Eternal

Chapter one

Unya

I could feel the bones crunching beneath my feet with every step I took. I kept telling myself that as long as I didn’t look, I could not possibly know what it was I was walking upon. It was at that moment I was thankful for the utter darkness that was enshrouding me. I could see a light flickering ahead, but it was yet no aid to my sight until I drew closer and realised, I had been right. There were so many bones littering the ground; I could even see some which sizes ensured they had once belonged to a child. My hand flew up to my gaping mouth; I began to heave as I tried to banish the thought from my mind. I looked back up and was startled to see a young girl standing only inches in front of me. She held her hand out to me in invitation, but I did not dare accept it. “Who are you, why would you be in this place?” Her eyes narrowed in on me as she stepped even closer, and the smell of death permeated my nostrils. “This is my home. Now come, I must take you to him,” she replied. I slid my hand into hers and was shocked by the chill that spread like wildfire up my arm and straight into my chest. I clutched at my chest and was relieved to feel the reassuring thump.

We arrived at the end of a walkway which led to a throne made of bones. The child had a smile spreading across her face, which only increased my anxiety even more.

A man was standing at the base of the throne with two lads on either side of him. I tried to make out their faces, but I could only see their outline. I was drawn to the one on his left and I tried to close the distance between us, but the child had a vice-like grip upon my hand; she would not permit me to move. “Watch, this is all because of you.” Her words made me feel sick and I continued to struggle. The lad threw something at the menacing man, but he brushed it off with a cruel laugh. He threw his hand out and I watched on in horror as the lad was engulfed in flames. I felt the scream lodge in my throat as the lad cried out my name and the man looked at me. “Hello, Unya.”

I awoke with the scream on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to shake it off as I repeated the all too familiar mantra; it was just a dream. I’d been experiencing them on and off for the past year, ever since I turned seventeen. At first, it had just been the floor covered in bones where I would hear a guy scream and then I would hit the ground running, but I never made it to him before I woke in a cold sweat. But lately, they had added the girl, the throne, and the terrifying man. I couldn’t understand why my mind was fabricating such violent images or why I could never see the guy’s face, the one who cried my name. Every. Single. Time.

Once I managed to settle my breathing, I decided it was time to emerge from my pit and hoped today would be the day where I could successfully avoid the hell hound. AKA my Aunt Jackie.

Please don’t start thinking of me as yet another disrespectful teenager. For one thing, I’ll be eighteen in just under seven months and then I am out of here. But the point I am trying to make is ever since my mum offed herself and left me to pick up the pieces, Jackie has been making my life a misery. It’s almost as though she is punishing me for landing on her doorstep. It wasn’t my choice anyway; where the hell was, I supposed to go? I’d only been fourteen when I had walked into the bathroom and discovered my mum’s body half submerged in the blood-stained water with her slit wrists on display for the world to see. I’d love to say I had a normal reaction to what I saw, but how would I know? I don’t exactly have any other situations I can compare it to.

I remember sitting down on the toilet seat lid and pulling out my phone. I remember callin

g the emergency services and reporting what I had found. And I remember feeling absolutely nothing. No bouts of nausea or hysteria, no uncontrollable shaking or hiccupping as I tried to catch my breath. It wasn’t even as though I felt numb with shock. I just did not care.

I never told anyone about my reaction, even three years on and still, no one really knows what I went through on the day of my discovery. The psychiatrist said that the fact I hadn’t cried was probably because my body had gone into a state of shock. Trying to cope with what must have been one of the hardest days of my life. I never argued with her, even though I knew she was wrong.

I now refer to that day as the Dark Day. Everyone says they understand my reasoning for the reference, but, how could they? They never asked and I never divulged it. It’s not because it was a horrible day that destroyed my innocence, but because that was the day my emotions went dark and I stopped feeling anything.

I know how that must sound, especially when I woke on the verge of screaming. It’s as though the only time my emotions come to life is when I’m in a dream. I can still feel them when I awake, and I let myself believe this is the day they are going to make their reappearance but to no avail. Within five minutes they are gone, and I return to my state of utter numbness.

I stared at my reflection in the oversized mirror that sits in my bathroom. The first time I looked in a mirror after my emotions switched off, I sank my fist into it. I hated looking at myself, seeing someone who looked exactly the same and being the only one that knew that I was utterly changed; more than likely forever. I felt the bite as the glass bit into my fist. I could feel the pain growing more intense with every second but there were no tears, I didn’t even flinch. Jackie had come running in, took one look at the mess I made and just shook her head, clucking her tongue. She took me to the accident and emergency department where they plucked out the glass and wrapped my hand up. The nurse kept stealing glances at me as she worked, but at that time it was so new to me that I couldn’t even fake the emotions that I should have been feeling.

Once I arrived back, Jackie passed me a dustpan and brush and told me to clean up my own damn mess. I’ve done it four more times since then, but never again at hers.

I took one last glance before I jumped in the shower and tried to wash away any deprecating thoughts that may have been lurking somewhere within my self-conscious.

I wiped the mirror, once I was dry and dressed, to apply my eyeliner. Thick and dark, as though I am daring someone to take a closer look and see that I Am Not Okay. That something is seriously wrong.

I remember getting into a fight in school, it ended with her lying face down in the dirt. I had a black eye and a split lip, and I just smiled. I figured hell, why not, maybe if I faked being happy, I would eventually feel it. Everyone just looked at me like I was some sort of freak, which I do agree with of course and some girl shouted at me, calling me a sociopath. As she picked her friend up off of the floor and the crowd dispersed, I thought that maybe the bitch had been right. Maybe I was a sociopath. But the description did not fit. For those who did not know me, then yeah sure it could be quite accurate, but I knew what was going on inside.

On the plus side, I made my first friend since the Dark Day. She had been impressed by my performance and the fact that the girl I had pummelled into the dirt had been picking on her. It hadn’t been my intention to get into a fight, but I couldn’t let this girl get bullied on her first day, so I jumped in head first. I mean that literally, by the way, I actually started the fight by slamming my head into her nose just to hear it crunch.