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The man who escorted me here grabs my arm, his grip is tight as he begins leading me towards the front. I try to pull away, but he grips me harder. “Don’t bother fighting. It is of no use.”
The same loud voice speaks to me again. I nod my head once, in defeat. He isn’t wrong.
As we approach, the followers begin stepping aside to clear a path. My eyes examine each one, all in the same robes and masks. The man standing at the front seems to be special, only his robe has the gold trim and emblem. There is a row of men whose backs continue to face me, they do not move like the others did. My handler and I stop, finally building up the courage, I go to speak but he stops me.
He nods his head to the people in the front, and they all move to the side. My heart drops into my stomach when my eyes land on who is lying there, and my knees shake as my lip trembles. My handler lets go of me as I fall to the ground.
All color has to have left my body as shock sets in.
Covering my mouth, I shake my head in absolute disbelief, “No. No, this can’t be.”
“Oh, but it is.” His voice echoes, it sounds further away than it did just moments ago. My eyes are focused on the sight before me, everything has disappeared around me as my body still trembles. Tears race down my cheeks, and suddenly I feel so cold that my teeth chatter.
“Rain, look at me.” His authoritative tone causes my head to look up at him. His head slants as he looks at me. Why does he know my name?
The emblem is clear now, on his robe. The outline of bat wings is etched into it. Each peak of the wing has a line running down to the bottom. The way it is done makes it appear as though they are flying out of the fabric.
I recognize that symbol.
“Society dictates, no harm to women and children. Save them first. Protect them. But why? We do not see gender. We see good and evil. Our God shows them to us, and we honor his request. We do not follow society's norms. Tonight is a very special night, my sweet Rain. You have come home to me, to us. We must celebrate your arrival, your future.” He interrupts my thoughts. Speaking as he steps down from where he is standing. He is now on even ground with me and the others. Gravel crunches beneath his shoes with each step towards the long, dark wood table before us. Reaching out, his finger brushes against it as he passes, then reaches me.
“Don’t be scared. She was shown to us before your birthday. It’s okay.” He reassures me while standing over me.
“You are fucking vile. Get away from me!” I screech back. I am sobbing, and inconsolable. Nothing about this is okay. He is delusional. He is a fucking monster.
My nostrils flare in rage as my lungs scream into the room. No one reacts, no one except for the man standing in front of me taunting me and laughing at me.
Then, I feel him. In my body, bones and soul, his energy. He is here. My eyes frantically look around, but nothing.
“My boy. Wake up the evil that lingers in our presence. I can smell her rot from here. It is eating her from the inside. All is too late, she cannot be saved.” He declares.
Loud slaps can be heard echoing in the room. At one point I think her skin must have cracked open from the sounds of the hand smacking her, over and over again.
Catching me off guard, my handler grabs me by the crook of my arm, thrusting me off the dirty ground and onto my feet. His hand tightly wraps around me, squeezing until it hurts. But I don’t wince, refusing to show him I am in pain.
My brain is racing with only one thing: I need to get to her. I need to save my mom.
Mustering up all the strength I can, I shout, “My mom is not an evil person.”
The man in front of me, the leader of this fucked-up place steps aside. My mom, who is naked, is being held down by four people. Her cheek facing me is bright red.
“Let her go!” I cry.
Another stands at her head, his arms are crossed over his chest. I assume he is the one who was possibly slapping her. He is the only one not wearing a mask, but instead his face is painted similar to a skull.
My mom’s face turns towards me as she mouths, ‘I love you, my girl’. A single tear rolls down her face. My chest heaves, still uncontrollable sobbing, and wishing I would just wake up. This is all a dream, please wake the fuck up. I will do anything for this to all be a dream.
My silent pleas are interrupted, “Do it my boy, show us how you earned your wings.” The man instructs.
As I look at the man again who is standing at her head, I feel him. Why isn’t he stopping this or helping me? He has to be feeling this too. Where is he?
His eyes pierce into mine, they almost seem familiar. He doesn’t take them off me as he uncrosses his arms.
A silver blade is revealed in his hand. Without taking his eyes off of me, he lifts his arm over my mother, directly above her throat. My breathing stops, and my eyes widen as I start to understand what is coming next. Shaking my head, faint ‘no’s’ sneak out between my lips.
Everything seems like it is moving in slow motion now. His hand moves down, plunging the sharp tip into the thin skin on her neck. He doesn’t stop there; while his eyes remain on me, his tattoo-covered hand grips the handle harder, twisting it ninety degrees.
My mom coughs at the movement, and blood begins pouring out of her mouth. She tries to get out of the strong hold, her arms and legs fidget but they do not budge. With each cough, more blood gushes from her.
