.
He couldn't bear leaving them alone with their father in the disarray.
It was time to finally, after all those months, step up.
Summoning his resolve, he took a long stride forward, crossing the threshold into the apartment.
The repugnant stench of death immediately clawed its way into his senses, a malevolent presence that struck him with a force akin to a physical blow. The air was suffused with the sickly-sweet scent of decay, threatening to choke him.
His stomach twisted and roiled in protest, a visceral response to the repellant aroma that hung in the air.
Through blurred vision, he surveyed the room, his gaze falling upon the lifeless form of a young boy, abandoned beneath a shattered window.
The sight of the boot-shaped imprint on the delicate curve of his skull, the grotesque splatters that marred the floor and wall with the gruesome remnants of his brain, struck him with an intensity that sent shockwaves of despair through his being.
A tide of horror surged through his veins, a frigid torrent of utter revulsion that engulfed him.
His body betrayed him, and he bent over, expelling the contents of his stomach onto the floor, a desperate attempt to rid himself of the overwhelming terror that had seized him.
"Mason," he gasped, his voice a mere rasp, tinged with a profound agony that radiated from the depths of his soul. The name, once a comforting melody, now became a bitter note of sorrow, a stark reminder of the irreplaceable loss that had unfurled in front of his anguished eyes.
His trembling hands moved instinctively, seeking to wipe away the traces of sorrow and bile that stained his lips.
The facade of determination he had worn like armor had crumbled, leaving him vulnerable and shaken. His once-stalwart demeanor had been replaced by a fragile vulnerability, and the denim-clad knees that supported him threatened to give way beneath the crushing weight of overwhelm, a physical burden that mirrored the heaviness settling within his heart.
The memory of the lifeless child had imprinted itself indelibly upon his consciousness, a haunting specter that cast its shadow over the once-lively echoes of laughter and innocent play that came from him.
"Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god," he repeated, a prayer for the nightmare to dissolve. Each word was punctuated by a hitch in his breath, the anguish within him laid bare in the raw tremor of his voice.
Fighting to reclaim his composure, he drew deep breaths, but the tremors persisted, his body and soul locked in the grip of a seismic upheaval that defied containment.
His mind screamed a single word, a desperate command that reverberated through his thoughts like a relentless echo.
Run. Run. Run.
The urgency of that solitary word coursed through his veins, propelling him to obey its insistent call. His muscles tensed, poised for swift motion, for escape from this nightmarish scene that threatened to consume him whole.
RUN.
He began to pivot, ready to heed the primal instincts urging him to flee, to leave behind the horrors that lay before him.
And then, a faint whimper fluttered into his awareness, delicate yet desperate. It was a sound so fragile that it seemed almost insubstantial, a whisper that could easily be mistaken for a mouse's squeak.
But it pierced through his own torment with an unwavering clarity.
He turned sharply, his gaze seeking the source of that sound, his heart pounding like a relentless drumbeat in his chest.
In mere milliseconds, his eyes found her and he drew in a sharp breath.
Daisy.
She huddled in a dark corner, a small and fragile figure. The worn couch before her served as a meager barricade, offering little protection from the devastating scene that lay before her - her brother's lifeless form.
He pushed down the grim images of death, pushed down the fear, the guilt, the grief and with one more deep breath, forced himself to focus on her and only her.
Her vulnerability radiated from her, a palpable aura of fear that seemed to reach out like an anguished, silent plea for salvation.
As he took small steps toward her, her form became painfully clearer.
Her clothes were a canvas of horror, splattered with a grotesque palette of dried blood that was visible even through the shadows.
The crimson taint matted her tangled hair, a gruesome testimony to the nightmare she had endured.
It was as if she had been submerged in the nightmare, a part of it, for an eternity.
Curled into herself, her forehead was nestled against her knees, and her trembling hands clamped desperately over her ears.
"Daisy?" the man's voice trembled, a tender undercurrent of compassion threading through the uncertain syllables. "It's Glenn."
But silence held sway, and Daisy remained motionless, adrift in a realm of suffering so profound that Glenn dared not imagine her trauma.
Glenn's steps echoed through the eerily quiet space, each one a measured approach, his eyes darting anxiously towards the door and then back toward her.
His ears strained, listening for even the faintest rustle that might hint at lurking danger.
The living room, now a somber tableau, bore witness to the heart-wrenching events that had unfolded. The air seemed to hang heavy with the weight of Daisy's muted sobs, the sole disruption in the oppressive stillness.
Kneeling before her, Glenn tried again, his voice carrying a touch more urgency edged with concern. "Daisy."
Still, she remained rigid.
