#dinaclark

“The delivery went just fine, Mr. Clark. Your wife is resting and your.. child seems healthy.” He raised an eyebrow at the pause. “I think you should see your daughter, Mr. Clark.” Sighing, he put the paper down and stood up. He let the nurse lead him down the hall and into the room with his wife and daughter. Mr. Clark glanced at his wife, Rachel Clark. She seemed tired and relieved. She glistened with sweat as she laid there, catching her breath. The nurse holding his daughter walked up to him. Mr. Clark’s face contorted with confusion, then rage. He grabbed his wife by the collar of her shirt.

“Did you have an affair? Which demon did you lie with to produce something like that?” Mr. Clark screamed at his now terrified wife.

“Mr. Clark, Mrs. Clark’s body is still recovering, please restrain yourself!” the buffer nurse said, pulling him away and out of the room. Seething, Mr. Clark called his lawyer and friend, Taylor Lawrence. Inside the room, Rachel saw her daughter for the first time. She had pale skin like both of her parents but other than that, she looked completely different. She had blonde hair where her mother’s was red and her father’s brown. That wasn’t even the most shocking part. Her eyes were completely black. Not just her irises, but the whole eye. Rachel smiled at her daughter, holding her close.

“I know she is his child, he will see that. It doesn’t matter how she looks, she is my daughter and I love her. My little Dina.”

“She is indeed your child Danny. I have the results right here.” Taylor concluded, dropping a folder on the desk. “Funny how genetics work, ain’t it?”

“No, Taylor, it isn’t,” Mr. Clark paused his pacing to glower at him. ”What are people going to think? They’re going to think I have a demon for a child!” He continued pacing behind his desk. Taylor stood silently, unsure what to say next. “What are my options for handling this discreetly?”

“You could put the kid in an orphanage.”

“No, I can’t risk people finding out it’s mine.”

“Alrighty, umm…” Taylor tried to think of other options.

“As a friend, what would you suggest I do?”

“As a friend, I wouldn’t want you to go to jail. But considering the child’s appearance,” Taylor sighed, ”You'd probably be able to get away with getting rid of her, like an unwanted litter. If you still think that’s risky, keep the child inside and try for another.” Mr. Clark stopped pacing and closed his eyes, mulling over his options.

“Thank you Taylor, you’ve been a great help.” Mr. Clark said in his typical ‘I need my space’ manner.

“Course, Danny. Do let me know what you decide,” he shook Mr. Clark’s hand and left.

“What do you mean you don’t want more children?!” Mr. Clark exploded. Fists shaking he glared at Rachel, who sat on the side of her bed. Dina laid in her crib quietly.

“That’s not what I said and you know it, Danny! I don’t want to. We both knew that the chances of getting pregnant were slim. It was difficult enough getting pregnant the first time” Mrs. Clark explained. “I tried because I know you wanted children, you have a child-”

“That thing is not my child! It never will be!” Mr. Clark pointed in the direction of the crib. The yelling caused Dina to start crying. Mrs. Clark looked at him sadly, she never expected he would hold on to this kind of reaction. She walked to the crib and picked up Dina. Dina quieted as she hushed and cooed at the baby. Still holding her, Mrs. Clark turned back to Mr. Clark.

“Whether you want her or not, she is still your child. If you want other children, we can adopt, like we said we would.” Mrs. Clark stated flatly. Mr. Clark stared at her indignantly before huffing and leaving the room. Sighing, Mrs. Clark sat on the edge of her bed.

