Dust of Danika - Chapter 1

I became aware of myself before I knew what it meant. I knew some things but other things remained foreign. My arms and legs were tied tightly to a wooden chair with rough coiled rope. The pressure of a cold hollow room pressed upon me, the emptiness profound in its nothing. Voices echoed off the walls, ringing in my ears in an empty vibration as if I too were hollow. Voices echoed sharp and angry against thin metal sheets and fell flat and hostile on the dry cement ground.

My eyes struggled to see into the enveloping darkness facing me. I saw a towering ceiling as my eyes adjusted, at least 20 feet high, and the room spanned out in front of me until the pitch swallowed the twinkling light leaking through the cracks between the nails in the tin ceiling. Grime covered windows lined the top of the walls.

My feet were bare, the heels covered in dirt and a few fallen leaves sat beside them. My toes glowed in pale cleanliness while my heels hid in murky shadows, giving the appearance of the German version of the fabled Cinderella when the ugly sister cut off her heel in order to fit into the glass slipper. I rubbed my feet on the concrete, convincing my fear soaked mind they were whole. A knee length, deep blue cotton dress fell in tatters at my knees.  It shifted softly on my thighs like a slip. The weight of my heavy hair brushed my shoulders in comfort but I had no idea if it was blond, brown, or red.

I struggled against my bindings. I pulled and tugged at the rough coiled ropes at my wrists and feet until they were red and raw.  I tried to shake the chair to the side, but found it bolted to the ground. Not knowing why or how I got here didn’t matter, it was clear I needed to get out, and fast. My heart rate picked up, beating loud in my chest until I thought I would pass out from the force of it. I continued to struggle at the ropes on my wrists, urgently trying to loosen them before the people who owned the angry voices showed their faces.

Then they arrived.

My stomach clenched when two men appeared out of the dark. Their heavy boots thumped against the concrete floor with purpose. With new fervor my arms yanked at the restraints. I screamed in frustration and fear filled my throat with hot air. Tears itched at the corner of my eyes before releasing into a steady stream down my flushed cheeks.

Being tied to a chair meant interrogation. Interrogation meant information. These men wanted information from me but I didn’t even know who I was.

“It’s awake.” The taller of the two men growled.

They came toward me but stopped a good five feet away. Their shifting gazes and pause told me they were scared.

“Please, let me go.” My voice croaked.

Salt slipped onto my lips. I licked them, the flavor strange and wonderful, new yet strangely familiar.

“Yeh right.” The other man said. He was short and round, his belly shook as he bounced on his heels, staring at me with possession and greed as his hands dove in and out of his back pockets in anticipation. I had to look away from his grotesque form. “Yer not going anywhere til’ we get the government here and get our rightly due money.” He said before giving a great hiccup, the stench of celebratory liquor wafted, and stale smoke rode on the waves.

The sight of these men in their stained clothes and alcohol drenched breath made me lean away, pushing against the wood backing of the chair. They called me ‘it’, what the hell did they think I was?  Clearly I was a confused and dirty girl in a ruined dress. And they called government? Maybe I was a spy and I couldn't remember, maybe I took a pill to forget so I wouldn’t divulge any information.

“First we gone do some tests and stuff, before them cops show up.” The first said.

“But they said they ain’t coming unless it be to arrest us.” The chubby guy said. The tall man yelled in outrage at being talked back to and smacked the short man on the back of the head, causing him to stumble forward, closer to me.

His face shone bright red with anger at being hit. Straightening, he saw how close he stood to her and yelped, leaping back. The other man laughed before bringing out a large switch blade from his belt.

As one man retreated, the other stalked forward while eyeing me like dangerous prey. He crouched low holding his knife out. I flinched as the cold blade pressed against my calf. He pressed the blade harder and slit it along my skin. My breath caught and a squeak of horror slowly inched from my throat. When he did it again I screamed.

