Searching

O.K. Mantz

Who are you Thea?

A voice silently echoed through the city streets, perceived by no one but herself. When the pitch tapped her ears, she lifted her eyes, her gaze fanning up betwixt the line of skyscrapers on either side. She had marked the voice before, many times before, but only now determined to find its origin. Her feet marched across the walkway and squeezed themselves through an endless stream of bodies that opposed them; the sidewalk proved flooded with people of every imaginable size that walked toward her—and then passed her. A multitude of voices surrounded her and she strained to listen to that one sound, the one that seemed much greater, much more important than all the other benign and droning ones.

She continued walking until the skyscrapers began to drop in height until completely passing out of view. Endless fields stretched on before and to the side of her, vast green fields occasionally sprinkled with daisies and Italian asters. The World seemed quiet now, no droning sounds of busy people bickering flooded her senses; she only heard the sun streaming down upon her, the earth lamenting ‘neath her feet, and the birds above her whistling for the cloudy whisps.

Who are you Thea?

The voice proved no clearer than before and so she took another step, continuing to walk across the field, expecting to hear the voice again. She enjoyed the solitude and could, for once, turn inward and hark to herself. Yet the voice did not come, no matter how much she wished to listen and perceive it again.

Trees began to shoot upwards, first in scattered spots, then clustering together to mark the edge of a forest. And she halted not, but moved deeper into the line, noticing her skin become less and less illuminated by the sun, for the cover of the trees obscured the light. A cabin appeared in the distance and she set her course for the weak wooden structure. Her feet tumbled over roots and overturned earth, but she came upon the door and raised her knuckles to knock.

Thump! Thump! Thu—Who are you Thea?

An older woman answered, bent and worn with age, the bags beneath her pupils reaching down to her knees. The sage motioned her inside and produced a dusty book from an otherwise empty shelf. Handing her the brittle pages, the woman pointed to the cover, waiting for her to wrest the book apart and allow her gaze to float over the contents. As she did so, her brows furrowed, and she squinted at the hieroglyphics within the text, but she could not comprehend the words. She flipped to another page and let her eyes fall once more, but the strange characters presented no meaning for her. The voice itself was entirely gone, more distant than before. She shut the book and placed it back onto the lonely shelf, but the sage became furious and thrust her arms up into the air. Her complexion had morphed into something hideous: her eyes were pulled into slits, her lips wrinkled into an almost perfect circle, and her nose was bent upward—the sage embodied a paroxysm of anger and hate.

Shoving her away, the woman let out a piercing scream and threw her fists at her, making her shrink back into herself. Suddenly, the sage opened up her palm and displayed a single match that she quickly gripped between her fingers. Pressing her thumbnail to the wood, the woman struck the match and tossed the flame onto Thea’s body, who—in terror—fell backward, helpless as she was consumed by fire.

Thea—you are mine.