“He he he,” I giggled quietly. I have the bestest hiding spot ever! Momma’s never gonna find me here! The glass cases slowly caught my attention. I kept looking at the cases from my hiding spot. Curiosity got the best of me as I scanned for mom from behind the curtains. Seeing she wasn’t, I crept out of my hiding spot to peer into the cases. All sorts of pretty things were inside! Jewelry ranging from necklaces to hairpins sat in the display. I excitedly moved from case to case. Some of the things weren’t so pretty. They were rusty and sharp, with stains on a few of them. I tried reading the labels, but didn’t understand enough of the words to make sense of them. A few words appeared over and over. Mainly ‘torture’, ‘war’, and ‘victims’. I know what victims are. Mr. Clark sentences bad guys based on what they did to their victims. I just don’t know why Mr. Clark would want things like that. There was one last case to look at. It stood in the very back of the room, separated from the others. The case displayed an elegant silver sword. The blade shone as though it radiated light itself. A beautiful scarlet gem sat at the top of the hilt. Pale green metal shaped like a wing or flame surrounded the gem. I moved closer to the sword, breathless. Pressing my hands against the cool glass, it captivated me. A sort of soundless vibration came from it, calling me. Telling me to pick it up, to hold it in my hands. I don’t know how much time had passed when the door opened. I turned to look and saw Mr. Clark staring at me, surprised. He got over his shock and stormed towards me.

“You’re not allowed in this room! You hear me, you little demon?!” Mr. Clark roughly grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards the door. I glanced at the sword once more as the silent reverberation ebbed away. He pushed me outside of the room and slammed the doors. 

“Dina, I told you, your father will get very upset if you go into that room,” mom fussed. “Are you alright? He wasn’t too rough with you, was he?” I shook my head, still thinking about that sword.

“Mom?” I asked, staring at the door. Mom hummed in response. “What’s that sword in there?” She thought for a moment.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to do your homework before I do,” she said. Oh, right. Homework. “You didn’t forget did you?” I sheepishly nodded my head. “I thought so. Come, I’ll help you,” mom held my hand as she led me back to our room.

“Oh! I get it now!” I exclaimed, “Why would the textbook put it like that? So confusing.” I turned to mom, “Now mommas, the sword!”

“Ok ok,” she turned to face me, “It all began with a terrible war.”

My blade cut through anything in my path. Demons fell left and right. Their blood soaked into the ground. At the very least, their bodies could be used to create new life. They deserved to be nothing more than fertilizer. A new presence filled the air.

“I take it you are the one in charge here?” I pointed my sword to it. It laughed and lunged at me. We fought in a fury, neither side gaining or losing ground. Both of us slowly sustained more and more injuries. For a second, I distracted myself with the cries of a child. Its sword flung mine out of my hands. I raced to the source of the sound, to find that it was another demon. It didn’t get to live much longer. Pain shot up through my right leg. Damned demons, always playing with their foes… I suppose I should be grateful. Spinning around, I let my elbow collide with its jaw. It let out a grunt of pain and slashed at my chest. I broke its arm in one swift motion. I continued pummeling it. It saw this as the beginning of a fist fight. Tossing its sword to the side, it punched back. I dodged and raced to the sword. The second it was in my hands, I turned around and decapitated the demon. I cast an eye over the battlefield. There were a few demons scattered about, wondering if they should take their chances against me. I went after each and every last one of them. None escaped my wrath. I heaved a sigh of relief. It’s done. A moment to recompose myself was all I needed. Quickly, I looked for my sword. An aura search turned up nothing, as I should’ve expected. There was too much spiritual residue to get an accurate read. A manual search turned up nothing either. I was spending too much time here. There are others still fighting.

“Nothing? You’re certain, it’s nowhere to be found?” I cursed. It’s gone. “Let us leave then. We should spend our time preparing for the next battles. Thank you for helping me search.” I retreated to my private gardens. My dear, dear sword is gone. Its grand flames and dutiful protection are no longer here. And there is nothing I could do. I wept, tears seeping into the soil. There’s no time for this. I hold faith that it will show. Let it take all the time it needs. I stood up, dusting the dirt from my legs and clothes. I left the garden. After all, there is still a war to win.

“Uriel, come quickly. We have new information.”

“The sword had fallen into the human realm, where many used the sword. Some used it to protect their loved ones and communities. Others used it to hurt people. In more recent times, people like your father use it in a more passive sense. They use it for its reputation as a status of their wealth. It’s said that whoever takes good care of the sword will become its master forever,” Mom concluded. The story entranced me. She got out of her chair and walked over to the door, “Come help me with dinner.”

“Sure!” I burst out of my seat, rushing to the door. The rest of the night was uneventful, we had dinner and got ready for bed.

