Bloody Are The Hands That Hold On

Warning: This story contains verbal abuse and themes of mental health.

Young, quiet, and innocent, just like the flame resting in her palms. It seemed as harmless as her. The bearer of the flame crouched to look further into the center of the fire. It burned a cold blue, and it smelt of sulfur. They told the girl she could not peel her eyes away from the light, or she and the world would disappear. Her mousy brown eyes pierced the flame hour after hour. Her eyes grew weary, but one moment of rest meant the end.

"GO."

A voice similar to the ones before commanded her to walk. They were the ones who answered the questions boiling in her mind. She stood up and began to walk. With every slow step, the ground pierced the soles of her bare feet with thorns and sharp rocks. If she ever wanted rest, she had to carry the fire to the end. 

She liked the fire. It had become a comfort to her. The more she walked, the more the flame grew. The stink of the light had become a fragrance to her nose. While staring at it, she could avoid awareness of the looming darkness around the two—the darkness that had no boundaries, the darkness that would hide creatures. As long as she stared at the fire, there was hope. They said they would always be there for her, yet they only crawled out of their caves to berate her.

"HURRY UP."

She sped up, only to feel the bite of the thorns pierce deeper into the wrinkles of her small feet. If she focused on the fire, she could ignore the pain. She felt useless, thinking that she ought to be running. She scolded herself in the same manner as the voices did for not increasing speed, but no matter what curses she threw at herself, imagining her legs covered with scars scared her.

She waited longer, eyes intent on keeping the fire alive. Her legs ached from jogging for what seemed like an eternity. No matter how far she went, the end they spoke of never appeared. Beneath the two companions, the ground cracked and groaned, opening up to engulf the girl and her fire. Even as she fell, death about to break her skull in two, she stared at the flickering flame. She met the ground with a loud crack. One of her arms broke, saving the rest of her body from the landing. Searing pain engulfed her left side, and through her tears and screams, she stared at the flame.

"YOU IDIOT."

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU."

"WE SHOULD'VE CHOSEN SOMEONE ELSE."

"YOU ARE WORTHLESS."

She choked on the saltwater pouring from her eyes. Hyperventilating, she whimpered back to the voices,

"I'm trying; I'm trying to keep the light alive."

"WELL YOUR FAILING."

"I WISH THAT FALL KILLED YOU."

"STOP WHINING AND KEEP WALKING."

She had no other choice but to stand up and continue to walk. Her body only allowed her to limp, causing more disappointment from the voices. Brambles and branches accompanied the darkness that surrounded the two. As she walked, the unfamiliar thistles scratched and bit at her skin, leaving behind gifts wrapped in red for each petal. She came into a clearing where shadows surrounded her. Was this it? Was this the end she was seeking?

"WHY DID YOU STOP."

"YOU ARE NOT EVEN CLOSE."

"YOU'RE DISGUSTING."

"SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!" the little girl snapped and shrieked. She had run out of water to cry. All she could do was scream. 

"DID YOU HERE THAT?

"SHE THINKS SHE CAN TALK TO US LIKE THAT!"

"YOU'RE DEAD TO US!"

"MEANINGLESS"

"WORTHLESS!"

"LITTLE BRAT!"

"DIE!"

"NO ONE LOVES YOU!"

When all that surrounded her were screams and shouts, the voices stopped, and no dark shadows were left. In front of the weeping child, a figure emerged from the darkness. He held a lantern in his hand, and unlike her, his eyes weren't fixated on his light.

"I was wondering if I wouldn't make it, but it seems I'm right on time." The voice was gentle but firm. A voice that was not familiar to her. He knelt next to her,

"It's ok; you don't have to look at the fire anymore."

"YES, I DO," she yelled back. She hadn't ever heard such a gentle voice before and was angry that she couldn't replicate it back to him,

"IF I LOOK AWAY, I'LL DIE."

The man reached out to hold the bottom of her palms,

"You will not die. And you are not capable of making others die without striking their heads first. You can't kill another without intent."

"BUT—"

"How many hairs are on your head? How many threads are in your dress? Only one who knows the answers to those questions can destroy this world."

She sniffed and stared intently at the flame.

"You don't have to carry the weight anymore; you can let it go."

She blinked and slowly lifted her eyes to the face of the man. He had wrinkles and happy eyes. His beard curled around his lips as his smile grew brighter. He instructed her again,

"Now look around you; what do you see."

At first, she could only see the darkness, but as she gazed at her surroundings, shapes came into view. She saw the turquoise leaves, painted by the morning dew, shimmer on the branches like gemstones. The branches that once bore weeds of malice sprouted purple fruit hanging from creeping vines. The gray rocks and thorns at her feet were now soft blue tourmaline that was gentle to the touch. As she stared at the circle around her, paths emerged in the darkness, all going in different directions.

Surprised, she looked back at the fire, her comfort that would protect her from the scariness of the unknown. The man stood and spoke. 

"That fire will not burn out. You don't have to depend on it anymore." She looked up at him. She wanted to stand as well. As she lifted herself, she stumbled over from the thorns stuck in her feet. She thought those too would disappear like the shadows that tormented her. She tried to talk the same way the man spoke,

"HOw do I WALK like youu if the thorns hurt my fEEt." 

The man knelt once again and spoke with the same soft voice as before, 

"Some thorns are easy to remove, but others will take time. But I promise you they will be rid of."

"When?"

"That I cannot say. Know this: even if healing the scars takes a hundred or a thousand years, you do not carry the burden."

"Where do I go from here?"

"It can be hard when you first look up from the light. Sometimes you want to go back to it," the old man said with a chuckle, "that's why I kept mine in this glass case," he gestured to his lantern.

"However, the light, while real, cannot be your guidance. You must look away from it to find the path."

She looked at her fire and then back at the man,

"But how—"

The man once there had disappeared. She no longer had to look at the fire or even protect it. 

She stood up and walked.