The sound scared me as it echoed back like a caged animal. The pain was horrible, it burned my leg and blinded my mind. I coudn't see. I feared the wound somehow broke my brain as I struggled to breathe and think. I sobbed as fear and pain fought for domination. As my vision cleared I saw dark red blood drip down my calf into a small pool gathered next to my foot. I shook, feeling lost to life, and stared in horror as the men looked on in shock at the blood. Disappointment and anger clear on their slack faces.

“You can’t fool us! You might look like a girl and bleed like a human but you ain’t!” The plump man yelled.

The taller man, clearly the leader of the two, shushed him, staring intently into my face. I looked back too scared of what he might do if I looked away, afraid weakness of not meeting his gaze would show guilt of something I didn’t understand. They didn't even believe I was human.

“Please, let me go.” I whispered again, pleading for them to see reason in their disappointment. I widened my eyes, coaxing them to see the truth. Willing them to see into my soul, I was not what they thought I was, how could I be?

“Not until them officials get here.”

They refused to see the logic missing from the statement. When the officials arrived, I would not be let go, rather transferred.

“Tell me where you’re from.”

“I…I don’t know!” I said, my voice breaking, “I don’t know who I am or anything.”

The tall man’s eyes narrowed. His knuckles whitened on the knife as he approached me, rage contorting his face, “You’re a fucking alien! You fell from the sky, you’re going to kill us all or take us over. I won’t let that happen!” he yelled into my ear as his knife slinked up to my throat.

Pure terror filled me. My eyes squeezed shut and through my lids I saw a white light. A high whine followed by a loud pop filled the room. The light dimmed, then silence. I opened my eyes expecting to see government officials crashing through the high windows, swinging on ropes with guns at the ready.

Nothing. No government officials in riot gear wielding guns, no men in suits with dark shades sauntering over, and no drunken men with knives. I felt something slide along my wrists and  glanced down to watch the ropes that held my wrists and ankles fall to the ground, singed black and broken into pieces. Tentatively, I lifted my arms up. The raised red skin encircling my wrists had a fine line of black ash along the top where the rope burned.

I hugged myself for a moment, feeling the relief of being free of the bindings. Then with a start I shot out of the chair and sprung forward, getting away from the imprisoning chair, wondering how long I had been captive to it.

My legs, unused to standing, failed me. I fell to the ground, bruising my palms. I wanted to scream but nothing came out, I had no voice left in me. I wanted to understand who and where I was. I curled onto the ground and sobbed.

Minutes later I stood up feebly, my legs still did not want to carry my weight. I took one small step at a time, expecting to find an exit through the dark envelope ahead. As I stumbled through the dark, I approached a lump on the ground. I avoided my gaze, somehow knowing it would be a gruesome sight. As I continued to walk by more pieces, I experienced what could only be cooling blood congealing under my naked shuffling feet. I ignored it, moving forward. I refused to look, to see blood trickling from the open mouth of the fat man, eyes staring vacantly toward the ceiling. I didn't look but still I saw it. I knew. And, I knew I had something to do with it. I tore them apart.

I told myself I didn’t hear anything but a pop. I lied to myself, I had heard ripping, screaming, blood splattering and then a dozen thumps as body parts smacked onto the cement.

I shuffled faster, away from the bodies. A door with a faint red EXIT sign appeared to the right. I raced toward it, my feet adjusting to my balance as I leaned forward, pushing toward the sign. Eager for the fresh night air outside the door I was unable to stop my momentum and smashed into the door. My head thumped on the cold metal, rocking me backward. I groaned and placed my palm to my forehead. My knees began to shake with the effort of holding me. I look down at the door to see it had a horizontal handle along the middle segment, a metal push lever to open it. I smashed into it, the force of my body flinging it open.

The night gloriously held clear heavens filled with bright stars that pinpricked the deep velvet of the sky, calming me as I continued to pick up pace across an abandoned parking lot. The lights of nearby stores and street lights flickered off as I passed.

My soft feet ached as I trudged along. Cuts and blisters formed on the soles of my feet. I winced with every meek step. The air rushed through me, the dress flapping at my knees. I had to get away, further away, off the warm tarmac and onto cool grass.

