Part 17: Pedro
Year unknown
I watched, and waited.
My concept of time was measured in pain. And in spans of light bleeding through the dark. This happened whenever I made a friend.
Once in a great while, the flesh bags took note of me. They either feared or loved me. I appreciated both. However fun it was, the fear was fleeting. Love was binding.
When a particularly discerning flesh bag noticed and didn't fear me, I stayed with them. The young ones had sharper senses, and plus, they liked my tricks. I could force objects to dance, if I concentrated hard enough. I also played music, when the wind was just right.
The trouble was, as the younger ones invariably aged, their flesh gave way to dust. In the end, I was left alone. Then, the darkness descended, until the cycle started again with a new friend.
Sometimes, I only found the light through fear, because no one wanted to love me. Other times, a pull inside drew me to the flesh bag. A few of them featured a bright center, and I gravitated toward their warmth.
Camila was one such flesh bag. She was possibly the brightest star I'd seen for a hundred years. Out of the gloom, she had blinded me with her power. But she was too young, and was yet unaware of most things. So I watched, and waited.
The waiting paid off, especially when her flesh bag father died. The loss triggered the child, and instead of looking through me, she finally looked at me. Her small face expressed such wonder at having discovered me. I fed on looks like that.
I couldn't remember when things had started. I briefly recognized and feared fire. I hated men. These were my few sureties.
Camila was another affirmation, mostly a reminder that I existed at all. She seemed to understand my innate loneliness, and I sensed in her the same discord I had always dealt with. The child was unsure of her place, and those she resided with didn't really understand what to do with her, either.
I whispered ideas to her. Like smacking her cousin, Luto. The flesh bag certainly deserved it. I also did things to please her, like visiting the flesh bag known as Principal Miller. I toyed with him for weeks, invading his body and poisoning him with fear. I would've finished him off had Camila not urged me to stop. Though we were of similar minds, there were times when I was reminded of her weakness. She was made of flesh, just like the rest of them.
Still, her ability was unique. I had seen others with powers, but none like her. She identified flesh bags through a spectrum, much like I had been drawn to her. She easily pulled back the curtain in stranger's minds, a talent that had taken me decades to hone.
Her mother had a fledging awareness, and nearly saw me several times over. She seemed to sense and respect me, and in turn, I respected her. I offered her a few ideas, but she never took me up on them. All the same, I think she liked them more than she cared to admit, bloody though they were.
As Camila aged, as flesh bags are want to do, I felt her slipping from me. She lost the knack for watching me scare those around us, and began to ask that I leave them alone. Soon, she stopped talking to me altogether.
Because I was bound to her, I watched and waited. I had adapted to the unhinged state more than any other creature. She would need me, at least once more.
Then, a youngster much like her appeared, with the same inherent brightness emanating from her center. Even her name was bright:
Tari.
Yet, I was still bound to Camila. Since I had nothing but time, I didn't mind. And like I said, she would need me again, and she did.
Men hurt her, as men are want to do. She showed her old self, the one that had loved me all those years ago.
Hurt them. She wanted to hurt them, but didn't know how. Having existed for such a long time, I had a few ideas. I whispered a solution, and Camila nodded.
The plan involved punishing the men, in the best way. They deserved it.
I should have carried it out. Camila wasn't strong enough. Or, maybe she was stronger than I knew.
In the aftermath of the deed, her mind broke, as did our bond. It had been a decades since I had known grief, but the bitter taste of it overrode my ghostly heart as I stared down at the slack face of Camila.
She had been mine. Then she was gone. Just another flesh bag.
The disappointment, combined with the grief, angered me. My pain exploded, and I couldn't help sharing it with the flesh bags nearby. Ten of them dropped like flies. All men, of course, and all of them had hurt others at one point or another.
Then, Tari came to visit. Weeping, I told her everything, and the child accepted my words. She also accepted me.
I'm not alone. She understands me. She enjoys my tricks, and we play games.
Someday, she'll die horribly. The women in her family have trouble finding purchase in a world threatened by their power. They are out of time, out of place in a world that follows traditions and fears change.
I'll grieve for Tari when the time comes. Until then, I'm bound to her.
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