The first of two prologues of a new story called Broken.
Prologue One: Walking
Beneath wet beads of sweat and cold drops of rain, he face is a twisted mask. Pain is there, obvious and up front, furrowing her visage with definite hurt. Under this, less obviously, desperation lurked, a little harder to make out. Lastly, invisible to all but those with the most trained eyes, a glimmer of hope lay, hidden in the vast shadow of the other darker emotions.
It is dark in the field, and she has been walking through it for hours. Exhaustion decorates the way she walks, a stumbling almost lost sort of lumber. Her left arm is twisted at a grotesque, impossible angle. There is a smear of blood around the twist, just under the elbow. Her right arm holds a bundle of blankets, and inside the blankets lays a small child. The child is screaming and crying but it is inaudible against the deafening pounding of the storm. A noise comes from her lips, an involuntary sort of grunting, breathy noise, a noise of absolute pain.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
The woman walks through the muck, slipping and sloshing her way through black mud, pushing apart the tall grass. She is so unbelievable tired and every instinct in her body tells her to stop and lay down in the mud, but she knows if she does this she lets the storm win and she lets it claim her life and that of her child’s forever.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
The rain increases its intensity. She continues to walk, struggling on. She is fighting a vicious, fierce battle with the heavens themselves, a battle she knows she might not win.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
She breaks out of the field onto a rural asphalt road and sighs a small sigh of relief. The solidness of the ground freshens her, much better then the soft, sucking sludge. She knows headway had been made in the war, but also knows this conflict for her life and her child’s is still a long way from an ending.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
It does not take long for the renewal that the road gave her to wear thin. Soon the dull throb of pain begins to slow her again, the exhaustion creeping back like a disease. Her eyes drift close, then snap back open with a jolt. Never in her life has she been so tired, never before has she wanted, no, needed the lovely reprieve of sleep so badly.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
There are no cars on the road, it is very late, most people lie sleeping in warm beds.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
One foot in front of the other, a steady, stable rhythm that lasts forever. Not as easy as it sounds. After a while, your tired legs begin to stiffen, become awkward boards, your feet become numb bricks. It feels like nothing else exists but the walking, and you want to stop but you can’t. After a while, the walking becomes hell.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
Finally, she rounds a turn and sees the lights of a city. She almost falls down in relief, then catches herself, reminding herself yet again that the fight is not over. She resumes her walk, towards the shining stars of civilization.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
At last, the city. An eternity has passed since the muddy field, and two have gone by since the crash. The woman is on her last legs, falling to and fro like a wandering drunk. She looks around as she enters the city, but there are only darkened suburban houses, no one is awake. She continues to walk, and sobs of absolute desperation rock her. Has she really walked this far for nothing? Will they find the bodies of hers and her child’s in the morning, curled up and cold? No, she tells herself and presses onward.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
There, a figure. He or she or whoever it is is hurrying through the downpour, running for shelter. The woman yells, screams but she might as well be whispering, as her cry is silent in the thunderous storm.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
Then she looks down at her child, and all the hope rushes out of her. Because what she has seen is the worst thing in the world, a cold, unmoving form that is no longer screaming and crying. The woman falls to her knees, unaware of the sharp pain the ground brings with the sudden contact. Then she lets back her head and lets go a guttural inhuman howl that reverberates in the air. Every bit of energy she had is spent now, and she falls face first onto the hard concrete, the body of her child rolling away. The last thing she sees before the darkness takes her is the figure, having heard the howl kneeling in front of her, glowing star in hand.
