the Others

The Others by Sophie Milord

My pillow is a pile of soggy moss that lies on the carboard bed that I have constructed underneath a fallen streetlamp. A tarp strung over the post of the collapsed light is both my home and my shop. A sodden newspaper clipping, a handful of stale gummy bears and a cracked mason jar are all that I have to offer for sale today. Every half hour or so a group of robed entities scurries by without notice of my spread. I can’t help but notice their human like qualities and once again I am fooled into excitement. Six years, six months and six days since they’ve been here, haven’t seen but three humans since. Each of the humans I saw referred to these hominid resembling beings as ‘the Others.’ Eyes so blood shot you could barely see their pupils, yet their presence so familiar. If I were not to sleep for a few weeks you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart, so I must be beginning to fit in because I can’t recall the last time I slept through the night. The main defining difference they possess is their skin; lined with microscopic scales and 400˚ Fahrenheit to the touch blisters human skin. Almost a year ago is when the feud began to dwindle. After torching millions of homes with sleeping children, including my most magnificent Audrey, they seemed to find boredom in their destruction and no longer pay us any mind. Audrey used to love our small-town fair; her favorite event being the ring toss. All of the lights and sirens went off in the tent as she through the winning ring and won a cheap silver painted locket. She didn’t take the damn thing off for months. The locket now lives in my shoe along with my other priceless possessions.

The festivities sounded off with the crash of a drum and ‘the Others’ began to file in. A few of them stopped to look at the mason jar I was selling, unfortunately no offers but one of them was so kind to add another crack to the jar. The drums roared throughout the city causing my body to vibrate violently. Humming also began to emerge from ‘the Others’ as music swelled. I began to hum with the crowed as this song was played quarterly on the big holidays. I felt a cool tap on the shoulder which had become an unfamiliar feeling. “The rain is about to come, watch” he said hushed. To my disbelief he was correct, the skies darkened, and the water came rushing down sending ‘the Others’ scrambling as they did not do well in the rain. When I turned my head, the small boy had gone. The raindrops bounced on the drums creating an even more vibrant sound. Through the symphony I heard Audrey’s name being called a hundred times over by that same voice who had just whispered in my ear. Calling her as if she had gone for a morning stroll and not returned. Though it was not her who emerged but rather another small boy. I had not seen a child in years, let alone two, and never a boy with the name Audrey. Shaking my foot, I noticed my shoe felt loose, the locket was gone. My tarp was packed up and strapped to my backpack faster than a blink of an eye. The boys had taken my daughters necklace and were playing a round of hacky sack with it. Most of the paint had chipped off so I could see the rust spots reflecting in the pools of water all around. When I was about to lunge out from behind the corner to grab my jewelry back a clear voice rang through the air. I covered my mouth. “Boys get inside!” Although my mouth was shut it was my voice, unmistakably my voice. I peered around the corner, and my Audrey appeared from out of a small manhole cover, rushing her boys in. She would be not yet sixteen, who’s boys were these?