The next day, Mr. Clark called me into his study, “This is Maisha Qwest, she’ll be taking care of you from now on.” Maisha gave me a strange look. I couldn’t tell what it was but it wasn’t a nice look. She had light brown hair and hazel eyes. Her clothes looked very tight on her. Like someone put colored shrink wrap on her and called it her outfit. Her shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show her chest.

“Hi, Dina,” the sugar-coated words fell from her lips. I didn’t like that she was talking down to me.

“Hello, Ms. Maisha,” I said politely. Mom told me that even if people are being rude to me, I should at least try to be polite to them. Mr. Clark waved us out of his study. I went to my favorite window to watch the gardener, Mr. Garing. He gave me flowers and taught me how to press them. Learning from him was tons more fun than learning from my tutor. He taught me what plants are edible and the names of the flowers he brings to me. He spotted me and waved. I waved back with a smile. It was nice watching him work. He moved carefully through the bushes, down the different paths. I could see him pick some of the flowers and put them in his pouch to show me later.

Around 3, I went to the back door to meet him, as I usually did. When he walked in, he was dirtier than usual. 

“Did you do some digging Mr. Garing?” I asked.

“Oh, ahh, yes. Yes I did,” he fumbled.

I gasped, “What kind of plant are you going to grow?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” he rubbed his chin, “Why don’t we go look through our plant book and you can help me pick one?” I ran to grab the book, not noticing the ruined flowers in his pouch or Maisha sneaking back in with a crooked grin.

It’s been a few weeks since Maisha started working here. Mom started to find her jewelry going missing and Mr. Garing stopped bringing in flowers. One day, I caught Maisha going through my mom’s jewelry box.

“Hey!” I snapped, “That’s not yours!” Maisha spun around to look at me, startled. She got this very dark look on her face. She walked closer to me and bent down so she was level with me.

“And what are you going to do about it?” I didn’t know. I opened my mouth to speak but she pushed me. I fell on my butt and she left, laughing at me. I didn’t understand. Why would she do that? Why would she steal from my mom? I had to do something. I got up and dusted myself off. I’ll tell Mr. Clark. It wasn’t as easy as that though. What if he took her side? Why would he take her side though? What if he won’t listen to me just because he hates me? But Maisha’s probably stealing from him too. I made up my mind. I took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

“Come in.” I walked into the study. Maisha was there, sitting on his desk, shirt unbuttoned more than it usually is. Speaking of things that weren’t as they usually were, Mr. Clark’s hair was messy and his tie was undone. “Well? What do you want?”

“Maisha’s been stealing from mom,” I mumbled, tears in my eyes. The words barely came out. I don’t understand why I was having so much trouble. I was just standing in front of my father. Yeah, he hated me, but he’s never done anything to me. So why does it feel like there’s this heavy weight on my chest?

“Oh, sweetie,” Maisha said with her all too familiar sweetness, “ I’ve covered for you and you turn around and do this?” I look at her, confused. “You’ve been the one stealing and from your own mother at that.”

“What? No I haven’t! I just caught you taking things from her jewelry box!” I cried.

“Enough!” Mr. Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, “To your room, child. No dinner for you.” My jaw dropped, why was I the one in trouble? I tried to get something out but Maisha winked at me. She knew that this would happen. She knew he was going to take her side. I left crying.

And that’s how it went, she would take something and blame me for it. Mr. Garing and mom stuck up for me, saying I would never or that I was with them when it was stolen. Sometimes Mr. Clark listened, sometimes he didn’t. Then it happened. A screech tore me from my sleep. I raced to the stairs, not even bothering to put on proper clothes.

“Mom! What-” the words died in my throat when I saw what she was looking at. Tears pricked my eyes before overflowing onto my cheeks. Time seemed to stop and the house stood quiet. Mr. Clark ran out, followed by Maisha.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, then he looked down the steps. Mr. Garing lay at the bottom of the steps in a pool of blood. Dead.

“We need to call the police,” mom stammered. But nobody moved.