A weight of concern bore down heavily upon Glenn's shoulders, and his heart sank as he grappled with the realization that Daisy might be in shock, something he had only seen in movies, a potentially deadly reaction to trauma.
Or if that wasn't the case, he feared that she might've been sick like the others, something he hoped desperately that she wasn't.
With a trembling hand, Glenn reached out, his fingers brushing against her tangled hair in an awkward gesture.
Daisy flinched hard, her body reacting with the instinctive recoil of prey sensing danger. Yet, there was no escape, no refuge from the reality that now engulfed her.
"Easy, take it easy," Glenn murmured as he raised his hands in a gesture of reassurance, a silent pledge of safety. "It's all right, Daisy. It's me, Glenn."
Still, the terror lingered in her wide, bloodshot eyes. Her distant gaze and wide pupils spoke volumes, a haunting narrative.
"Glenn?" Her voice was but a mere whisper, as if she herself was scared of it.
Her hands fell from her ears, surrendering to the onslaught of the world's clamor that crashed over her like a tidal wave - colors too vivid, sounds too sharp, memories too overwhelming.
Overwhelming, overwhelming, overwhelming.
It was all too much for her.
Glenn winced, watching as she descended into a frenzy, her breathing becoming erratic and her eyes darting around.
His heart ached for her, and he knew that his presence alone wouldn't even be near enough to mend the fractures in her psyche.
He managed a faint smile, an attempt to convey warmth despite the inadequacy of words. "Yes, Daisy. It's me. Just take a breath, okay?" he pleaded gently.
Daisy's panic and desperation seemed to seep into the very air around them, wrapping Glenn in its grip, constricting his own breath as he struggled to provide a lifeline of solace.
He reached out again, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, a silent gesture of support. "I know. It's a lot to handle," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm meant to quell her panic, "You have to breathe. Please."
Each shallow gasp of air threatened to pull Daisy under, her fear a relentless undertow. Summoning all her strength, she voiced the anguish that clenched her heart, her words a raw admission that sliced through the silence.
"They abandoned me," she choked out between gasps, "Daddy and Mason... they left me all alone."
Glenn's heart dropped like a stone, the reality of her devastation crashing upon him. A grim realization dawned, the truth hovering on the edge of his consciousness. But he couldn't bear to shatter the remnants of her sanity. "Just... just breathe," he stammered, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.
"It's going to be okay. We can find them," he promised, his voice carrying a steadfast resolve, even as his heart ached with the deception. "Just take deep breaths. In and out. You're safe with me," he coached.
The minutes dragged on, each one heavy with the weight of their shared grief. Glenn's hand moved in gentle circles on Daisy's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort. But the weight of the truth, the lifeless body mere feet away, clawed at his conscience, threatening to unravel his own composure.
"Let's, um, let's get you out of here, okay?" Glenn suggested, his voice tender as he attempted to shield Daisy from the devastating reality that lay before her.
Amidst his concerns, he recalled the bright red inhaler her brother always carried, a literal lifeline during her bouts of wheezing and coughing. The memory of Mason, once full of life and love for his little sister, shattered Glenn's heart. But Daisy was his focus now, his duty to protect and care for her surpassing all else.
"Daisy, where's your medicine?" he inquired gently, using his hand to mime the shape of an inhaler. "The one you use when you can't breathe properly?"
Memories clawed at Daisy, and she hesitated before responding, "Daddy... He keeps them in the bathroom."
Taking quick action, Glenn shielded Daisy's eyes with his cap before she could see the devastating scene before her. "Stay right here and keep the cap on, okay?" he instructed.
With her face hidden beneath the cap, Daisy nodded, and Glenn left her side with a sense of purpose.
Navigating the apartment with a heightened awareness, he located the stash of prescription medicine in the bathroom and hastily collected several boxes labeled "PROAIR HFA," shoving them into his bag.
Returning to Daisy, he found her still cocooned in his cap, waiting as he had instructed. "Let's go, but keep the cap on for now," he urged, his tone gentle yet resolute. His hand extended towards hers, a steady anchor of reassurance, ready to guide her out of the apartment.
However, instead of taking his hand, Daisy reached up to him, her small hands opening and closing in a silent plea for him to pick her up.
With a fluid and almost graceful movement, Glenn scooped Daisy into his arms, her form finding comfort in his embrace. His determination to shield her from the world's horrors burned fiercely, a silent promise written in his eyes. With swift, purposeful steps, he carried her out of the apartment, each stride a testament to his unwavering devotion.
Grief and sorrow threatened to engulf him, shadows dancing at the periphery of his vision, but he held them at bay, a fortress of strength for Daisy.
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, unshed but acknowledged.
Rewritten <3