Strength Bespoken

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. They came in streaks, like paint being thrown wildly by an eccentric painter, and vanished moments after. As ripples would appear and disperse in a pond, that’s what they reminded Brance of.

Not always were the clouds purple, nor the sky rosen. Long before Brance was born, midnight was a time of darkness; a single word is what changed the world.

Brance enjoyed the silence of midnight; he often snuck onto the roof through the bathroom window to watch the clouds dance with the moon, like waves of glitter illuminated by starlight.

How weird that a single word can have so much power.

Then came a new word that shattered the silence. A man’s voice, which screamed: “Fuck!”

The windows all burst from the force, glass blown over the grass, over the roof beside where he laid. He covered his ears and glanced through the shattered window into the bathroom. Just as he was about to attempt re-entry, his mother appeared at the door and shouted: “Brance, stay there!”

His body stiffened.

Her voice then softened as she whispered: “I’m coming to get you, it’s not safe, so wait for me.”

She wore oven mittens to protect her hands as she removed the sharp shards remaining in the frame.

“…Mama, what happened?”

“Hmm?” She looked up. “Oh… your father just got some bad news and he overreacted.”

Brance watched the purple clouds; they were turning pinker, blending more and more with the rose-colored sky. He knew by sunrise, the sky would be a baby pink and the clouds vanished entirely, but never had he seen the full process.

He had a strict bedtime.

“Brance… Here, come here please…”

He turned to look at his mother; his neck snapped back up to the sky like sports announcer who risked a blink mid-game.

“Come here.” His mother ordered.

A tug came within his chest, like a rope pulled on his heart. He stepped onto the towel his mother had thrown over the roof and leaned into the window. With a swish of her skirt, firm arms coddling him tight, his mother swept him into their home. Her hand rubbed his hair, held his face against her shoulder.

She laid Brance down in his bed and pulled up the covers. From below, his father muttered with a watered-down rage. Loud explosions raced along the walls; they made Brance cringe.

His mother sighed; rage clouded her gentle face. “Try to sleep my darling, I’ll deal with your father.”

With a kiss and a hug, she was gone.

Brance pulled the covers up higher, the wind pressed through his broken window like an unwelcome guest.

Shouting from below gave voice to the intruder, a ghastly wraith that threatened Brance from every side. He pulled up his blankets, he squeezed his pillow.

And yet, nothing made him feel safe.

****

It rained last night. His carpets were wet, his blanket and pillows damp. Brance shuddered and waited for his mother to come.

He waited… and he waited.

Soon Brance would be late for school.

He swung his legs off his bed; he was about to touch his feet to the floor when he remembered the glass.

The wet carpet released cold air on his toes, it smelled like moss. He retreated and lifted his blanket. A moment of hesitation, for Brance loved his blanket.

But it had never made him feel safe before.

He tossed it over the carpet, and stepped down.

Their home felt icy and unwelcoming; the cold pressed in around him, each step uncertain. Down the stairs he travelled, where he found trash bags full of glass and plastic curtains that covered what were once the windows. He crept to his parents’ room, where he found his mother and father still asleep.

“Mama?” Brance called.

She stirred.

“Mama, it’s time to go to school…”

“Loisa, get up, the boy needs you.” His father pushed on her shoulder.

She sat up and glanced at the clock. “Oh!” She left their bed and lifted Brance. “Sorry, my dear… we’ll have to get ready extra quick today.”

They made it to school a few minutes late; the pledge was already being said. Brance placed a hand over his heart and mouthed along with the speaker: I pledge allegiance… to the flag… of the United States of America…

“Hello…” His mother chirped to the admin office.

And to the republic… for which it stands…

“Please excuse Brance for his tardiness today.”

One nation… under God… Indivisible…

“We had an issue at home last night, I slept in late. It’s my fault.”

With liberty and justice for all…

“Okay, Mrs. Nivont. Just so you’re aware, this is Brance’s third tardy in as many months. Another two and we will have to do a home check.”

Brance’s mother nodded. “I know. Thank you.” She looked back at Brance, her thin eyebrows pressed with worry. “Brance, darling, are you okay to walk to class on your own?”

He nodded.

“Good. Mama’s going to fix the windows at home, okay?” She kissed the top of his head and passed him by.

****

“Brance… are you okay?” The teacher asked.

He looked up with a flinch.

She pursed her lips. “You haven’t picked up your scissors yet, we started the assignment over fifteen minutes ago.”

Brance blinked in fright. He looked around his desk, he lifted his pencil case, he moved his papers. The girl beside him snickered as she watched him struggle.

“You’re blind, they’re right here.” She said with a grin. She wriggled the scissors in front of Brance’s eyes, but his vision became obstructed by a filmy cloud. He rubbed his eyes to clear them, but still found his sight less than what it was before.

The teacher frowned but said nothing to the girl.

Students chortled loudly, laughed and shrieked. Brance covered his ears, he tucked his legs tight to his chest. Here he sat for several long moments until a tap came on his shoulder; he looked up.

“Brance… It's almost time for recess.” His teacher nodded with a pitying expression.

He moved to the window beside the door with the other students.

****

“Idiot.” The boy snarled; Kiko, his name was. And flanked by two friends, whom Brance had never seen before, they had cornered him against the fence.

“I bet your family never taught you that word, did they? Moron.”

Their words hurt Brance's head, an unseen hand forced him tighter against the chain link barrier.

They snickered. "Look at him, so scared he can't speak!" They came closer, leering like wolves after prey; Brance's tongue felt heavier in his mouth.

"It's your fault we didn't get a star today."

