The Awakening
Episode 1
The Awakening
“Mom!” Damien, a little boy of about 9 years, panicked as he ran through the tall, dry grass.
Just a moment ago he was with his mother, walking hand in hand in the passing-by carnival. It was a religious holiday he had never heard of. His mother explained to him that it was the last full moon of the year, and a certain group who worshipped the moon always celebrated it.
He nodded, pretending like he understood what she was saying.
He was talking to her a minute ago, but she had vanished, and he found himself alone in a dry field. He couldn’t understand how he had gotten here or why he was here, but there was someone beside him, a man in a hood. He was squeezing tightly on his shoulder.
“Who...who are you?” He sputtered.
“…oh good, you’re awake.” The hooded man abruptly let go of him, pushing him to the ground. “Hey!” He called out, “The boy is awake.”
“That’s good news.” Another hooded man replied as he rose up from the tall, dry grass, another person beside him, a woman also wearing a long, dark hood.
She bent down again, coming up with a crossbow this time.
“Let’s get this over with.” She handed it to the man beside her.
Damien, frozen on the ground, still couldn’t process what was happening. He was just with his mother… So why, why was he suddenly alone with these people, and why were they pointing a crossbow at him?
His eyes widened as an arrow flew past his ear, piercing into the ground.
“Damn,” the man clicked his fingers.
“You call that an aim?” The woman snickered, snatching the crossbow from him. “Watch how it’s done.”
Damien was covered in a cold sweat, his pupils were so dilated they were getting dry from the wind, he didn’t know what was going on, but one thing he knew for sure, these people were trying to kill him.
He took to his heels.
He ran through the dry grass screaming and crying out for his mom, for anyone; he was in terrible danger.
“…should we just let him run like that?” The first man tilted his head, watching him disappear into the bushes.
“Let him,” the woman set a new arrow. “I like it when they run.”
She covered one eye, aiming the other at the boy.
“Don’t miss,” the other guy hissed.
“Shut up.” She shot
The boy came crashing down in front of them.
“yes” She put the bow down with a smile, but just as quickly it turned to a frown.
He was back up; the arrow had only grazed his leg. His adrenaline didn’t let him stay down for long.
“ha ha” The other guy collected the crossbow again. “Watch how it’s done, sweetheart.”
“Mom?! Mom!” The boy continued to run, his head ringing and leg bleeding. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain, his legs gave out, and he fell face first into the dirt.
He looked down at his chest; the pain was from an arrow. They got him.
“Bingo,” the hooded man laughed heartily as the other man jogged over to the boy and picked up his limp body. He wasn’t dead, but very close to it, perfect for what they wanted to do.
He tossed him into the back of their carriage, covering him with a thick cloth. His hands and legs were bound, not that he was going anywhere even if they weren’t.
“Mom...mom.” He kept murmuring, but no sounds came out of his mouth.
Just before the carriage left the carnival site, he caught sight of a red dress, the very same dress his mother wore, passing by his carriage. She seemed to be shouting something, but alas, his ears rang so much he couldn’t hear a thing.
2 hours later
“Welcome back.” Another hooded person greeted them as the carriage pulled into a cave-like place: “Took you guys long enough.”
She took down her hood.
“You got the kid?”
“Just as you ordered.” The first man dropped his hood. “He’s in the back, barely alive, but alive enough.”
“As long as his soul is still in his body, I could care less about his condition.” She turned, heading into the cave. “Bring him.”
The other man tossed him over his shoulder and brought him into the cave. It was much bigger on the inside than it looked; the room was dimly lit with candlelight.
He climbed onto a stage and laid the half-dead boy on a pillar. On the other pillar was a bowl of, strangely, purple water, and at the foot of the stage, more than a hundred hooded people stood muttering things in low tones.
“Brethren,” the woman who met them outside the cave spoke, “gather round, for the time has come.”
Almost immediately the crowd of people made a circle around the boy.
He couldn’t hear much of what they were saying, but what he got clearly was that they were about to use him for a ritual, a ritual to create their own god.
They said something about his soul being the chosen one, and after that he blacked out.
He was awoken by a horrible pain all over his body; they were all chanting something, and with every second that passed, the pain got more excruciating.
It felt like his soul was being ripped from his body and he was covered in flames and molten lava. It was an unexplainable pain, but soon it was over; his body went limp, and he was gone.
His soul had been sucked into the bowl of water; at least that was what was supposed to happen.
They waited in suspense for something to happen.
Suddenly all the candles were blown out, and the smoke the candles left behind started acting strangely. For one, they still hovered strongly in the air even after their source was put out, and they headed for the bowl of water as if equipped with a mind of their own.
The fumes revolved around the bowl for a short time, then dove into the water. The cult nodded approvingly; it was all going to plan. They were expecting the smoke to then rise up from the water and form their god.
But it didn’t;
Instead, it came out the same; the smoke formed a circle, spreading around the room; the cult murmured in confused tones, the sound of their intertwining chatter filling the echoing hall; their worry grew louder by the second; then a heavy gust of wind rushed into the room.
It pushed them all backwards, with some of them even falling over. Before they could recover, the same gust of wind came again, this time dragging them closer to the bowl of water.
The wind began to spin around the cult members in the room, trapping them in what seemed like an airtight tornado. They could not breathe. Their struggles were accompanied by a sudden, excruciating pain. The sight of their skin made them shriek in terror. They were drying up; their bodies were drying up.
