Joan

They said Joan of Arc was a witch, so she burned at the stake. But those were just rumors the English created, and not twenty years later, Jeanne d’Arc was posthumously absolved of all charges. She died a martyr, a hero for all of France to remember. 

The same could not be said about Joan DuBois.

******

Joan lay on a damp patch of mossy grass, incredibly focused on her breathing, sure that her last breath was bound to come in a matter of seconds. She was bleeding out in many different areas, the most obvious one on the side of her torso. She watched the blood slowly trickle out, soaking the cloth that covered the wound, and onto the grass. There was nothing she could do to stop it, not unless there was someone in a hundred-foot radius that could hear her weak cries for help, and could do her the gods-graced favor of administering first-aid. But there wasn’t.

So she lay there on a patch of grass, that she now realized was only grass mushed by her blood, in the middle of an eerily quiet forest, as the twilight sky shifted towards darkness, and contemplated ending it right then and there.

As if the universe had heard her unspoken thoughts, Joan felt a sudden twitch in her torso, right in the center of the gash that had been pierced by a tree branch. The twitch seemed to travel along her body, making each and every open wound increasingly apparent.

Moments ago, she had thought one could go through no greater physical pain than she was in that very moment, but there were always records to break and Joan found herself crying out hysterically. Her screams could have been heard around the world with how still everything was in the dead of night.

The pain became so unbearable, that Joan found herself slipping away. Her eyes fluttered shut and just when she was about to lose her grasp on her lifeline, a small light began to shine.

The light was a soft-yellow that glowed in the hazy night, like a lantern, just to Joan’s side, on the forest bed. It was warm and beautiful, and it felt like a dream. In a hushed world where there was no longer her mother by her side, it was a small comfort Joan could lean into.

With all her strength, Joan opened her eyes a little wider, and with that, the world got a little clearer. And she saw that the light was not coming from beside her, but was coming from within her. Her hand, still placed on the wound on her torso, was glowing yellow. It was no longer warm, but blistering cold. 

“Help!” Joan shouted out in agony. Yet no noise escaped. The light inside Joan was aggressive and had choked the breath out of her. It was no longer a dream, but a curse. 

A curse that had revealed itself, hurting the ones she loved, and now they were all gone. And it was still hungry. She knew that if she let it, it would devour her whole, leaving nothing behind. But the thing that confused her was that it also helped. Because as much as it desired to suppress and kill, it kept her alive. Like it was doing right now.

The light once again turned warm in Joan’s hand and the wound magically closed in a matter of seconds. She inspected the skin where the wound had closed, studying the area with her sight and touch. The skin looked as good as new as if nothing had ever happened. Joan moved her hand to the next one she identified and hovered over the injury. Moving quickly from one to another, her body had reverted back to the way it had been only hours ago.

At last, Joan rested her head and fell asleep.

-

A single drop of rain woke Joan up to an overcast day. Behind the clouds, the sun sat in the center of the sky. 

When she turned onto her side, Joan saw a woman sleeping on a cot, not five feet away. She turned onto her other side and saw two empty cots with ruffled blankets on top of each. She looked down and saw that she was covered with a thin blanket, and on a cot, as well. Joan lifted the sheets and saw she was wearing white cotton clothes. She wondered how unconscious she’d been to not be aware that she’d been changed. Joan was also wrapped in bandages all over. Those, she stripped off.

Close by, she heard whispered voices.

“ ...university I work at was destroyed. I look out my window and see the building’s in front, all rubble. The one next door is on fire, quickly spreading toward mine. I barely got out with my life!”

“You hear what caused it?”

“Asteroids, war, a sunburst. Who knows? It’s the end of the world.”

Slowly, Joan regulated her heartbeat and inclined her head to survey her surroundings. 

The dirt grounds were endless and barren, except for a couple of groups of towering tents to the left. The cots went on and on in neat rows, and other than the two people twenty-feet away, sitting by a campfire, she could see no others nearby. 

Joan remembered what she had to do. She had promised herself that she would distance herself from others, just after everything had begun. That's why she'd been in the forest in the first place, but someone had brought her back out.

So she silently slid out of the bed and sprinted toward a tent for cover. Joan pressed her ear against the tent, which was made of some type of thick material. Though Joan was able to identify only twelve distinct voices, she guessed there were at least a dozen more with how large the tent space was. She walked towards the farthest tent and moved along its edge to find any sight of a nearby forest, but before she could circle halfway around the last tent, someone exited the flap just a few steps behind her.

“Aren’t you-”

Joan didn’t get to hear the rest of what the person said. She began to run before they could finish and, with the sheer speed and desperation she was experiencing, all she could hear was the wind in her ears and her heartbeat pounding somewhere in the distance. But apparently, her legs weren’t fast enough to carry her away because a boy caught up to her the moment she lagged, and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back. She tried to get out of the boy’s grasp, but couldn’t.

“I don’t want to be here. Just let me go,” Joan said.

“Are you crazy?” he looked at her as if she were insane.

She shook her head, and once more tried to get away, but the boy was stronger than she was.

The boy waited until Joan settled, then loosened his grip, and said, ”Listen, you’re hurt. You can’t run away. You’ll die.”

“What... no. I’m fine,” she said, and got up and ran.

It wasn’t until she got to the forest outskirts that she felt something pinch her in the neck. She felt the spot and took out what felt like a needle. A sleeping dart, she realized and slipped into unconsciousness.