“We can’t," Mr. Clark said, “They’ll find out about the child.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?! My god Danny, there’s a dead man in our house! Dead, Danny!” mom shouted frantically. She never shouted. It finally hit me, Mr. Garing was dead. The man who had given me flowers and taught me about flora, laid on the floor of our house lifeless. I started crying. Not the silent crying, but the ugly kind. The kind where snot’s coming out of your nose and you can’t even open your eyes, you’re crying so hard. Mom hugged me and started moving me away, consoling me.

“Maisha,” I heard Mr. Clark say quietly, “Get rid of him. Leave no evidence that he was here.”

“Yes sir,” Maisha replied. I peeked around my mother long enough to catch a glimpse of a smirk on her face. Like she had just gotten away with murder.

I sat in my room. It was quiet. I kept replaying the scene in my head. There was nothing I could do to stop seeing Mr. Garing like that whenever I closed my eyes. The more I thought about it, the more something strange stirred within me. A sense that judgment needed to be carried out. Maisha killed him, and Mr. Clark probably knew it. For as long as I can remember, mother always said he was a fair and just judge. But I don’t think he is. I think he’s only “fair and just” when it suits him. I recalled seeing something odd around Maisha when I saw her. A soft glow. It was red and muddy. It crept out of her like the real her was seeping through the cracks of the fake her. Knock knock knock. Mom walked into the room with a plate. She handed it to me along with utensils and a napkin.

“I think Mr. Garing would still want you to eat when he’s gone. I know you’re upset, so I gave you a smaller portion.” She smiled at me. It was soft, understanding, and sweet. Not Maisha’s kind of sweet, something genuine. I picked at my food and ate what I could.

“Good job, Dina. I know it’s hard. Loss is never easy, especially under these circumstances.” She hugged me and gave me a kiss on the forehead. I noticed that she had the same aura as Maisha, but different. It was soft and golden. Instead of oozing out it radiated, like she was glowing. 

“Is something wrong dear?” she asked.

“Mom, I think… I think I’m seeing things,” I confessed. She looked at me confused then pressed her lips to my forehead.

“You don’t have a temperature. What are you seeing?”

“Auras, there’s one around you and there was one around Maisha when…” I cut myself off.

“Hmmm. Let’s wait a couple of days and if it doesn’t get better, I’ll talk to your father about getting you a doctor. Ok?”

“Ok.” I smiled. She took the mostly untouched plate, utensils, and napkin out of the room. Later that evening, mom walked into the room with a plastic bag. She set the bag down on the table and motioned for me to come to her. She pulled out a few books, pencils, pens, markers, and a set of colored pencils.

“I got you some coloring books and a sketchbook in case you wanted to draw.” I smiled and got really excited. I hugged her tightly and thanked her before flipping through the books. One of them had blank pages, the others had everything from fruits and flowers to animals and people. There was even this thing called mandala. I opened the colored pencils and started on one of the mandalas. After a while mom told me that it was time to go to bed.

“Five more minutes? Please?” I asked.

“Oh alright, but just five more minutes.”

“Thank you!”

It’s been five years since Mr. Garing died. Mr. Clark has gotten stricter, meaner. He started hitting mom. She tried not to let me see the bruises and hid when she cried. I could feel mom’s aura grow sad whenever she cried. The auras never went away. No doctor could figure out the reason behind them and they grew stronger over the years. I could now sense people before seeing them. Standing in front of my favorite window, I dolefully looked at the garden. It was no longer dutifully maintained. Branches spread from the trees and bushes wildly. Grass and flowers bloomed in between the stone path. Mom approached me.

“Dina, I’m going out, do you want anything? Maybe some food, a new coloring book, stickers maybe?”

“No thank you.”

“Dina,” she sighed, “Things are difficult right now but you aren’t eating well. I’m worried about you.” She got closer and gave me a hug. Eventually she let go, “I’m going to bring you back some things ok.”