Dawn began to approach as I burst into a park far beyond the reach of the building where I was held. Towering trees guided me through crisscrossed paths to a bench beneath a large oak. There I watched the pinks and purples of the sun in the distance. I reluctantly said goodbye to the night. A strange feeling of losing a friend. I could not place the feeling, except it had a deep heart wrenching of loss.

I took a final look at the last star visible in the lighting sky. It blinked at me, winking, before disappearing with the rest. I had the vague idea I somehow belonged to that last star, that we knew one another and now I wouldn’t see it ever again.

I glared at the edge of the sun, bringing light onto me. Taking away all I thought I knew. I wanted the night. I may not have known who I was, but I knew the first time I was aware was nighttime. I wanted to sleep in night’s welcoming dark warmth as the stars winked secrets in the portal of my eyes.

I had no idea what to do next. Soon there would be nothing left in me and I would shrivel up and crumble to the ground like misplaced trash. With no idea where I was, where I was from or who I was, I couldn’t come up with a place to go. Even if I did, I wouldn’t know how to get there.

Without my approval, tears again pooled down my cheeks. I brushed them away roughly. The cut at my leg throbbed and I knew I had to get it cleaned and bandaged. I could walk around hoping to find a hospital but I would have no ID to give them. I had no money and so no means to help myself.

I looked up to the tree, the leaves so still not a single one rustled, yet I shook like a leaf. With the shock of what had happened, I began to hyperventilate. Even as I put my head between my knees and tried to regain control of my breathing, I grew annoyed at knowing what hyperventilating was, and how to stop it, yet I couldn’t even remember my own name or age.  Amnesia took away the most important part of a person.

As I sat with my head between my knees, cursing myself and crying into the grassy ground beneath me, I noticed a pair of feet sidle up next to mine in worn black vans. The slight depression of the bench beside me gave me a start and I stopped breathing. Head between my legs, not breathing, I hoped this person would not engage me in conversation. Maybe if I stayed absolutely still, they wouldn’t see me.

“Are you ok?” A young man’s voice asked.

With an internal grown I sat up, pulling my dress down and crossing my legs. The man was young, mid-twenties. He had black hair speckled red in the sun. His dark green eyes gazed down at me, concerned and so large they were all I could see of his face. The man indicated to my bare and dirty feet and torn dress.

“Rough night?”

“The usual kidnap, tied to a chair and amnesia.” I mumbled, betting the truth sounded more like a dismissal.

First he looked confused bordering on amusement as his lips curled up, but wonderment got the better of him as his eyes narrowed. He straightened and leaned in closer.

“Are you ok?” he asked again in hushed urgency as his eyes bore into mine, “Should I take you to the police?”

I nodded, then remembered the men in the warehouse; their deaths and how they called the police because they thought I was an alien. The same police this man would take me to. They would want to question me then detain me when I could not answer the questions they sought. It would lead to psychiatrists I couldn’t pay for and then a strange hospital.

Shaking my head I told him no, not the police. The guy didn’t question me or demand a reason. He simply nodded and remained silent and by my side for a good ten minutes. I fidgeted with the hem of my dress, pulling on a loose string, unraveling it further. The deep blue thread was silky. I wrapped it around my finger in an endless spiral.

The man reached out and placed his hand on mine, stopping me from further ruining the dress. I stared at his hand on top of mine, my heart pounded in my ears. Looking up at him I saw him staring at me, kindness and concern lined his forehead. He removed his hand but deftly took the thread and yanked quickly, snapping it short and close to the dress.

I was left with an inch of the silky thread dangling from my wrapped finger. I took the excess string and tucked it under the wrapped segment on my right middle finger. The wound blue thread reached from my first to second knuckle. I stroked it, a part of the night still with me.

My head became fuzzy, black dots started to build up from the bottom of my vision. I could feel my body wavering, swaying from side to side as I tried to catch my breath. Holding my head with one hand and onto the bench with the other, I willed my mind to stay awake, to not pass out.

