In darkness, an uneasy terror, too vague for name, lurks on the edge of consciousness that is never present in light. Shadows stand silent, each with a story woven by the threads of imagination and memory, of intent sullen in the wrinkled palms of witches scorned. Corners become pregnant with anticipation; closets the hidden cove of demons, the womb of evil black and cold, working mischief in silence too loud for comfort. Patient is darkness, unhurried and deliberate, as if the hands of destruction held back the gods of time, a cruel warp delicious only to those who delight in fields of fear and paranoia.

Kyra meditated as Von and Em slept the sleep of children tired. Her eyes were closed to matters slight as her mind and heart opened to matters grave and the expanse of hope extended to horizons distant and far. On the edges she watched, like storms of thunder and lightning, appearing only from the corners of awareness too slippery to hold, too ephemeral to ponder, intruders neither wanted nor welcomed but present nonetheless.

Em began to stir with a feline stretch of arms and back, her half-open eyes seeing without comprehending. Kyra opened her eyes as the flower of Em unfolded before her, life awakening, precious life unfolding, and that life would have questions of mind and heart seeking answers of logic and love. “Morning Em.”

Em yawned into her small balled fist. “Morning Kyra. What happened?”

Kyra spoke of what she knew, careful to avoid assumption and speculation for fear needed no breeding ground. She kept her tone steady and assured with inventory of facts as if the organization of details was itself a commodity of value with the power to convert fear into hope. Em listened and asked and Kyra answered and listened and so for minutes upon minutes the exchange continued as Kyra felt as Papa must have felt so many times.

When Em had asked her last question and silence prevailed, she looked lost. Kyra sat and waited for what she knew would come. “Kyra, I’m scared,” said Em, her voice humble before fate like a child not yet overcome with the hubris of age.

Kyra stood and opened her arms. Em folded within as a cold puppy nestles into its mother’s belly and Kyra whispered softly into her ear, “So am I.”

Reading:  So Am I

Categories: Story, Kyra, Emy