“Ok, mom,” I finally relented. She gave me a kiss and left. I wandered the house for a few minutes before sneaking into the collections room. The sword sat stilly in its case. For some reason it never needed to be polished. Maybe it’s just because it’s never taken out of the case. I pressed my hand against the glass, relishing the cool, smooth surface on my skin as I had so many times before. If only you were mine. I’d finally be able to protect mom. I felt Maisha outside the door and hid. She walked in and checked behind some of the cases before leaving. She started patrolling the house, especially whenever she couldn’t find me. I tried to stay away from her nowadays. She’s revealed her true personality at this point. Malicious and violent, but still sickly sweet and manipulative. I glanced at the sword before leaving too. I waited in the lounge for mom to get back. I heard the door open and close, then a voice.

“What did you get?” Mr. Clark demanded.

“I just got some things, nothing more.” I peeked around the corner to see Mr. Clark pull the bag out of her hands and rummage through it.

“Just as I thought, you got some things for that little demon,” he scowled. He took out a box of colored pencils and started snapping them in half.

“Enough Danny!” Mom reached forward to grab what was left of the box out of his hands. He smacked her across the face and pushed her to the ground. I ran to mom and stood in between her and Mr. Clark. We stared each other down. Finally he huffed and left. I turned to mom who had gotten up already.

“Sorry about your colored pencils dear.”

“No no, it’s fine. As long as you’re ok.” I picked up the broken pencils and put them back into the box as best I could.

“You’re so sweet Dina. I wish your father would see that.” She smiled woefully. I wish he did too, mom. We ended up spending the next couple of hours chatting with each other while working on our coloring pages. When we finished preparing dinner, we were a little surprised to find Mr. Clark sitting at the table waiting. By his side sat Maisha with her cheshire grin. Grimacing, I set the food I carried on the table and sat next to Mr. Clark. I didn’t want to give him an easy chance at getting to mom. Everyone was silent. The tension was suffocating. It made its way down my throat and settled into a lump that made it hard to eat. For the sake of my mom, I choked the now bitter tasting food down. All I wanted to do was run away. Away from Mr. Clark. Away from Maisha. Away from this stupid house! But mom would be sad if I left. And god knows what Mr. Clark would do to her if I did. What if mom ran away with me? The thought circulated in my brain. I started to formulate a plan. One that would take us out of here for good.

“Goodness, that woman,” mom uttered. She walked into our bathroom to get changed. I sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly unsure if I should tell her.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Dina?”

“... What if we ran away?” Silence. “I mean, neither of us are happy here and I know that if we left we would be a lot happier.” Mom came out of the bathroom and sat down on the bed next to me. She cupped my cheek in her hand. My heart sank. She always did that before telling me something I didn’t like.

“I’d love to. But your father knows many people, he’d find us. I wouldn’t want to give you that taste of freedom just for you to long for it here.” She wants to, that’s all I needed. If she wants to then I’d be able to convince her eventually.

“We could go somewhere he’d never find us! Another country maybe, we’d just need to leave!” I beamed, “We could go anywhere we wanted, do whatever we wanted, and he wouldn’t be able to stop us!” Her eyes glazed over, thinking of what could be.

“Do you even have a plan?” she asked. I eagerly explained the plan I had come up with. Mom interjected with suggestions from time to time. It was decided that we would leave on Christmas Eve. A fitting Christmas present for him. We packed our backpacks together and hid them under the bed. And for the first time in a long while, we fell asleep with smiles on our faces.

The couple of days we waited seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. I tried my best not to seem happier or anything, so Mr. Clark or Maisha wouldn’t suspect anything. Dinner seemed agonizingly slow. The Christmas chicken seemed to taste even better than usual knowing that it would be our last meal here. Mom and I headed to our room to get ready. Out of a drawer, she pulled out a box in bright Christmas wrapping paper.

“An early Christmas gift. Go on, open it.” She handed me the box. I carefully took off the wrapping paper and opened the box. I pulled out the soft white fabric to find that it was a beautiful winter dress. It had braids and a fur hood. I noticed that there was more. Still in the box were some black leggings, white gloves with fur on the wrist, socks, boots that also had some fur on them, fluffy earmuffs, and a pair of sunglasses.

“They’re so pretty!”