“Right, you’re coming with me.” He said.

The man stood from the bench and held out his hand. Unwilling to outright trust him I stood on my own and faced him, trying to figure out his intentions. I started to sway again, unable to keep my balance. The guy hesitated, in that moment I knew he didn't want to touch me or help me as much as he now intended to. He didn't know me, after all. But he lifted my left arm around his shoulder and I begrudgingly let him.

“You don’t know who you are, have no place to go, and are about to pass out.” He said. "I want to take you to my place so you can get cleaned up, eat and get some fresh clothes. Once you’re rested and refreshed, we can figure out what to do. But, I can’t leave you out here alone and beat up.” 

With nothing else to lose and only help to gain, I looked into his inky green eyes and let him lead me with most of my weight on his shoulders.

© Ash Huntley

The Peculiar Girl and Glass

"What the--"

Stay nearly tripped over a box at her front door. Jumping over it she huffed and threw a glare over her shoulder at the stationary brown box neatly taped without a label, sitting perfectly intact on her porch. What the hell was it doing there? She hadn't ordered anything and nobody ever sent her things. Stay didn't know anyone who would.

Someone placed this box here. Someone walked up her front steps and set it down. The item inside given to her with purpose. The person who left it and left knowing what they wanted her to do with it. The whole moment felt surreal as she stared at the box and her throat swelled with the confusion. Stay walked around the box, going back inside to the safety of her home. Sitting down on her entryway rug she stared at the box with the screen door between them.

Stay lost track of time, as she sometimes did, staring at the box. The sun traveled across the sky, rising up and over the house wrapping its warm light like a hug. Only a hazy deep orange ray crept toward the box while the rest sat in cold shadow. Stay didn't touch the box. She got up from her spot, legs sore and aching at the knees from sitting cross legged - she stretched and cracked her spine. With a final glance at the offender, Stay closed the heavy front door and locked it.

* * *

The box lay open on the old wooden table of the kitchen, each flap pulled over and bent to display the object inside which now sat beside it. A glass crane. Not a crane made of glass that was chipped away and polished smooth. A crane made of folded glass pressed carefully as if it started as paper and turned to glass at the makers command. It was the size of a small bowl and heavy enough that it required both hands to lift.

A note inside read "How high is your sky if you only love it from the sea?" written in careful print with a blue fountain pen on handmade paper dotted with bits of seeds and petals. The crane and note sat on the table for days, untouched. Stay tried not to think about what it meant and who had left it for her.

Yet the crane beckoned her. She stroked the smooth folds and pressed her thumb upon the sharp beak. Her porcelain finger clicked gently against the thick, fragile, gleaming glass. The note now placed on the fridge with an old beaten magnet that showed up in the mail over a decade ago as an advertisement, and she set the crane on the kitchen window sill. It glowed with the light of the setting sun, splaying a rainbow across the floor and wall. Blue and green then purple and red.

Each day Stay went to her porch in hopes of finding another strange gift or cryptic letter. Hoping to find a reason or explanation left for the gift that meant so much to her that only her and her mother knew. Who else could possibly know about the cranes her mother folded? Was it coincidence? Could there be such a coincidence so large and meaningful left on her porch in an unmarked box?

Sitting at the table, tapping her fingers on the old grains staring at the crane glowing orange she wondered endlessly, losing hours and forgetting life. Was the crane pointing left? Didn't she put it up with the face pointing to the right? No, that couldn't be possible.

With a huff Stay sat up and began to pace the room. How dare some stranger give her a stupid letter with a crane she couldn't stop thinking about. The crane kept her up thinking of the dreams she had of it swimming on a frozen lake at night, cracking the ice in its wake until it broke off into a million pieces that reflected the sky. making it look like it was broken and the lake had stars. Then the crane became her mother standing on a slab of ice. She walked to the shore stepping onto the little pieces of frozen water, the dark water creeping and lapping over the white ice onto her mothers naked feet as she made her way to Stay.

© Ash Huntley