Saturday's Storyteller: "The others saw what she couldn't..."

by Belinda Roddie

The others saw what she couldn't, and when the shadows converged, they grabbed her by the arm and dragged her somewhere safer. She could certainly hear the clicking of teeth, like metal on metal, and the growls and puffs of warm air around her. But she could not see the threat. They could, and they protected her because of it.

The white cane she gripped in whitened fingers had merely become an extra appendage now - an extension of desperation into a world she had no real perception of. Besides, the poor thing was bent out of shape now - contorted, cracked and hardly reliable. She had received the cane four years prior, before the Madness had begun. Now, it was as if she carried it on her out of pity, rather than out of actual use.

Not that it mattered. Her other senses had sharpened, though not by too much. She could smell the stale deodorant that others used - the tart store bought kind, kept in boxes in the basement of the cabin where they all stayed. The attempted odor of flowers and forests had become nothing but chemical and sterile in the past few months, yet it was her way of knowing where everyone was - and where everyone was planning to go.

After the "Night Of Gnashing Teeth," as they decided to call it, Taryn was never left alone. Her comrades kept her close at all times, so close that she could feel the heat of Sienna's breath around her face and neck. She could not complain; Sienna had been her lover for two years, and sometimes, in the neverending fog of her nonexistent vision, the weight of her body and the warmth of her lips was all that kept Taryn sane. She was the only one who knew of Taryn's story of how she had lost her sight - yes, four years ago, before the Madness had begun.

Every now and again, she could hear it. The clicking of incisors. The heavy panting of the beasts beyond the windows. The walls were too sturdy to be torn down, but their presence was always noticeable. Taryn tried to melt into the mattress. She remembered Sienna's hand and held it tightly as if it were the only thing keeping her alive.

Those fingers, no matter how alive her betrothed was, were always cold.

***

Taryn awoke one morning to a cold breeze, as if a window had been cracked open. Winter had been growing longer and longer these days. Had it not been a mere handful of years ago that everyone was worried about the planet overheating? Well, it didn't matter now. She rolled out of bed and found her cane, letting its scraped nose trail the borders of the walls as she willed herself out into the hallway and toward the kitchen.

The stark smell of old bacon and rubbery eggs signaled to her that Ethan, the second to Sienna, was making breakfast. Sienna had already woken up a few hours before; Taryn knew this because her kiss still lingered on her dry lips. Taryn found the worn, round table in the dining room and sat down, listening to the humming of large insects outside collecting mouthfuls of morning dew.

"No monsters?" she asked aloud, pushing back a strand of hair that she hoped was still black. She heard Ethan chuckle, then his footsteps grow louder.

"Not today," he said with confidence, and Taryn could see his smile without it actually penetrating the unyielding white shield. "Not again."

This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.