"All because he wouldn't listen to teacher!"

Brance covered his head with his hands, his breathing quickened. Escape... He needed an escape, anything would do.

Kiko smiled. "You should just go die."

Head, heart, lungs, they all burned.

Anything.

"And while you're at it...?"

“Fuck you!” Brance shrieked; his eyes met Kiko's.

The boy flew through the air and landed hard on his back; for a few moments he did not move.

Brance stared in shock; the other boys yelped, they screamed, “Freak!” And they ran.

Teachers and students gathered around Kiko, they lifted his head and they glared at Brance.

Brance felt his skin crawl, like worms writhed beneath his flesh. Freak… freak… freak… It bounced in his head, it seared his flesh. He scrubbed his nails along his arms, itching the forming rashes. A harsh hand on his shoulder, he was dragged to the office as a hundred pairs of eyes pierced him with needles and pins.

An admin informed him: "Your mother will be here in twenty minutes to pick you up."

Brance’s heart raced; I’m in trouble… I’m in trouble…

They sat him in a chair, where he curled his knees into his chest and covered his ears; his fingers knotted in his long curly hair.

Five minutes... ten minutes... twelve... sixteen...

His mother stepped in, her hair a mess, sweat running down her temples. She rushed to him. "Brance... are you okay?"

"Mrs. Nivont, in here please." The principal waved her hand.

Brance burst into tears and knotted his hands tighter in his hair.

"Hey darling..." She massaged his temple with her thumbs, resting her hands over his. "No matter what happened, we'll get through it." She kissed the top of his head, and entered the office.

He kicked his feet against the carpet, listening to the protesting shhk from the fibers.

And then, Brance's precious silence was shattered by his mother's screams. “I don’t care how often that word is used or how ‘safe’ you think it is, she used it directionally and I want to see some punishment!”

Brance flinched. He touched his eyes.

“Mrs. Nivont, we are not discussing the other student right now, we are discussing your son's actions, he could've caused serious damage to that boy!"

“And he will be punished for it beyond just a suspension! What about those other four?!”

Brance knotted his fingers in his hair and covered his ears.

****

Midnight was silent again; the clouds they came, stretching and streaking across the blushing sky. Brance watched them. He could feel the house shaking as his parents worked, but embraced the silence herein.

Then… a crack like a bullet fired from a gun shot through the night. Brance sat up, his eyes locked on the sky. The gentle rosy hues darkened, eaten away by a corrupting blood-red. Those purple clouds became even more erratic, flitting and moving like tiny fish running from a predator. As the red ate away at the sky, the clouds turned black, heavy and foreboding. They no longer disappeared but collected in increasing numbers.

“Brance!” A man shouted. “Brance, come here! Come here, now!”

That rope tugged in his chest, pulling him toward the voice. He turned and saw his father, head and arms sticking through the window.

His father looked terrified.

With a quivering jaw, Brance stumbled across the roof.

More loud cracks, like fireworks, like gunfire. Brance screamed, he covered his ears.

“Brance!” His mother screamed.

His father forced himself through the window, flopping on the roof like a fish thrown on land. He snatched Brance in his arms and held his head as he passed Brance through the bathroom window to his mother.

Brance sobbed against his mother’s shoulder.

“Hon, get in here!” His mother reached her hand through the window, which his father took as he crawled back inside. She pulled his father into a close hug; he held Brance and Brance’s mother. “What do we do?” His mother asked. “What do we do?”

His father pushed them back and stared at them. “I will protect you both okay?” He kissed Brance and Brance’s mother on their heads. “No matter what, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Papa…” Brance sobbed. “Why is it so loud?”

His face fell to dismay. “Brance…” His father stroked his hair, his cheeks, his face. “Do you remember the old stories about midnight’s darkness?”

He nodded.

“A single word is what changed the entire world… a word that hadn’t been spoken for hundreds of years, and had accumulated great power in that time.” Brance’s father smiled sadly. “Well… that word had a sister, one that hadn’t been spoken until tonight.”

Brance’s eyes widened.

“It’s been a thousand years since that word was last spoken.” His face tightened. “And we’re not sure what it’ll do.” He held them close. “So you and your mama are going away for awhile… while Papa and his unit fix this.” His arms were so tight around Brance and Mother that it hurt. “I love you.”

He pushed them away. “Loisa. Leave, now.”

She cried. “Viktor…”

“Don’t forget what we agreed, Loisa.” Viktor snapped. “Take the boy and leave.”

He watched his love and his son as they retreated down the stairs, “Papa! Papa!” Little Brance screamed.

Ting! Ting! His radio chimed at his waist. Viktor pulled it up. “Go.”

“Viktor, lightning struck Lake Eyrie! It boiled the whole thing in a moment!”

Viktor stared at the ceiling; his heart raced but he could show no fear.

He was the head of the C.I.A., to show fear meant to show weakness; weakness is as contagious as a disease.

“Sir!” A new voice shouted. “Skeletons! Zombies! Crawling out from the cemetery crypts!”

Viktor closed his eyes. He counted down from ten.

“The oceans, they’re retreating!”

"Could a single word really do this?!"

Nine… Eight…

“I found blood… a lot of it. Is it… coming from the trees?”

Seven… six…

“Evacuation routes to the Western bunkers have been cut off by a slew of acid rain! Yvonne, did you make it to the Eastern bunkers?”

Five… four…

“No, earthquakes have split the ground in that direction, we’re headed west!”

Three… two…

“I just said there's acid rain, you can't come here!”

“We have no choice! The ground is splitting behind us!”

One.

Viktor raised the radio to his mouth.