flood gates and gravestones

July 16th, 2019
Sleep does not find Skye easily. She finds herself laying in bed, her sheets tangled around her legs, listening to the soft clicks of her clock. Her window is left open, and the sounds of frogs and crickets drift through the window, bringing with it a warm breeze. Still, all she can do is lay there.

Her eyes don’t want to close, every time she does she feels her heart pound. She knows it’s silly, but sleep scares her now. She’s afraid she might drift away, that she’ll be lost once more. She’s afraid she might not be able to wake up. The thought of that terrifies her in a way she cannot describe. So, she resolves to staring up at the ceiling, at the plastic glow in the dark stars that her mother had bought for her when she was ten. Her grandmother and her had spent hours putting them up, recreating the same constellations that stretch across the sky outdoors. Even now, they still comfort her.

Yet, she grows restless. She tosses and turns, trying to occupy her mind with happy memories and easy distractions. She tries to go down the list of all her favorite things, but she finds her mind wandering back to the very things she wanted to avoid. She’s currently in a war with her brain, and her brain is winning.

Before she can change her mind, she’s kicking the covers off and climbing out of bed. She quickly changes into jeans and a t-shirt, though they fit weird and leave her feeling strange for a moment. Yet she knows she has to keep moving. She throws on some shoes, and slowly opens the door out to the hallway. The door to her grandparents’ room is left open, and she can hear her grandfather snoring loudly.

She remembers when she used to sneak out when she was thirteen. She’d rehearse sneaking out when her grandparents weren’t home, plan everything to a tee. Then she’d go hang out with Juliana and Alivia. Most of the times the girls would drink or they’d occasionally smoke pot. Then they’d go on about all the drama in their circle, from boy trouble to what girls were jealous of them. Skye wanted to be them so badly. Now she envied them in a different way.

She carefully walks down the steps, skipping the ones that creak. Even after all this time it’s almost second nature. She doesn’t go out the front door, but through the screened in porch. Even at night the air is warm, and she can smell the earth and leaves from the garden. She could probably just sit on the stone bench by the hydrangeas, but she knows she can’t stay. Every molecule in her body is telling her to keep moving, to run. She just doesn’t know what she’s running towards.

She walks around the house, taking the pathway between her and the Reids. She can see the guest house, the lights still on inside despite the hour. Was Lachlan in there? Part of her wants to go and knock on the glass door, like she would when she was a kid, or even like she did when she was older. But her body isn’t pulling her there, instead it wants her to keep moving.

When she reaches the cul de sac, all the houses are still. No lights, no sounds, everyone is asleep. She stands in the center of the circle, taking time to look at each one. Each house is unique in its own way, as unique as the occupants inside. This was her home, yet she knows she needs to go somewhere. So, she walks down the center of the street, and towards the camp.

New Rome is fairly quiet. There are cars that pass her now and then, but none stop. Occasionally she can hear a car door slam closed, or a disembodied laugh far away, but none of it worries her. The night has always been kind to her.

So, down she walks, down the winding roads towards the valley below.

At first she thinks she’s walking to camp, after all, her mind had been on camp for ages now. She wanted nothing more than to be back with her cohort, to train, to get stronger. She knows why she’s not allowed back yet, every time she mentions wanting to go back they remind her. Yet it doesn’t mean she’s not allowed to want it.

Before she can cross through the gates that formally mark the end of New Rome, she catches an expanse of green and wrought iron fences in the corner of her eye. Suddenly she’s being pulled to the side, towards the rather large cemetery that laid before her.

She knows what supposedly happens in cemeteries at night, but still, she is not scared. Instead she’s glad she’s been given solitude. There is no one to gawk at the lazarus girl, entering the cemetery that she was buried in. She walks past headstones, starting with the old ones, worn from the elements, their mourners surrounding them in graves of their own. Then, she gets more recent in time, and she begins to see flowers, some new, some wilted. Occasionally there are candles or picture frames, but it’s mostly flowers. She’s not sure why that’s the go to offering.

Still, she walks, weaving her way through headstones and memorials, stopping to look at each and every name. She notices how many die young. It was a fact of life, we’re all going to die one day. When you’re a demigod, that day just comes sooner.

Then, as if fate had brought her here, she finds her name. The gravestone is still new, and it’s made of some sort of granite. On it is carved Skye Maddox, beloved daughter and granddaughter, 2001-2019. She’s glad they didn’t put any mention of her rank, that’s not how she’d like to be remembered. She wonders if there used to be flowers here.

Its strange, standing before her grave. She kneels down, letting the moisture from the grass soak into her jeans. She knows there’s nothing but an empty coffin below her. It’s nothing but a waste, really. Maybe they could dig it up and save it for her next time she dies. The thought is so macabre that it almost makes her smile.

There's a rustling behind her, and it almost makes her jump. When she turns, she can see a mouse scurrying across the ground. There are no ghosts in this cemetery tonight, except for her. Or, she thinks as she runs a hand across the engravings on her tombstone, a zombie.

She’s afraid to walk any further, for fear that she’ll find two other names with empty ground beneath them. So she stays at her grave. She leans her back up against the cool marble, looking up at the stars. There’s something so familiar, yet comforting about them. Like paint splattered across a deep blue canvas. She feels something tugging at her brain again, like she had been feeling a lot lately. Another feeling of deja vu that she cannot shake. She’s exhausted at this point, but she entertains the thought for a moment, like trying to open a locked door. Yet, instead of fruitlessly tugging and then giving up, it’s almost like a lock has clicked, and a door has opened.

An expanse of stars, more infinite and plentiful than the ones before her. Dirt, an expanse of it underneath her feet, rising up into red jagged mountains. A boy with dark curly hair hidden under a faded blue cap, staring up as she does, worry in his eyes yet a peaceful smile on his lips. A girl with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, cracked sunglasses propped on her head, looking forward, staring at a small light in the distance.

Words, whispered, in a familiar voice, “What is that?”

Then, just as suddenly as it came, the memory ends. It hits Skye like a freight train, leaving her gasping for air. She’s more exhausted than she’s ever been, yet she can only scramble to her feet.

She’s remembered something. Yet now it only leaves her with more questions.