Resurrection: A Dark Fantasy Tale (Kindred #1) Page 3

For the first time, my family was talking about me. Up until that night, I had spent the entirety of my life as a secondary character in the lives of everyone around me. Trying much too hard to be what I could not, living a life somewhere between happy and unhappy, always in the shadow of Kayla, star of the show. Kayla, who was destined for greatness and glory. I had wanted some event to bring my days of anonymity to an end. But this was not how I had imagined earning my own story.

  Kayla told our parents the confidential information I had given her, and they managed to gossip it into the family’s collective knowledge. They didn’t think that I would hear them doubting my story and my sanity, thinking that I was too doped up or traumatized to be functional, but I heard every word. I saw a new look of pity and sorrow on their faces during their increasingly rare visitations. Now on top of everything else, my own family thought I was crazy. My mother bluntly suggested that I talk to a professional. Maybe she was right, but after having been betrayed by my sister after telling her the truth, I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone. I retreated into myself, allowing my bed-ridden hours to blur into each other. I was more alone now than ever before.

  My life didn’t become distinguishable again until the night when I thought I saw a bug flit into my room through a crack in the window. I wasn’t able to get a good look until it settled onto my desk, which was when I realized that whatever had just come into my room was not a bug. The tiny blue faceless humanoid that had flown into my bedroom had two tiny wings as dark as the rest of its body. While I stared, it jerked its head toward me.

  I knew I should have been scared or at least confused, but I was more curious than anything. Too many terrible things, both fantastic and mundane, had happened for me to be afraid of this relatively small mystery. I reached toward it with my relatively healed right arm. To my surprise, it flew toward me, settling into my palm. When I lowered my arm to rest beside me, the creature did not move an inch.

  “I’m Dina,” I told it. “Who are you?” Though it didn’t, maybe couldn’t, respond it still seemed eager to listen, so I continued on.

  “Do you know how much it hurts being here?” I asked it. “I want to get away from all of this.” A silent pause fell between us.

  “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you,” I said. “I don’t know what you are, or if you’re real.” It tilted its head as if curious.

  “You’re the first to really listen to me in a long time,” I said. It remained silent.

  “Thank you for listening,” I told it. The creature bowed its head before flitting away through that same crack in the window. I didn’t understand what had just happened, nor did I really try to figure it out. But I did fall into the best sleep that I’d had since the attack.

  Night after night, the creature continued to visit, collecting more pieces of my story. The second night, when I asked it if there was anything it wanted, it pointed to one of the gift boxes of chocolates from a family member on my dresser. I nodded, and the creature flitted over, humorously prying the cover off and heaving a candy into its mouth as if the action were a chore before picking up another one. It drowsily hovered back to my hand. As it opened its mouth to take a bite of chocolate, it revealed a mouth full of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It always sat down to listen more of the story until I drifted off to sleep.

  I told it of a time when I had simply been Dina Durst, aspiring actress and an average blond. Living a life permanently playing second fiddle to Kayla, smart, beautiful, successful Kayla, who had already managed to land herself multiple acting roles. I had been dumb enough to think that by living with her, I would somehow mooch off her success and make my own acting career and finally be noticed. I had been smart enough to know that something was missing from my life, yet too shallow to figure out what it was and go after it. I was tired of being second-best, second-loved, the accident child that my parents produced when they had already planned and created the bundle of perfection that was Kayla. All I had wanted was something that would finally set me apart.

  Who would have known that it would be this?

  Even after I was no longer bedridden, I still remained trapped in that night. The thought of taking a step beyond my door was too overwhelming. I could feel everyone’s growing frustration with me as they gave me endless suggestions to go outside, talk to someone, get some fresh air. These were the same people who had previously discounted my story. I didn’t want to hear anything else from them.

  When the creature came back to me some time after our first night, I give it a piece of chocolate and told it about my recent irritations. It sat and listened for a while as usual, but then it did something new. As I had been venting, it stopped listening and grabbed my right index finger. I didn’t understand its intentions, but it kept pointing my finger and jerking its head toward the mirror that cast my reflection. Looking at myself full on like that reminded me of everything that I wanted to forget. I could see the attack happening all over again. When the faces of the two men flashed before my eyes, my anger bubbled to a new high. My mind was released from this cruel circle of thought when I heard a crack.

  The mirror had broken.