“Try it on,” I looked at her excitedly, “If we’re going to escape, we should at least do it fashionably.” I hugged her and ran into the bathroom, blurting out a thank you on the way. The clothes fit perfectly and were super warm and cozy. I strutted out of the bathroom, showing off my new outfit (and probably favorite if we’re being honest).

“Ooo, look at you. My little girl’s going to be a supermodel. Next thing I know, you’ll be on the cover of Vogue.” At the flattery, I struck a pose. I giggled and went to hug mom. She got ready too and, like me, struck a few poses while I “ooo”-ed and “ahh”-ed at her. We sat down on the bed waiting for Mr. Clark and Maisha to finally go to sleep.

“Why don’t we stop by that antique shop you’ve told me about, the one that opened recently? After all, I still need a gift for you,” I suggested. Mom laughed.

“Oh Dina, you are the greatest gift I could’ve asked for. But if you want to go, then we can.” We watched the seconds tick by slowly. Finally, it was time to leave. We grabbed our backpacks from under the bed and snuck through the house. Mom opened the front door and we left. Something about the fresh air was different when you’re outside. Taking a deep breath, I realized that I could see my breath in the air! I did it a couple more times before mom grabbed my hand and led me towards the city for the first time. Everything was enveloped in the fluffy snow. A few snowflakes fell on my face as we walked. The bushes and trees looked different than the ones I could see from the house. I think Mr. Garing said that these kinds of plants were evergreens. I couldn’t take my eyes away from, well, everything! Just before we got into the city, mom pulled out the sunglasses from her pockets. Oops, I forgot that. She put them on my face. We finally made it to the city. A few people walked by us and cars passed on the street. Golden lights streamed outside from the houses and shops. A few minutes later we stood in front of the antique shop. It was a small place that was slightly run down but in a homely sense.

“I think it’s still open, but it won’t be for very long. Let’s be quick Dina,” mom said. Inside the store, the smell of dust greeted us. Trinkets and the glossy eyes of some dolls twinkled under a flickering lightbulb to our left. Towards the back sat a few chairs and blankets that have certainly seen better days. On our right stood racks of different clothes that had a few bright garments peeking from behind the dull ones. A glass case had jewelry, ornate daggers, and a few guns on display. The side closest to the wall was wooden and had a till and a card scanner on it.

“Welcome, need some last minute gift?” the shopkeeper greeted as she came from a doorway in the back. She was an older woman that wore her hair in a low bun and a brightly colored shawl.

“My daughter wanted to get a gift for me,” mom replied. She nudged me forward and I waved a hello.

“I see,” she looked at me through her glasses, “Oh what a darling little thing you are! Do you have something in mind or would you like some help?”

“Some help please.”

“Of course, of course,” she waddled to the trinkets, waving me over. She talked me through the things on display. None of them seemed to be quite what I was looking for. Looking for a gift is hard. It seemed so simple. Mom always got me things that I liked. Maybe she felt the same while looking for gifts. The old lady pulled down a jewelry box and opened it. She searched through the things inside until one caught my eye. I carefully untangled it from the mess of other necklaces and bracelets. It was a simple chain with an elongated metal sphere. It seemed to open on one side. In it were two small frames with photos inside.

“I know that look when I see it. That’s the one, isn’t it?” the old lady intoned. I nodded. We walked over to the till and mom paid for it. The shopkeeper was even kind enough to let us borrow some scissors so we could fit our pictures inside.

“This is a beautiful gift dear. Thank you.” Mom hugged me and we headed out the door, saying our goodbyes. The cold air didn’t hesitate to begin its biting the second we stepped outside.

“Aww, what a cute mother-daughter moment,” a familiar voice jeered, “I almost want to cry.” Maisha sauntered over to us, that awful smile plastered on her face. Mom stepped in front of me.

