A Fictitious Reality

She descended into the darkness, careful not to make to a sound. Her ears tuned, always listening for the slightest sound of danger. Her eyes not yet adjusted, seeing nothing. She stops. Was it just her imagination? No. There it was again. The deep breathing of something, not quite asleep. She closed her eyes, nothing more than ritual, for she saw darkness either way. Perhaps, it is better that way. For what lay ahead of her was more terrible than anything she could imagine. She wasn’t ready for this, not by far. But, who else was there. It had to be her. And she knew it. She clutched at the amulet that hung from its delicate silver chain around her slender neck. The words of her mother echoed in her head, “Take this in faith, my child, for it is only through faith that it can truly save you.” And as she drew nearer to evil that was her fate, she had never had more faith in anything.
Her eyes were adjusting, and she was starting to see objects around her. But more importantly, she could see the beast. Not in detail, it was much too dark for that, but she could see the giant bulge move, up and down, rhythmically as it repeated the cycle, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. She took a hesitant step forward, one wrong step, one small noise, would mean the end of not just her, but everyone she’d ever cared about, and everyone she’d never met. How could the fate of the world be placed into the hands of such a small girl? Still clutching the amulet, she moved ever closer to the beast. With each deliberate, silent step the beating of her heart in her chest grew louder. She soon feared the beast would hear, but it stirred not an inch. Before long she was standing only a few feet away from the beast’s soft underbelly. She placed her hand on the hilt of the sword crafted for her. Crafted for this. And drew it out slowly, holding her breath. For if it made the slightest sound that would be the end. She exhaled, the sword was out. Letting go of the amulet, she placed both hands on the hilt and lifted it above her head. She would only get one shot. Before she could second guess herself, she plunged the blade into the soft flesh of the beast.
Globs of black sticky blood poured from the wound. She stood in amazement at what she had done. The beast reached out in a feeble attempt to grab the girl. But the wound was fatal, and all strength had left the beast. Its arm fell short, and with a final, gasp of desperation the beast left the earth. No longer would it torment the helpless. This was the end of its abuse. She dropped the sword, having no further need; its part in this was done. She returned her hand to her amulet, and ascended, back into the light.


She spent the day like any other, putting up with the complaints, the excuses, and the “witty” remarks of her 5th grade students. But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but worry. The little girl who always sat in the back of the class, who never made eye contact with anyone, who was shy, and nervous, and always avoided conflict, was missing. The same little girl whose arms were nearly always covered by the long sleeves she’d taken up wearing after the teacher had asked about the bruises, as if hiding them could make her forget. But she hadn’t forgotten and it still haunted her. This sweet innocent little girl, who liked nothing better than to curl up with a good novel, was hiding something. As she stared at the empty desk, she wished she had the guts to do something. Right at that moment she decided to stop by the girl’s house after school; if only to calm her anxieties.
She arrived shortly after 4:00. She approached the door of the rundown apartment that the little girl called home. She raised her fist to the door and knocked. There was no answer, but she could hear sobbing coming from the other side. She tried the door knob, it was unlocked. The smell of alcohol filled the living room, but a darker, less familiar smell was present also. She screamed, for all of what she had expected to see, nothing had come close to the reality. She’d met the girls father once, shortly after the death of her mother, before the bruises. She could see him now, lying on the couch. He’d likely of passed out there the night before, not the first time, but definitely the last. There was a lot of blood, spilled from a single wound in his chest. The weapon lay on the floor, a silver kitchen knife, not unlike the ones she herself owned.
There was no sign of the little girl. She walked across the living room, careful to look away from the body. She could see a light coming from a closed door up a tiny set of steps. She opened the door, slowly and peered inside. There she was, sitting with knees pulled tight to her chest, one hand clutching at the silver cross she’d once told her teacher was a gift from her mother. She looks up when her teacher walks in. “The princess slayed the beast, its over. Humanity is saved.”