The Silent

The Silent

It’s early morning but the sun is still dead. The sombre clouds float over the town of Mortville, the streetlamps making the fog dance across the stone walls of the buildings. I pull my coat tighter around me as if to shield myself from Cold’s claws that slice through my gloves and knit scarf.

The bell jingles as I make my way into Persephone’s Flowers. The potent fragrance of roses, tulips, and lilies engulfs me in a sweet-smelling hug. But like most things in Mortville, there’s always the pervasive stench of death and decay.

I scan the store, eyeing the flower shop awash in vibrant colours and exotic flowers. Dolores shambles towards me. Still Silent. Still undead as ever. She manages to give me a slight nod. Her grey, cracked skin matches the cobblestone streets of our town and her pale bloodshot eyes hold no humanity, no memories of Before. Before the Turn. Before the disease stole hundreds of souls and transformed lively human beings into flesh-eating monsters who lost more than their mortality.

Some say it’s a curse, that the iron gates which hold the citizens captive are there to punish us, not prevent the spread of the disease like we were told. Punish us for what? I’d always wondered. No one ever seemed to have an answer.

“Thank you,” I tell Dolores. She passes me a bouquet of dying flowers. Her cold, flaky hand touches mine for a quick second and I can’t help but shiver, despite the gloves I wear. That’s another thing about the Silent. Perpetually mute, perpetually cold.

I give her some rusting coins and she nods again, slowly turning away to go sweep dead flower petals off the ground.

My bouquet in hand, I leave Persephone’s Flowers’ heated embrace and enter the cold. Mortville has awaken. The street-lamps are no longer burning and the roads are bustling with people- alive and undead. The dreary humdrum of low chatter and booted footsteps on the cobblestones drag me deeper into my torturous thoughts.

I see a Silent boy from Persephone’s Flowers at his cart, selling single red roses already wilting at the tips. With a putrefying hand, he holds one out to a passing couple, who keep their gazes straight, refusing to look at what our town really is: a civil zoo of death.

The Silent boy hunches his shoulders, defeated by his fate, his condition. I can’t help but feel a pang of pity in my chest even though I know what his kind are capable of.

Snow begins to fall in white, fluffy clumps that melt into nothing when they land on the cobblestones. A group of boys walk towards the flower cart with purpose. I immediately recognize them - they go to my school.

They sneak behind the Silent boy who slouches on his wooden stool, oblivious, and open the container that holds the cash. My whole body ceases shivering as instinct takes over like a parasite taking over its host. “Hey!” I call, starting towards them, “Is there a problem?”

The tallest boy addresses me first, his smug smirk as evident as his arrogance. Recognition flashes in his glacial eyes. “No problem here, Mara,” he drawls.

I give him my most intimidating stare, but the erratic beat of my heart betrays me. “Then I suggest you give that money back to that boy.” I’m surprised my voice doesn’t shake.

To my dismay, the boys begin to laugh. My ears register the sound of several youthful hyena pups mocking their prey before feasting upon its flesh. Except the tall boy- Erik, I think- who stares stonily at me. A muscle in his jaw tics.

“You suggest? I don’t owe this zombie jack shit,” Erik spits. I flinch at his use of the derogatory term for the Silent but keep my mouth shut. The worst thing to tell someone who’s borderline crazy is to calm down.

“Come on, he never did anything to you.” I grip the bouquet of flowers harder in my hands, thorns piercing through fabric and flesh. One, two, three drops of red, bright and furious on the white blanket beneath my feet.

Erik scoffs, his cool eyes narrowing in on me. “Never did anything to me? Was it not his kind who slaughtered my sister? Feasted on my father? Murdered my mother?” With each question comes a slew of curses, a rise of hysteria, a shove to my shoulders, until I lose my balance and tumble down onto the light veil of wet snow.

Oh, shit.

My eyes quickly dart to the observing Silent boy whose fingers begin rapidly twitching and whose blood vessels run like millions of tiny red rivers to his pale pupils.

“Stop!” I shout frantically, stumbling to my feet. “You’re pissing him off! Stop provoking him!” The thrum of people grows louder. Erik keeps walking towards me, keeps pushing me back down.