“Maisha, I don’t you don’t exactly like either of us, but please don’t tell him. At the very least give us some time to get away,” mom pleaded. Unexpectedly, Maisha actually seemed to be considering it. Then she grabbed mom by her hair and started wrangling her to her car. I rushed to her side and grabbed Maisha’s arm. Maisha opened the car door and shoved mom inside. She turned, throwing me in too. She got in the driver’s seat and started the car. Mr. Clark was waiting for us as we pulled up to the house. His furrowed brows and frown were the only greeting we got from him. The two of them escorted us to our room and locked us in. I immediately checked the windows to find that they had been nailed shut. Mom covered her face with her hands. She started crying. Seeing mom cry in front of me like that hurt. It hurt in the same way it had every time she was hit. I sat down on the floor, staring a hole into the carpet. I’m not sure when it happened, but I eventually fell asleep.

The sound of the door opening loudly woke me up. It was now morning. Mr. Clark and Maisha strode into the room. Mom stood up and before she could speak, Mr. Clark smacked her, hard. I got to my feet and rushed to her. Maisha stepped in the way and pushed me back. Mr. Clark was now dragging mom out of the room. I struggled against Maisha as the door shut. Suddenly I was on the ground writhing in agony. Maisha proceeded to kick me repeatedly in the stomach and head. She pulled me up by my hair and held my face close to hers, enjoying every second. I hated her. I hated her so much. I hated her with every fiber of my being.

“Bitch,” I spat out as I poked her in the eye. She let go of me and brought her hand to her face. She stomped on my stomach before grabbing a fistful of my hair again. This time she punched me in the face over and over and over. As much as I didn’t want to, I started crying. I didn’t want her to have that satisfaction of making me cry. This incited her to keep punching me with a renewed fury. Just as I began to fall unconscious, I heard a voice. It was firm and soft at the same time. It wasn’t masculine or feminine.

“Dina, it’s now or never. It is time for Maisha Qwest to be tried, and you are the judge. Guilty or innocent?” the voice requisitioned. Memories, or visions, flashed through my head. Maisha killed many and committed so many wrongs, even if I didn’t know her I’d say she’s guilty.

“Guilty,” I said through gritted teeth. A fiery strength surged through my body. It flowed hot and powerful, like a fire was lit inside of me. I punched Maisha in the face. She stumbled back, but I didn’t let her recover. I kicked her knee out and she fell to the floor. I got on top of her, hands around her throat. She grabbed at my wrists but it was no use. I am stronger than her now.

“Maisha Qwest, for the murder of several people, theft, abuse, and seducing a married man, I pronounce you guilty.” The words fell out of my mouth smoothly, like butter, like they were meant for me to say. My lips contorted into a twisted grin and my eyes widened. Hers did too, but in terror.  Seeing her choke underneath me, living her last moments in fear of me, was blissful. Cathartic, even. With her last bits of strength, she clawed at my face, neck, and arms. The pain meant nothing anymore. It only served to fuel my ecstasy. When she finally blacked out, I snapped her neck. There was no point in wasting the energy trying to make sure she was really dead. I stood over her, admiring my work for just a few moments. The fiery strength weakened, fading from my body. With no time to waste, I stumbled out of the room and made for the study, where mom would likely be. I passed by the collections room and stopped. The soundless resonance was stronger than ever.

“Go ahead, claim it. It will serve you well.” the voice urged. I entered the room, not bothering with any of the other cases. Unable to open the case, I rammed my fist through it. The sword practically leapt into my hand. That inaudible vibration filled the void left by the waning fire. A renewed strength within me, I ran to the study. Mom’s body lying on the ground unmoving welcomed me. I shot towards her.

“Mom? Mom, wake up, come on! We can go now!” I shook her but there was no response. “Mom! Mom, please!” I broke down into sobs. Through blurry vision I barely made out the blood coming from the side of her head. I was torn from my grief by a hand grabbing me by the hair. Mr. Clark came into view shortly before his fist collided with my face. Relentlessly, he beat me up. I tried to reach the sword, somehow convinced it would help me. Each time he pulled me back to him and continued hitting me. I’ve never used a sword, nor have I trained physically. Maybe I was searching for some kind of assurance that I wasn’t going to end up like mom. I managed to grab a trophy and hit him over the head with it. He cried out and clutched his head. I took the opportunity to finally grab the sword and held it in front of me. His now bloody face snapped to me with a rage I’ve never seen before. He noticed the sword unsteadily held in my hands and laughed.

