AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Prologue
Cavum Terra
The haze across the realm has settled since the new arrivals, orange, and red colours stretch across the sky, not a cloud in sight.
“Do you think they’re ready for this?” Tanca asks me.
“They never are. The change period for both souls and demons is large.” I walk down the winding beaten path to our cabins. You would expect great rulers to have better dwellings, but we manage.
“The humans are upset, the anguish has started, and I doubt that anger will be far behind,” Giso tells me as she joins me on the walk.
“We can’t go to Earth and give a presentation on what happens when you kill yourself. It’s unethical. They have to learn the hard way,” I say.
As we reach the main cabin, I look over the manifesto of the souls that have found their way here. The demons that have haunted their minds for far too long are on the same line. There are many this time.
“We will have to mind the demons. It will be the first time they are in physical form with their humans. We don’t want any serious injuries or death. They’ll have to give them time to heal,” Giso says quietly.
“We need a better method, Berimund. The chaos and emotions create a darkness in the air that pisses me off,” Tanca says.
I raise my hands in the air. “It’s only for a few days. The darkness tapers off when they realize this is the way life will be for them.”
“I’m surprised by the amount. It is more this time than we have ever had,” Giso says, twisting her blonde hair around her finger.
“The death, the tragedy, the hunger and trauma, the atrocious people running rampant... I wouldn't want to live there,” I reply.
“We’ll brief the last group on how to help the newcomers best. They have fought until hope was lost and learned that it’s easier to let the demons win. The demons are a heavy burden to carry on Earth, but damn near impossible here,” Tanca tells me.
“We're not briefing anyone. The unknown is for the best.” Both of them look at me with disgust, as we head for our own cabins. I’ve been here for over a millennium and don’t see things changing for the better. Every new soul brings forth physical manifestations of the demons within their minds. I cannot, in good conscience, move to Earth and deliver the message that yielding to one's mental demons will lead to a physical war in the afterlife. My only option is to leave it be and hope for the best.
One
Marla
"And she’d just hide in the background like a beaten dog.” My mother’s words haunt my thoughts, the memories swimming like fish through my mind, flashing throughout the day.
I stand at the back of the mental health centre. The fine for disobeying keeps me here, although I'm tired of it. Having mandated mental health services that never really help is soul-crushing. I come here every other day as ordered by my doctor, and skipping it completely would cause me to be taken away to die at the hands of the man. If I’m going to die, it’ll be on my own terms.
I'm a bit confused about the concept, but it seems like the government holds the ability to judge someone's right to live based on their role as a productive member of society. The historical mental health crisis reached such alarming proportions it jeopardized the entire country, compelling the government to take this action. Breaking any rules will cause severe consequences - fines, prison time, or both. Despite their promises of progress, I can't help but feel like we're all mere puppets, performing on a stage for the man.
The centre is monochrome, with white floors and walls and black rubber baseboards. Old newspapers and magazines lay on the tables. Posters cover the walls, talking about mental illness, ways to reach out, and numbers to call. The line is moving slowly, detailing its length. People in the room have a vacant look in their eyes, standing around until they can finally fill out the forms. Stale coffee and body odour swim through the air, along with the stench of disinfectants. My head spins with the mingling scents, sweat beads on my brow and my stomach roils.
According to the doctor's forms, if you reach the front of the line, you fill out the paperwork, and if you pass intake, the government doles out six hours of sessions because you’ll be done and miraculously cured in that time. Three days a week I show up, wait for the allowed time, and then leave. I’ve never gotten close enough to have an intake, instead I’m stuck with the herd. People and faces come and go, disappearing with time. Sometimes faces fade because they didn’t come, they rejectedthe help and were sent to jail or death. Others get through and do their time. The government doesn’t give a shit. The money they fund is so insignificant that it hardly makes a difference to those in need. Our souls are so dark that the world cannot bear their weight.
Mental health services are an illusion of someone giving a fuck about you. With the money they would save, they should just hand us all a rope, a bottle of pills, or a sharp blade. But they won’t, calling it a tragedy. More times than not, they decide who isn’t a functioning member of society and those people never return.
“Such horseshit. How many days have you been here?” a voice asks from beside me. I swivel my head but keep my back pressed against the wall, leaning on my other leg. I see him, a dude who wants to make small talk.
“I come three times a week.”
“Do you think they’ll save our lives?” he asks, and I glance in his direction to take him in. Black boots, black jeans, black shirt, and dark hair cut in an edgy way. The shaved sides show off the black spacers in his ears. Tattoos cover his neck and the designs spiral out from the sleeves of his shirt.
“Nah, no one is coming to save our lives. Apparently we're supposed to do that ourselves.”
His low snicker takes me off guard. I’ve never met anyone who can laugh about this shit. If you laugh at the demons in your head, they quiet slightly, if only for a minute, like it embarrasses them that you don’t care.
“Who wants to send you here?” I whisper, not wanting to call attention to myself. Those reminders traipse through my mind. If my mother knew I was here, she’d lose her mind.
“All the experts.” His dark brown eyes look into mine, but the sarcastic edge in his voice doesn’t pass me by. I slide downthe wall. I didn't plan on sitting on the floor, but my sore legs demand it.