They screamed and prayed, doing anything humanly possible to stop the pain, but it did nothing. Soon the screams stopped, and the hall was left empty, nothing left but the empty cloaks and dry bones.
Then there was a sound; someone was breathing. It was slow with an odd rhythm, but it was human; the breathing was coming from the bowl.
A hand popped out, then another. They were small child hands. They grabbed the pillar, pulling the rest of it out of the bowl. Falling on the ground just beside the pillar was a boy, a little boy of about 9 years.
He took deep, long breaths as he lay hunched on the floor. He was drenched in that purple water, his eyes glowed purple like he had been born from it, because he was. This was the god they tried to make, the god they sacrificed their lives and an innocent soul for.
He stood up, balancing himself on his feet. He knew how to walk, how to breathe, and how to talk even. He was no new creature. The memories of the cult members were embedded in his head. He knew what he was, and he knew where he was; he just didn’t know who he was or whose innocent soul was taken to make him. There was no answer in any of their memories.
A frown already formed on his face. He found a cloak of his size on the ground. Children were here; the children were dead.
“Humans...are so selfish,” he muttered as he put on the robe. A gust of wind rushed into the room, swinging open the door. The sunlight hit his face, warm and bright, nothing like the room he stood in, so he followed it.
Outside, a lovely summer day greeted him, the sky bright and wide, a touch of clouds shading patches of the earth, and the grass, oh, the grass, it stretched out like an ocean; he couldn’t tell where it began or stopped.
His eyes sparkled in awe. What a beautiful world—the sky, the trees, the grass! He could only wonder how it would feel under his bare feet. He gulped hard going down the stone stairs. He tripped, falling on the grass. Immediately he came in contact with it; it was burnt to a crisp.
He gasped, crawling back onto the stone stairs. His face fell as he noticed every place he had taken a step melted in. He didn’t realize how hot he was. He sat down, holding on to his burning feet. They didn’t hurt him, but they melted stone.
Just what was he? He was no god; no god would cause destruction from his creation. Tears welled up in his eyes. He had to be a devil, a spawn of Satan himself; why else would he have the heat of hell? The feeling of stopping the hot aura from escaping his body felt foreign, but he was willing to feel that way if it meant he could touch the grass.
He took a deep breath, reaching his toe to a patch of grass; it didn’t burn.
His face lit up as he jumped down, burying his feet in the wet grass and cold soil. It tickled; he laughed. It was the single most amazing thing he had ever experienced. He was sure nothing could be better. In his joy he began to run.
The cool summer breeze blowing through his black hair made him run even faster. He could feel his legs aching and his heart pumping as he pushed past the limit for his age and body. So this is what it meant to be alive.
“Hey, hey kid,” a voice called out to him, stopping him in his tracks.
He slowed down, his heart beating, and sweat beads rolled down his face as he tried to stabilize his breathing. He had come far; he ran so far he couldn’t see the cave anymore and was now in a field on the outskirts of a small village.
“Hello, dear.” A woman in her early 50s approached him. She had comforting eyes and a faint smell of flowers on her. “Are you okay, love? I saw you running. I hope you’re alright.”
“Me?” He panted, looking around, “Yes, I’m alright.”
“Yes, you,” she smiled and bent down, asking what he was doing here all alone by himself.
He didn’t know what to say; he just stood still, blinking at her.
His eyes had changed to a normal nut-brown color.
“Are you lost? Do you know where your family lives?” She looked down at his bare feet. “Do you have a family?”
“No,” he shook his head.
“Oh,” her eyes saddened, “well, do you have anywhere to go?”
“I’ll just stay on the grass,” he smiled. “I like the grass.”
She blinked at him. He was just so cute and dumb.
“So what’s your name?”
“…I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a name?”
She stood up straight and led him to the bench.
“Do you want one?” She sat him down.
He thought about it for a while, then agreed. He could see she was good, not like the humans in his head.
“So what do you think of Charles?” she asked.
“…I don’t like it.”
“What about Jesse?”
“No.”
“Okay, what about…” she thought “Damien”
“Damien?” He repeated, “...it’s nice.”
“Okay, Damien,” she sat up. “My name’s Elora. Since you’re alone, would you like to stay with me?
His eyes widened.
“…seriously?”
“as serious as I ever will be.”
He was compelled to go, but he didn’t want to seem naive.
“How can I trust you?”
“You can if you want to.” She held out her hand.
He looked at her hand and slowly reached out for it.
Her hands were warm and had a soft touch. She smiled as she held his hand. As they walked into the village, some people gave them odd stares, while others greeted the lady.
They walked to the edge of the small village, and then she stopped in front of a cottage.
It looked bigger, more presentable than the other houses they had passed along the street; he guessed she was a middle-class woman.
But what intrigued him the most was the big, colorful garden behind her house. He recognized the smell of flowers from her dress coming from the garden; she must have spent hours a day tending to it to absorb the scents.
She led him inside;
He couldn’t wait to see it, she could tell. He opened the back door for him; he took one look at the garden and ran outside.
It was even more glorious than he thought it would be. He buried his toes in the grass. It was very cold.
He excitedly lay on the grass and looked up at the beautiful sky. He felt someone lay down next to him.
It was her.
“Do you like it, Damien?”
“Mhm,” he closed his eyes.
“You seem to really like grass, huh?” She stared at the sky.
“...well,” he thought to himself, “maybe humans aren’t so bad.”