“You can’t do anything with that! It won’t save you, Dina.” That was the first time he’s ever called me by my name. He didn’t deserve to call me by my name. Not now, not ever. I swung the sword at him. Mr. Clark side-stepped and got me in the stomach. I fell to the ground, heaving. I saw hazy feet in front of me and a gentle hand on my head. I didn’t get the chance to see who it was, but I had a feeling that they belonged to the mysterious voice I’ve been hearing. Memories poured into my head again. They weren’t the sins of another but training sessions. Years of practice with the sword. I saw how to wield it, but no longer had the strength to utilize it.

“Allow me to assist you.” I felt this weird feeling, like there was now someone else in my body with me. They slashed upwards, leaving a deep gash in Mr. Clark’s chest. He stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet. They stood me up and guided my arms to inflict several more cuts and stabs on his legs and arms. They exited my body, leaving behind some of their strength. I stabbed into his stomach several times. Mr. Clark’s memories played in my head, just like with Maisha. What I saw disgusted me. This ‘fair and just’ judge had been paid off by many. To convict an innocent person or to release a criminal. How dare he hold such a high standing for such low deeds?

“Danny Clark, for the abuse and murder of my mother, for your unfaithful behavior, and for stooping so low as to accept bribes from people, I judge you-” through his delirium he laughed at me.

“You? Judge?” he sputtered through his blood, “Only the perfect are fit to judge others. You- you are not perfect you little demon.” He spat out the last part. I did nothing. I just stared at him.

“You are far less perfect than I am,” I raised the sword above my shoulder, “I am the chosen judge, here to determine your fate. I am the true judge. I am Judge Angel.” With those last words, I swung the sword and took off his head. “And I judge you guilty, Danny Clark.” Unlike Maisha, there was no ecstasy in judging him. Just a quiet satisfaction, knowing that he finally got what he deserved. I stood beside my mother’s corpse, letting go of the tension from the fights. With the tension, left my borrowed strength. The last thing I remember was collapsing on the floor.

When I woke up, my body ached something fierce. I laid there gathering my strength before standing up, much to my body’s displeasure. I stumbled to the bathroom and took a Tylenol. Looking in the mirror, I was a mess. My nose was bloody and both of my eyes were black. The blood from my clothes dripped onto my outfit. The one mom just gave me. I fell to the floor. There was nothing I could do to stop my crying and I didn’t want to. Once the Tylenol started taking effect, I got up and cleaned myself up. I put peroxide on the blood stains of my dress and cleaned the blood off of my boots. Once they were clean, I put them back on. From our room I grabbed a large suitcase and brought it to the study. Carefully, I placed mom inside. I think you’d like to be buried somewhere beautiful. I brought the suitcase and my backpack outside of the house, to the shed. In the shed, I grabbed one of the jerry cans and the fertilizer. One of Mr. Garing’s books said the nitrogen in fertilizer was explosive when exposed to fire. I spread a trail of gasoline into the study, leaving a little trail for me to light outside. Then I placed the fertilizer in the middle of the room. I leisurely grabbed the matches and walked back to the beginning of my trail. I lit the match and dropped it into the gas. Lugging the heavy suitcase, I headed in the opposite direction of the city. It wasn’t long until I heard the explosion. I quickened my pace.

In the middle of a clearing on the edge of a cliff, I knelt in front of my mother’s grave. It took me a while, but I finally found a pretty place to bury you mom. The clearing was bursting with a variety of flowers. A river cut through the edge of the clearing, flowing over the edge. Freshness practically seasoned the air. I felt an aura behind me and spun around to face it. A glowing, masculine figure stood before me. Plants grew to meet his figure. He had short, curly dirty blonde hair. Behind his head hovered a fiery ring emanating power beyond anything I could compare with. His robes seemed to almost float around him. Looking him in the eyes proved futile, he did and didn’t have any. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think he’s here for a good reason.  

“Hello, Dina,” it was the unknown voice, “A lovely spot you’ve found for your mother. I think she would be happy to know that she was buried here.” 

“Are you eventually going to tell me who you are?” I asked warily.