Under Sundered Skies

Sloane's mind turned clear from the adrenaline rush, her eyes were as sharp as they could be, her gaze was fixated on the door, fingers on the trigger, ready to fire her gun at a moment's notice.

Did she just kill someone?

No- not someone. That wasn't a person. Definitely.

Why? Why was it her house which had been broken into instead of someone else's? Why is it that out of everyone who could have been robbed during a storm, it was her?

... And why couldn't have they waited?

Sloane heard a creak and she snapped back to reality, she glared at the door with a steady gaze.

She was vigilant, her fingers tense and following the whims of her eyesight while her ears killed all sound, the only thing that pierced through her focus was thunder.

Sloane hated every second of this.

She tried to see through the gap in the door, attempted to see beyond the darkness, her eyes narrowed to slits as she focused-

"Ah!" Sloane screamed and fired the revolver out of reflex, a thunderous shot broke past her deafness and screeched into her ear.

Her eyes caught the shadow again-

Sloane pointed her gun towards the walls and shakily scanned the peach surface for anything dark- th- the shadow had eyes- she saw it- white and sharp- was- was she hallucinating?

Sloane's breathing overtook her hearing and she started to panic, her vision turned tunnel and if it weren't for her alertness being directed at the door, she wouldn't have noticed it begin to creak open.

She pointed the gun at the door and whatever was behind it scurried away.

The creature's thumping footsteps as it disappeared into the hallway was strong and audible.

It couldn't have been human. Distorted as her gaze of them may be thanks to past experiences, Sloane knew what "human" looked like.

Humans don't have bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils. And they certainly didn't have fingers as gaunt and long like the ones holding the edges of the door.

Slowly, Sloane made her way to the door, the end of the gun never leaving the crack's general direction. She hastily slammed the door when she was able to and pressed the lock of the doorknob.

She heaved a sigh of relief. Glad that she didn't fall asleep moments prior. Otherwise she would have been ambushed by that- that thing-

The fact that she grabbed her gun-

Sloane's relief suddenly turned to sadness and she looked at her room, the creeping depression was not something she was unfamiliar with, but she knew she wasn't bipolar nor was she impulsive. When she wakes up sad, it stays that way for the rest of the day.

Most of the time, it was just dull emptiness that forced her to ignore the pain and keep droning on with her life but this...

She's always considered her room a safe haven, the clutter a sign of rebellion, and the ruined bedsheet as something to remind her that she had a safe space to go back to. She's gone and attached herself to this room. Crying at the same spot a few times a week does that to someone.

So why is it that she feels like shit for holing herself up in here? Guilt at the sight of the clutter? And hopelessness whenever she's reminded of all the times she's fallen asleep crying on top of her bed?

Sloane closed her eyes, it was the shadow. There was something there. Definitely- this was too alien- too strange-

She fired another shot before she knew it. It was borne out of anger and frustration for messing with her mind, directed at the spot where she last saw the thing she wrongfully assumed was a hallucination.

Thunder rolled, no lightning came. The shadow creature blended in with the darkness.

Sloane kept her eyes at the bullet hole while she inched away from the door and towards the cabinet.

Sloane closed the curtains, fearing that the shadow would be somewhere else when another flash of lightning came from outside. She didn't want to be caught off guard.

Sloane opened a drawer and took out a flashlight, she pointed it at the wall and turned it on. Nothing. Her eyes went all over her room, the light of the flashlight following her gaze.

Her shaking hand showed just how scared she was of this unknown creature, of how affected she was of the sudden weirdness. Sloane didn't know what was going on or why she was suddenly experiencing this.

All she knew is that her home was being invaded by monsters, and that helped give her a goal, it allowed her to take action, even if slow and strained.

After the walls, she scanned the ceiling, finding nothing but an empty surface illuminated by the flashlight. Then she pointed it at the floor and there! A dark puddle.

She approached the black spot with her gun pointed at it.

Sloane tapped her foot against its shadowy form and it shifted slightly.

What is this..?

Two white eyes stared at her- Sloane pulled the trigger-

The dark puddle writhed, forming tentacles that reached out in all directions before suddenly tugging them back and staying still. Sloane fired another shot at it to make sure it wasn't up to anything funny when she looks away.

When the she confirmed that the shadow had actually stopped moving, Sloane's adrenaline began to die down and as heat left her neck and ragged breaths stopped passing her lips, she realized something vital to her situation.

She only had two bullets left. Fuck.

Panicking, Sloane rushed to her cabinet and opened all three of its drawers and saw nothing but sheets of paper, the box cutter she used to cut her wrists, empty bottles of pills, and empty markers.

If she needed bullets, she's going to have to go to her parent's room and grab them there. Sloane trashed that idea way before it could come to fruition.

She didn't want to go there and be reminded of what happened.

Sloane violently slammed the drawers back in place. Her eyes stung.

Energy left Sloane's body, she leaned against the cabinet and slowly slid down to the floor, she bit her lip. What was she going to do now?

She still had two bullets left. What other answer could there be?

Sloane pressed the barrel of the gun against her head and firmly placed her index finger on its trigger. Now. Then.

She didn't have anything left and now she had confirmation that the afterlife exists. If it didn't, then maybe she could get reincarnated in a better body than this. In a better time and life.

Sloane's eyelids tensed as her fingers slowly pulled the trigger-

Her life flashed before her eyes.

"Ah-" she couldn't talk, couldn't communicate- her head hurt... blood- her hands were red-

"Fuck off! I don't have anything!" She was pushed away and was broken out of her stupor. Wha- she needed help! Her parents needed help!

Why didn't they care-

"We're sorry miss, but they've-"

Sloane's vision went narrow and she couldn't see anything beyond the face of the woman, the edges of her line of sight turned blurry- sounds began to die- did she lose her hearing aids?

How- how could this happen?

"This is all they have-"

"Ah-" Sloane stopped her distressed reply and tried to communicate with her hands, they moved in tandem with her thoughts, perfectly synchronous from years of communicating using only sign language.

"I'm sorry but I don't understand-"

Sloane stopped signing and turned to her "handler" with a hurtful gaze. What? Why- did the government not care enough to give her someone who can communicate to her? What were they doing?!

"I'm only here to tell you about your parent's insurance and how much they have left you, I'm sure your new handler would-"

What?..

They all seemed so happy. Everyone in this neighborhood seemed so happy.

Sloane closed the window and pressed her pillow against her face. She began weeping. How could they just forget about her parents? How could they just move on like this?

Sloane wanted to give up.

No one cared- it was all a formality until they were free of responsibility and then they'd act as though nothing happened-

Sloane opened her eyes and threw the gun away in panic.

They wouldn't care, would they?

They'd find her rotting here, smell the rot before they would even notice anything strange. Then they'd laugh at the state of her decrepit flesh like they always have- it would be worse than their normal laughs-

Sloane grit her teeth and grabbed her flashlight. She stomped towards the last spot she saw the shadowy puddle. It was still there.

"Ah-" an incoherent cry left her lips as Sloane stomped on the floor, striking away at the dark spot.

"A-ah-" again-

Over and over, Sloane took out her frustration at the shadowy spot until her tears ran out and her throat ran dry.

Sloane collapsed to her knees while holding her face, she began weeping. Hiccups cut her cries.

Then she stopped. Got up. And walked away. Hopeless.

Tired and frustrated from everything that happened, Sloane went to her bed while clutching her flashlight and fell asleep.