M a d W o r l d

Christine Duvall was a young girl who saw the world as it truly was--dark, twisted, and cruel. She understood how to look past the façade that was everyday life. How the universe conspired against the human race, how it takes everything and everyone who you have ever loved, how it replaces happiness with an unbearable melancholy, a broken heart that will never heal, and the excruciating pain of the reminder of what once was. 

What seemed like a lifetime ago, she had suffered through not one but two tragedies; the loss of both of her parents on one fateful night.

It was pouring outside when it started; windshield wipers were dragging uselessly across the glass, clearing the water momentarily before more raindrops blocked her mother's sight. Christine was sitting in the second row of the'30s Ford Model A, watching the dark sky with curious eyes. The radio was turned down low to better allow her mother to focus on the road ahead of them. Other than the soft vibrations of instruments and the low murmur of a singer in the background, the car was almost silent. 

Both girls had just received the call from Christine's father. He had been arrested and taken downtown, which was exactly where they were headed.

Every so often little Christine asked what was going on. And her mother, feeling a great amount of pressure told her to be quiet. Which of course only increased the girl's questioning to the point where both were yelling at one another when the black truck came out of nowhere. Skidding on the wet pavement, horns honking, the driver doing everything in their power to slow down, and then the truck hit the left side of the Duvall's car, destroying everything in its wake. 

Christine only remembered the great force on impact sending their vehicle into a spin that mimicked the feeling of twirling around your bedroom so quickly to the point where you fall, only a million times more powerful. It seemed to last forever, then suddenly, as quickly as it started, it stopped, and then nothing. 

Then it was as if the entire world had gone black. She must have lost consciousness momentarily.

When her tired eyelids flickered open, she could feel a pain in her head stretching from the side of her skull, down her cheek, and chin. Her shaking hands lifted to the affected area, to find shards of glass from the window on the right that no longer existed. Christine began to feel the overwhelming sensation of panic come over her and even so, nothing would ever compare to the horror of seeing her mother motionless in the driver's seat. 

Her head was bent at an inhuman angle, bones mangled, reduced to smithereens underneath skin beginning to turn a pale blue. The dark night was perfectly still around them; not a single being could be seen with the naked eye. 

An ominous hollow moon was at its apex and it was then that Christine prayed for life, for her mother. Even a small child such as she could tell what horrible tragedy had taken place in this very car but here was to hoping.

From the next morning on, eight-year-old Christine, broken-hearted, terrified, and completely alone was destined to bounce around from foster home to foster home. She never quite fit in with any of the families she stayed with. What is more, kids who she had previously met through the foster care system and had been taken under wing by the same family taunted and teased her, threatened her about the simplest of things, bullied her into corners where she would later shrink down and cry. At school, she did not have any friends either.

After seven long years of rejection, a lack of love and support, and severe emotional suffering, she did not know where she belonged. It almost seemed as if she would have been better off dead. 

Sometimes she caught herself thinking about that horrible night her mother passed away. She could remember every detail as if it had happened just yesterday. Perhaps, this was because she relived that moment in her dreams over and over each night.

At the age of fourteen, Christine had concluded that she should have been the one to die that night. If she had just done what she was told and kept quiet her mom would still be here. The guilt was what led her to who she was today: the girl whose once lively soul had been reduced to smithereens. The girl who took the mental abuse, went about her lonely life, never going a day without it all becoming too much to the point where she cried alone in the girl's bathroom at school. 

For she was a mere orphan who had no place in this horrific world.

Now, by the time Christine made her way up the steps and through the entrance, her nerves were eating her alive. This would be the first time in a little over half a decade she would see him. All she could do to keep herself from breaking down was to focus her gaze on her worn sneakers. 

Her legs were barely moving forward and yet she still made it to the desk where someone sat typing away on an old computer. The young police officer did not notice her till she managed to speak. "I am here to see my dad, his name is Robert Duvall," Christine said, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.

The young man behind the desk pointed to a sign on the wall to his right. "Visiting hours ended almost a quarter of an hour ago."

Christine felt the lump in her throat form and fresh tears threaten to overflow at any moment. 

"Do you think I can see him still, please? I will be quick, I swear it."

To her luck, the officer gave her a sympathetic look and quickly relented. "Fine, just this once. Ten minutes and that is all, do you understand?" 

Christine nodded rapidly as she shoved her trembling hands into her pockets. The white blonde-haired officer pushed his chair back and came out from behind his desk. "Next time I won't be so lenient," he muttered and led her down the hall. He showed her to a room she had only read about. Overall, it was a small and uninviting space, to say the least, divided into halves by a thick layer of glass separating prisoners from visitors; where they communicated through the telephones. 

