TFS: Burnt Earth

Molly – 25 years ago

When we arrive in Sheelin, I go directly to my room, despite the debriefing I reckon supersedes my alone time. No one stops me. No one joins me either. If Connor’s direct avoidance of eye contact is any indication, he might very well ship me off to the extermination room I’ve heard so much about. He’ll certainly ask to be relocated to another room, the farthest from me as possible. That’s the only thing truly bothering me. Love that kid. All my fucks are for him.

I sit in the center of my bed, holding my memory stone in my hands, watching the life of a stranger pass before my eyes. I’m not that douche. I can never be her again, with her silly dresses, tacky pink hair ribbons, and picture ready smile. That girl doesn’t exist.

The worst thing is I know how I should feel, and about what, but it isn’t at all how I actually feel. Regret isn’t the defining emotion of the day. When the warm tears begin their river trails down my cheeks, I know they aren’t tears of sadness for Butterfly Brunch. Yeah, I’m mourning. Only, it’s not for the girl deserving my salty eye piss. I’m not upset over what I did. I loved every second of it. I’d do it again. If I get a whiff of an Earth Solathair in transition, I’ll likely cream my panties. Fuck. Sorry. Where was I? Oh, right. I’m mourning the death of my conscience. Crying out the last iota of goodness in me.

I enjoyed slurping her energy, and it isn’t just because my body needs it to survive. It’s because of the power I had over her. She was helpless while I took everything from her, claiming it as my own. I’m a killer, a stone cold killer. I enjoyed it. More, I want to do it again. I’m excited to do it again. This is the pit times ten. Totally levelled up on the excitement factor. Fuck, even I recognize how twisted I am.

I hate them—Solathairs. At the very core of my being is a festering hatred filling the expanse of everything they took from me, yet I’m controlled by what I need from them, bound by tethers I can’t begin to understand, let alone break myself free from. Chained in this cunt cage by my craving. I want to kill them all, and if I can’t kill the people responsible directly, I want to kill everyone like them. Tyrant Tyler and his lackeys too. I want them all dead. Every last one of them. Even me. Especially me.

“It’s your problem,” Tyler deflects. “Work it out.”

“What exactly should I have done differently?” Phelan counters.

Sheelin’s sharing shit again, and I don’t want to hear it. When I pull the pillow over my ears, she protests by increasing the volume. Honestly, I’m legitimately surprised she isn’t giving me the cold wall treatment. Guess she doesn’t care so much about red paint rub off or who I eat. Awesome. Fucking. Friend. There’s no sarcasm in that sentiment, for the record.

“You’re the leader,” Tyler states indifferently. “Lead.”

“I can’t lead her,” Phelan argues. “She’s a nightmare.”

“Well, she finally shapeshifted,” Tyler offers.

Phelan sighs. “Into a…cat.”

“Not a cuddly kitty though.”

“Nothing like that,” Phelan agrees.

“If I have to bury the problem, it won’t be her I bury, Phelan. It’ll be you since you’ll have proven you can’t lead. If you can’t lead this team, there’s no place for you here,” Tyler threatens him.

“Understood, Sir.”

“Where’s Connor now?”

“Rec Room,” Phelan remarks.

At least he has some place else to go, and he’ll be there with other people. Maybe he’ll regurgitate his bullshit humanity propaganda to them for a change instead of me. That potential reprieve comforts me the smallest bit. I fling my feet over the side of the bed, forcing myself to a standing position. When Phelan’s excused, he’ll come directly to my room. That’s what Sheelin was trying to tell me. I heard the message loud and clear, Best Bitch. “Thank you,” I whisper, two seconds before Phelan bulldozes my door open.

“You should be careful slamming Sheelin around,” I warn him. “I highly doubt it’ll be anything like punching me. Rock’s unforgiving that way, and this one? She holds a mean grudge.”

“You will obey me,” Phelan commands, cutting right to the chase. Okay, Cuntface. Let’s have a go then.

I don’t have the emotional fortitude to fear him. Even if I did, I refuse to be scared. My hatred has swallowed any remaining worries I had about anything, including what I’ve become, and more, what I’m still yet to become in the wake of any residual goodness.

As he speaks, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. My fingers twitch. I imagine extending my claws and ripping his throat open wide, bathing Sheelin’s floor in crimson purity. Fucking glorious.

“You will obey me,” Phelan repeats.

“If I don’t?” I dare him. “Are you going to kill me, Phelan? From where I’m standing, it seems I’m already dead. All that was good, anyway. What’s left is this. You can take it or leave it.”

He stops talking. He stops moving. He’s scrambling for how to approach the problem of indifference. Idle threats are ineffective deterrents.

“It won’t be you I hurt, if you ever disobey my orders again.” His voice is so low the vibrations of his baritone leave drumbeat goose bumps all over my skin. “It’ll be Connor.”

“I’ll kill you,” I promise him.

“You’ll try. You’ll fail.”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

“You can’t be with him all the time,” Phelan persists. “Do you see how he looks at me? With those puppy bear eyes full of trust? That’s not how he looks at you anymore. When he looks at you from now on, all he’ll see is the monster you are. How you killed that little girl when he begged you not to. You broke his trust. The only way to get it back is through me, and I promise you, sweetheart, I’ll enjoy destroying him if it means destroying you.”

Point to Cuntface. He’s found the one thing capable of guaranteeing obedience. “I’ll obey you, Phelan,” I concede quietly.

“See that you do,” he barks before storming out of the room.

I’m undoubtedly dead, with the purgatory noose affixed tightly around my neck. The shortest possible leash of Solathair design, meant to tie me to an overwhelming addiction…and to Phelan. Forever. I mourn my freedom most of all.