Chapter 1
“If you were to ask me how I spend my life, if you could see me of course, I’d mostly say hanging around the cemetery - as the typical superhero would his hideout.”
Yokshi crouched over his tomb in his usual position, hidden behind numerous branches, his arms and chin resting over the arch at the top.
His glassy eyes glimmered with mirth as he stared at a particular dishevelled people (some decked in silks far to fancy for this part of town and were bound to be robbed from before the day was out) who passed by with looks of worn tiredness etched on their faces, and he smiled a crooked smile as they tried to look like they belonged. It wouldn’t work; they displayed their emotions far too easily.
Rule number 1 in Zengala: Remain blank, perfectly poised.
His eyes drifted leisurely over the tombs, taking in the shattered visage of a corpse as it was lowered in the ground, whistling softly.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, and the sky cracked open as rain poured into the ground relentlessly.
Right on cue.
Why had he come here again?
It wasn’t just to laugh at the fabricated masks people put on for show when the visited the graves, he was sure.
Or maybe it was.
He couldn’t remember and didn’t particularly care to.
Just minutes ago, he had sat on a cracked ledge near the old dam, five minutes away from the cemetery, surrounded by tombs of people who had died more peaceful deaths.
He had heard a congregation of thoughts less violent than where he was now. A few went along the lines of; I’m happy that she’s safe now; What my granddaughter’s like now she’s grown up?; I wonder what the weather’s like today?
Their distant voices chattered in his head, but he had to endure it as it was the only thing that kept him from fading. He had to lower himself to feed himself off the dead’s emotions like a parasite.
He supposed it was karma, as though he didn’t remember any of his life apart from five specific, dark memories, he remembered being the person who never listened and pushed their ideas forward at the expense of others.
He remembered it being his downfall.
So, here he was now, trapped between a space in time where he couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be heard, but could still interact with everything.
As Yokshi snapped himself from his reverie, he cradled an abandoned cup between his hands, before the bustle of people sweeping across the road caught his attention.
Curious, he made his way there, pushing his way through the crowds and ignoring the exclaims of protest as the victims felt something - rather rudely - force them out of the way.
But it was fine.
After forcing himself to the front of the gathering crowd, he paused and simply sighed, for it was merely another pointlessly severe ceremony in which they (they normally being the irritating basket boys or girls) lowered another corpse into the ground.
By now he should have guessed for heaven’s sake, as this was the only thing in the village that attracted crowds.
Burials were always a calculated process, and with all the serial killings increasing, there was bound to be another child caught in the crossfire.
Rule 2: NEVER BE NEAR THE FRONT A BURIAL TAKING PLACE.
Even so, Yokshi ignored the rules that he had set for himself, as it had been a boring day and this was the much fun he’d probably ever have in a while.
Normally, the burials happened to phases, never the same, but always similar.
The first step was that some grieving man or woman would find resemblance to a lost child or lover and then-
“It’s my Marty!” Screamed a woman clad in red fishnet tights and a bright green cloak, her cobalt blue afro swaying in the wind as she scrambled towards the lowering coffin.
Perfect timing, as usual.
Yokshi turned away, unable to watch any more, suddenly sickened.
The woman’s face was blotchy - presumably from crying - and her dark skin was littered in a range of bruises. The feeling of nausea was steadily increasing for Yokshi as he stared at her.
Her skin had shifted to a moving sea of black, writhing words that wriggled in and out of her skin and painted the air around her a dark, unforgiving vermillion, and all the while the woman was reaching towards the casket in an effort to stop its journey.
It was always like this.
A corpse was found.
A person from the crowd would scream out a family member’s name.
The family member would be driven to get their child back, no matter the cost.
Rinse and repeat.
Yet, where were the people Yokshi called family when it was his time to be lowered into the ground? He couldn’t help but wonder what became of them with slight bitterness. He couldn’t remember.
Then there was the occurring problem with the skin.
Man or woman, beast or insect, when it was near their time to die, their skin stretched and words sprang forth, encasing them in a personal tomb of letters and tainting the air a certain colour.
Yokshi had seen a few colours, but the one colour that nauseated him the most was indigo, and vermilion being a close contender after.
Considering all this, in Yokshi’s opinion, his situation wasn’t too bad.
Yes, he was dead.
Yes, he couldn’t remember anything about himself aside from his name and a few scattered memories, and yes he was slowly fading from existence.
But he tried his best to be optimistic.
Children are always starving somewhere else, he reminded himself cheerfully.
Aside from the waves of nausea that made his stomach roil as he stared at the scene, and the fact that he was the only one that seemed to see the situation with the skin, all was good.
In fact, it made him feel a little special-
What the hell is she doing?
Yokshi’s lips pulled down abruptly as the woman as she lurched forward, her bright cloak ripped away in the wind and her eyes flashing.
Something’s different.
Usually the family member just launches themselves at the basket boys and girls screaming.
He caught the look on her face and let a shudder overtake him.
He had seen that look before, reflected in his own eyes when he saw glimpses of his reflection.
It was what still held everyone now; a cage of brewing madness.
The woman, oblivious or uncaring for the unrest she was causing, took no heed of the shouts and yells of warning as the casket was lowered further.
Yokshi’s eyes followed her movements, the realisation of what she was going to do dawning on him.
She’s going to jump.
As if they sensed her thoughts, a wave of arms grabbed at the woman’s feet, determination to pull her down oozing from them.
But you should never hold back a woman from her child.
The woman in question let out a piercing shriek, whipping around to glare at the arms that encircled her feet. A low guttural sound emanated from her throat as she tore at the hands holding her back, and, after managing to shred the skin of one hand, the rest let go almost simultaneously.
She spun around back to her child, and in doing so, met the eyes of Yokshi.
She stilled for a moment.
She’s not supposed to see me so what-
She leapt for her child.
Time seemed to slow as the woman hung in the air, her round feet abandoning her flat shoes. She seemed suspended in slow motion as she swivelled mid-air to stare one last time at the crowd.
A ballerina leaping far from the cage.
