False Light, Final Part by Hannah
Cold, and then wet, and then water. Cold water. Cold water, moving, moving over something, over me. Wake up.
I gasped, and icy water filled my throat and lungs. I sat up, coughing violently and expelling water from my mouth and nose. I felt as if my whole body, my insides, left with the water, and I slowly uncurled myself from my heaving to see I was sitting in a river. Smooth stones shifted under me as I looked around, frantically now, confused. The woods around me were bare and offered no answers, but I noticed something on the river bank a few feet away from where I lay.
The water pooled and eddied behind a large stone, and behind the stone I saw it: a deep, dark cave. A den. An icy horror, familiar now, filled my chest when I saw them: sleeping Styrzyga. Two eyes, two arms, two legs, horrific snouts, talons, chicken’s feet. There were 5 of them, and they slept deeply in their hibernation. They reminded me of stillborn chicks who had failed to fertilize and hatch. I vomited violently onto the cave floor, and I stayed like that, heaving, for an unknowable length of time. They did not stir.
Finally, when my constitution returned, I wiped my mouth, and that was when I realized. My body. No, this couldn’t be. My broad shoulders, my strong hands, my arms…gone. My body was skeletal, and my bones and veins bulged grotesquely through my skin. My skin was sallow and thin, and my finger and toenails blue.
Frantically, I darted from the cave and through the river, then began blindly running through the snow. I found a nearby pond where some of the river water collected to rest. I looked at my reflection and let out a cry in despair: I was myself again, a child, that same child I had been only days before.
This couldn’t be. A family of Styrzyga was feeding on me for days, making me believe it had been decades. In reality, only a few days had passed since I left the valley.
Shrieks escaped me uncontrolled–I tried holding them in but it was too painful, so I ran through the woods emitting the horrified screams and sobs that erupted from me. Although I was wasted away and naked, I ran until I found the edge of the woods. There stood my valley, still blanketed in snow. The wind roared through it, moving freely as there were no people to stand in its way.
Upon seeing my valley, I felt my energy sap and I began trudging through the snow drifts. The walk took me hours, and I shivered violently but didn’t cry. Finally, I reached it–the edge of my village. There was Zowia Budney’s house, snow piled high. There were no fires lit inside, and the wind howled through the empty structure.
Walking inside felt like entering the carcass of that horrific beast, but I didn’t get far. Laid on the table where once, long ago, meals had appeared for me and my sister, now lay a horrific scene. There lay Kasia, my sweet Kasia, frozen, blue, and dead. Blood had poured from somewhere, her neck or her chest, but it was frozen now and I couldn’t bear to look.
Shivering violently, I took the bloody coyote fur from Kasia and wrapped it around myself, then picked her up gently and realized that I would not wake her up. I carried her through the village, weeping and screaming, until finally I found our home. It was undisturbed, and dark inside.
Slowly, I carried Kasia in and set her on top of the stove. I broke off the door of the pantry and broke it again into smaller pieces, then made it into a meek fire. Every few moments I felt her wrist, her neck, her forehead, and she thawed but didn’t wake up. Her blood remained still and chilled under her flesh, which was rubbery and pale.
I still checked on her periodically, but it became dark outside and I focused more of my efforts on feeding the hearth. In the pocket of the coyote coat, I found Kasia’s wooden beads. Startled at first by their presence, I found myself scooping them and holding them in my palm, round and cold from the walk.
I scattered them in front of me, then picked up one bead and sent it to ping another bead out of its way. It was Kasia’s favorite game, and she always beat me. I picked up the closest bead, then scattered a few more with hollow clinks across the stone. I imagined that was the same sound my bones were making inside me now, creaking against each other with my cartilage and muscle and fat eaten away.
I knew, very distantly, that I should be planning to exact my revenge on the Styrzyga for what they did. That I should be slipping on my father’s boots and preparing to hunt them, feast on them the way they had me and my sister before me. I should want to hate them, hurt them, kill them, make them suffer, hear their screams the way they relished mine. I should.
False strength, false freedom, false youth, false possession and false gifts, false light, and even then, I thought of Aniela, my angel. I was running back to her, and she was smiling wide, and she was so happy to see me, and,
“Eliaw, my love! I’m so glad you came back, I’ve missed you.”
The End
✧˚ ༘ ⋆。𖧧・ 𓂃˖₊⊹・✧˚ ༘ ⋆。𖧧・ 𓂃˖₊⊹・✧˚ ༘ ⋆。𖧧・ 𓂃˖₊⊹・
The male loneliness epidemic and how it begins with little boys being sad girls won’t gossip with them by ashlon
Men don’t hate gossip, men hate that they are being excluded from something.
Gossip is important and it quite literally saves lives. When you share information about someone doing harm to others, of course the people causing harm are going to be upset. They are being exposed for something they thought they could get away with.
Men are literally doing heinous crimes against women. This is then normalized because women have been told it’s better to be quiet for far too long. Women suffering in silence is really good for terrible men. Terrible men can do terrible things and then say no one will believe you. And the worst part is, it’s true! They’re right. They’ve done this before and know that they can get away with it.
It feels insane that so many people don’t believe when women share their stories. Women only lose in these situations. Either people think they’re lying or people believe them but now everyone knows this deeply personal story. You have to bare your soul to receive empathy? Of course so many women stay silent.
It is looked down upon because men have framed it as a silly thing girls do. Women “gossip” about their abusive boyfriend and then another woman is saved from that treatment. Women “gossip” about being mistreated at work and then other employees feel safe to speak out. Women save other women by “gossiping.”
And I know there are men who are really upset about this. They’ll try and make you empathize with them about how terrible “cancel culture” is. But have you ever gossiped with a man? They love it. I’ve never gossiped with a man and been told, “Oh no, that’s none of my business.” They don’t care. They are so happy to be included. Men feel so entitled to all information. They feel like this once in a lifetime opportunity is actually something they’ve always deserved.
This is not an invitation to be a mean girl. I want to be clear about what qualifies as gossip and what is just unkind secret sharing. Gossip is when your friend’s boyfriend cheats on her and you warn his new girlfriend. Unkind secret sharing is only if an innocent party is being hurt. If it hurts the abuser in the situation it’s good gossip.
But when you remove the stigma of gossiping, more people listen. More people believe women. Everyone should know if someone is being hurt. Gossip more! Gossip at work. Gossip with your neighbors. Gossip with your friends. Gossip is just passing information. Gossip is community.