“Shut up!” he cries, knocking me to my knees once again. “It’s their fault they’re dead! Their fault I can’t leave this goddamn town! Why no one can!” My eyes throb with unshed tears, blurring my vision, blood rushing to my head like a stream. How is no one stopping him?

Suddenly, in a blur of grey and rotting teeth, the shoves come to an abrupt halt as the Silent boy tackles Erik to the ground, ensuing bloodcurdling screams.

I watch, frozen in horror, as the Silent boy slices through Erik’s jacket in one swift motion, ripping into his flesh like tissue paper. The once dull thrum of Mortville rises into shouts and chaos. People gather around to see Erik thrashing like a hooked fish on the snow while a Silent boy, teeth gnashing, tears him to pieces.

Blood blossoms around Erik’s blonde head as his flailing body writhes with each bite the Silent boy takes, ripping chunks of skin and muscle off his bones. Crunch. Crack. The chilling sound of bones breaking and skull fracturing like footsteps on dry, dead leaves echoes loudly through the commotion. Erik’s innards are laid out like a decadent dinner, blood spews from torn arteries in his neck, covering the Silent boy’s cracked, grey face in dark crimson liquid.

I can feel the blood draining from my face, my knees weakening until I’m kneeling on the ground, unaware of the frigid snow soaking through my jeans. I’m shaking all over as I spot clumps of brain near Erik, slowly seeping out of his skull, leaking onto the ground where the Silent boy slurps it up, powerful jaws working. The animalistic instincts that lay dormant in this creature completely took over when his bloodlust was provoked.

Law enforcement officers in their red and black uniforms rush to the scene, grabbing the Silent boy’s arms back, being careful not to go near his mouth which currently has Erik’s dismembered hand dangling from it.

One officer takes the Silent boy’s spasming head in his hands, and in a quick, calculated movement, breaks and twists it right from his neck. The Silent boy’s decapitated body sways for a second before falling into a gruesome heap on the blood spattered ground. Beside Erik’s corpse. Beside my bouquet of dying roses.

Later, after the crowd disperses and the bodies are dragged away, I sit on the outskirts of the town of Mortville, hands gripping the iron gate while I retch. Tears cascade down my face, pooling underneath my jaw and freezing there. The gate is littered with locks, chains, and other memorabilia of all different shapes and sizes. Some are a smattering of rust- or blood- with pink and gold peeling from the metal. Others are bangle bracelets that clack together during storms. It has been tradition since before I was born for the family of a recently Turned Silent to place a personal item of theirs on the gate. Once someone is Turned, they are dead to the living. And yet, they will never have a burial. The gate is the closest thing they’ll ever have to a grave.

Everyone knows what will happen next. The Silent Boy will be labeled a Rogue. Laws and regulations will become more strict in regards to the rights and freedoms of the Silent because it’s their fault. It’s always their fault.

I stare at the graveyard of metal adorning the gate. I wonder if one day the weight of the continuous placement of chains and locks will finally give way, allowing the iron gates of Mortville to collapse, leaving our town vulnerable to the Forest Beyond. I walk beside the gate, my fingers trailing over the items. I hear metal hitting metal and glance down. A gold heart-shaped locket with a broken chain lays in the slush by my feet. I bend down to pick it up, rubbing the surface with my gloved thumb. My fingers are cold and stiff but I manage to open it. A picture of a young woman with long flowing black hair sits on one side. I don’t recognize her. On the other side, an inscription: Vivianne, you have ruined me. I will always find my way back to you - W.

I close the locket and stick it in my coat. I reach into my other pocket and pull out some dead rose petals. I am startled to find spots of blood on them and I try to think if the blood is mine or...someone else’s.

I wait until an icy gust of wind picks up the hairs from around my face when I open my palm and release the stained petals into the bitter current.

They twirl and dance with the wind, floating up and down, around trees and shrubs.

I hope they land in another town, far away from here. I hope someone finds them and wonders where they came from. I hope they come looking. I hope they find me.

I hope they save me from this hell.