-

Later in the day, Joan woke up inside a tent. Lit only by a single candle, the interior was covered in shadows. There were only two beds inside, including the one she now laid on. The rest of the space was taken up by a table piled with medical supplies, to her right. Again, she was bandaged. Joan worried she had gone insane. Or that the people around her had.

This time, Joan kept on every bandage and left the bed. She walked towards the tent’s flap and looked out to see dozens and dozens of people gathered around the campfire. She stopped and stood at the edge of the circle of people, still far from anyone’s reach. And she observed.

She had no idea who any of these people were. If she was still in France. If she was actually dead. All she knew was that she was scared.

“Hello.”

Joan looked toward the speaker. It was the boy who had chased her, and, she guessed, was also the one who shot her.

He continued, “Sorry I shot you... You were asleep for a couple of days and have major wounds. I don’t think it’s safe for you to be on your own.”

“I’m not wounded,” Joan stated. 

“Are you okay?” The guy definitely thought Joan was crazy. His eyes were getting wider and everything.

Maybe she would play along. “Of course! I just don’t feel hurt. Days of rest, you know. My wounds are sealed, right?” Joan smiled, and the boy’s expression was put at ease.

“Do you want the bandages off? My mom’s the doctor, she can check them tomorrow,” the boy offered.

“Sure.” She nodded, even though she knew there wouldn't be a tomorrow.

-

After doing nothing but sleep for days, Joan had been incredibly hungry and had eaten multiple servings of dinner by the center of the campfire. She had not been able to keep to herself: a couple of people had recognized that she was ‘coma girl’ and asked if she was now okay. 

And the boy had sat with Joan for a long time telling her all about what had happened. He had been the one who had found her while out on a walk with his dog, only a mile out from camp. Apparently, she’d lost an extremely large amount of blood and had been deathly pale. But had managed to make a miraculous recovery, and it was amazing that she was able to stand only days after, his mother said.

Hours later it was pitch dark and the sounds of crickets chirping had long ago started. Joan was now settled in her cot on the edge of the camp. Her eyes were closed but she wasn’t sleeping. She was waiting for everyone to be asleep before she escaped. Even past midnight, people were having whispered conversations. Some small children were even running around playing.

Thirty minutes later, everyone was asleep, or out-of-sight, and Joan slid out of her cot for the final time. Calmly, she walked toward the forest, always looking behind her, and when she reached the shelter of the forest, she began to run like her life depended on it. But the light inside herself resurfaced and the area around her was lit up. There was a spotlight on her, and anyone would be able to see the spot from miles away.

With all her strength, she ran faster, but it became increasingly difficult by the second. Not because of the force and energy she had to exert to keep a constant pace, but because of the force, the light, within her, that felt like it was fighting against her own will. Like it wanted her to return to the camp. Something was keeping her attached to the camp, and she could not escape it.

Joan broke down. She could not go any further, so she would stay in one place. But it only worked for so long, because the force wanted to go back and she could no longer stop it. Against her will, Joan got to her feet and walked back. The walk took over an hour and tears continued to run down her face, throughout.

Once near the forest edge, Joan noticed that the light had not disappeared. Quickly, she hid behind a group of trees that would cover her from the camp and tried to suppress the light. It wouldn’t go. She worried that someone was awake and would see the light. If they came closer... What would they think? What would they see? What would they do? 

The force grew impatient and pushed Joan closer to the camp center. She refused to go further, planting her feet on the ground. The force would not let up. And with the light growing in power, she could do nothing but watch as her body betrayed her.

Joan walked toward the group of tents where she, and the force, knew that the leaders slept. Before she could reach one tent, someone stepped out of the largest one. It was a tall middle-aged man, who Joan recognized from earlier that night when he introduced himself as the head of the camp.

The force stopped, but the light did not diminish. 

“Help,” Joan whispered. She took a step forward, but the Head took a step back.

“Please help,” she cried out. Her throat was sore from all the crying she had done, but she continued speaking. “I can’t... I can’t control this. This-this isn’t me. Please.” 

Joan wanted to fall down and die, but the force would not let her. It had control over her body and soon would have her voice. And mind.

She did not know what the Head was seeing as the force seemed to warp reality, but he went back into his tent. And when he came out, he held a gun, with his finger on the trigger. 

“Please,” she spoke. But this time it came out as a scream. And when she tried again, no noise came out.

Joan took another step forward. This time, the Head pulled the trigger. The bullet flew, but it didn’t hit Joan. It was deflected with her hand, leaving no one hurt but the Head. Dead on the floor, the bullet had gone straight for his heart.

With the sound of the gun going off, people began to wake up, their eyes going straight to the bright light surrounding Joan, that was Joan. Joan was the light; she was the force. They were one.

So even when the people of the camp began to realize what had happened, and they began to try and return the fate that was bestowed upon their beloved Head, they could do nothing. Because every bullet they shot, every arrow they released, could not touch Joan. She was untouchable. Her force had made her untouchable. And by daybreak, no one in camp was left breathing. 

When Joan walked away from the camp, and back into the forest, the only sounds that could be heard during sunrise was the crackling of wildfires.

******

The thing was, unlike Joan of Arc, this Joan could not be touched. After all, she did bring upon the world’s destruction. 

She was no martyr; she was the bringer of death and all there would be left in her wake, would be ashes. She was no hero; she was a villain. The last villain the world would ever know. She was no saint; she was hell on earth.

And she was hungry for death.