Christine pulled out a chair and sat down at one of the tables, waiting anxiously for her father. Goosebumps coated her skin as she rocked her body back and forth on the uneven chair which looked to be almost a few decades old. For some reason, this particular room was kept unbelievably cold and Christine began to unconsciously rub her arms against the bare portions of her arms, wishing she would have worn warmer clothes.

A few minutes later, a bearded man with dark hair and eyes dull with apparent sorrow, lumbered into the room, took one look at her, and his jaw dropped. Suddenly, the haggard, mere skeleton of a man came rushing toward the glass in between them. "Dad?" Christine forgot all about being cold and picked up the telephone just as he did the same.

"Christine, is it you?" Tears spilled down his cheeks while she swallowed hard and tried to keep her knee from bouncing crazily.

"Yes," she squeaked.

"I almost did not recognize you, you have grown so much. But the resemblance to your mother-" Christine's father trailed off, smiling half-heartedly. "Is she with you?"

Christine shook her head and directed her eyes back down to the floor. "I thought you knew. She's gone, dad."

His expression changed once again to that of a panic Christine herself was familiar with. "What, what do you mean gone?"

Christine felt the tears rush from her eyes now and the familiar sinking feeling in her chest. "That night—eight years ago there was a crash. She did not make it," she wiped at her nose and looked back at him.

"Oh my god," her father let the phone clatter to the table. There was ringing from her end and she shrunk away from it, watching as the man in front of her broke down completely. She couldn't hear him but she could see the enormous amount of pain he was feeling. By the time he had contained himself enough to pick up the phone again, Christine could hear the shakiness in his words. "Eight years ago and I am just now learning that my wife's gone. Forgive me, Chris, I had no idea."

"No, I am the one who should be apologizing, I should have come sooner. I am at fault." There was an awkward beat of silence where both father and daughter composed themselves. She had so many questions for him, so many things she wanted to tell him but she finally decided with: "Why are you still in here, dad? If you are innocent as you say, you should have been released ages ago."

"It is a long story for another time."

"Tell me, please. I need to know what happened from your mouth, I cannot spend the rest of my life wondering." 

Christine met her father's gaze waiting hopefully for the answer she knew she deserved.

"Everyone I have ever told will not believe me. It is likely you'll be the same."

"You're my father, of course I believe you. Please just tell me," Christine pleaded with him. 

"Okay. It all starts with your grandfather," he said slowly. Choosing his words very carefully before he continued on. 

"Your mother's father possesses magical powers you can only read about in books. And let's just say the old man does not use them for good. An evil sorcerer who to this day rules the land of the Dark Forest. Your mother has always despised him and all the terrible things he does to stay in power. Before we met, she planned her escape for years. When she finally had, the two of us found each other and fell in love. Almost as quickly as the word spread about our lives here in Crow Valley, with you. But this time neither of us fled. Neither one of us knew what to do once we received word of our own that your grandfather intended to capture both you and your mother in a sacrificial ritual for the sake of acquiring more power. We tried to hide you but the Lord of Magic's armies found us."

Christine, now confused as ever flung her chair back and scrambled to her feet. "You have got to be kidding me. You expect me to believe all that nonsense about magic and some wicked grandfather who doesn't even exist?"

Her father shook his head. "Christine, listen to me, everything I just told you is the truth. I do not know how but thankfully the Lord of Magic has not found you yet."

"What are you saying? There are no such thing as evil sorcerers, Crow Valley, or the Dark Forest!" Christine yelled at him, her eyes narrowing at the man who sat across from her. This man, she decided then and there was a liar. The real mad-man, not the victim he had talked about. "You should be put in a hospital for your delusions."

"I know tis hard to believe but if your grandfather has not already found you by now, he will and soon. You have to believe me, I was there when you were born, I held you, I loved you, and then I lost you. I know I could not have been there for you and that is my biggest regret but I cannot lose you again. I will not. So, that is why it is important you listen to me now when I say you are in danger, Chris."

"You are not the man I remember but even then it is likely you were just the same then only I was too young to realize the severity of your illness."

"Chris—" He began.

"For god's sake do not call me that!" She scowled. "I never should have come here--this was a big mistake," Christine began to back away and suddenly she was running. Outside she was met by a cold gust of air. Christine rushed back down the steps only stopping once she reached the bottom. 

Her hands flew up to clutch her head when she realized that her mother had died for the sake of the criminally insane; her father whose delusions had taken control of his mind and for that, her life had changed forever. He may as well had been the one behind the wheel who ended the life of an innocent that fateful night. 

For all she knew, he was indeed guilty of the crime he had been convicted of and would rot in a cell for the rest of his days...