Requiem for an Aberrant Chapter 1: Chapter 1- Past and Present

Read chapter 1 of Requiem for an Aberrant by TheJestersGambit on NovelPedia.

His hands were cold. Not from the wind or the tide brushing against his ankles, no. That had already numbed. This cold started in his fingertips and crawled up his arms like rot beneath the skin. He didn’t remember when the tears started. By the time his eyes blurred, the world had already reduced to a single figure; his little brother’s neck, stuttering in and out of life under his hands. The younger boy’s tiny fingers clawed at his neck, nails tearing deep lines of crimson along his skin. Beneath the silver-violet glow of the moon, they looked like ghosts, two broken ten-year-olds wrestling beneath the gaze of stars that had long been emptied of will. Yet it wasn’t the moon or the stars that haunted him. It was his brother’s eyes. The younger boy, if only by seconds, squirmed beneath him, legs kicking against the wet sand, thrashing like he still had some hope of being saved. Somewhere, deep inside him, the words formed. ‘ Do I have the right to cry? ’ He tilted his head back, the pain in his neck searing as blood mixed with salt, tears dripping from his jaw to his younger brother’s cheek below. Each splash marked a borrowed breath. ‘ At the dawn of all things, when the stars were not yet named, She dreamed. And from her dream, we came. ’ He had heard it many times before, in whispers. Lullabies for the damned. A truth for all. ' At the dawn—' His brother coughed beneath him, or tried to. The sound that came out was something between a wet gasp and a plea swallowed by sand, and an ugly sound broke from his own chest. He was laughing. He was laughing and his brother was dying and he couldn’t stop— The younger boy’s mouth opened again, his eyes widening. They were no longer furious. Just scared. Just begging. He was trying to say something. But no sound came, leaving him with no choice but to stare at his laughing older brother like maybe, just maybe, there was still a version of this story where he would be saved. Just one breath left. One word. If the boy could just say anything. Something… But he couldn’t. And the older brother, still straddling the resisting body beneath him, kept his eyes on the night sky, avoiding the look of pain on the face he used to know. Through the pain, the blood, the salt, and trembling hands, one thought bloomed in the silence. ‘ I couldn’t save him. ’ There it was. Just the truth. Even as his hands continued to tighten, he had one final lament whilst a shooting star sped across the sky. ‘ If someone, anybody, could save me… then why haven’t they come? ’ And for the first time since it all began, he didn’t know why his hands were still there. In twenty-four hours, Cole would descend into the Abyss. Eight years had passed since that beach. He often wondered whether memories were humanity's cruellest form of immortality. The details died first. Then the voice. Then the face. Yet the longing remained, refusing to follow the rest into the grave. He shut the door behind him and entered the kitchen. Tonight, however, he was expecting company. The kettle found its place on the stove almost from memory. He set it over the flame before reaching into a cupboard for two cups, placing them both on the table. Cole glanced at the clock. It was too early for the man to arrive. So, he could sit and wait. Or... His eyes landed on the empty space in the centre of the room. A sigh escaped his lips. "One attempt." He pulled a chair aside and lowered himself onto the cold floor. "Just one." The pull of his pocket dimension stirred deep in his chest. "Come on..." he muttered. "You were nearly there last time... focus..." He stared at his hand, the skin trembling under the dim light, each finger casting its own subtle shadow. He tried to imagine it slipping out of sync with the world, willing it to lose its solidity and become transparent as it was lost into a different space tied to his past. But at first, there was nothing. His hand remained stubbornly physical. Then, a prickling sensation spread up his arm as if ic