you should be h̲e̲r̲e̲ { frankel } blitz

The sheets suffocate me in this restless night, sheets hand sewn in the factory. Maybe the cold is keeping me awake or maybe it is the material. A material so finely crafted, a handy work that anyone could be proud of. But it is just bed covers. There is nothing special about bed covers. Even if they were manufactured in the great Rasoio factory; made with warmth and the love of a family, with an added pinch of criminal activity and the likely trace of someone’s blood.

Shadows are motionless in my room, not a thing is keeping me entertained in this dead chamber, not even a single owl can be heard near the window practicing its usual poems. Everything is too still and it has been like this since he died. The days are different, even the nights. A new atmosphere lingers in the air, something foreign…something frightening. Even father acts differently, it is like he has become more empowered. But here I am, the same, just adapting to all the changes. I mourned the loss of a brother, and in time the grief has slowly fluttered away with the breeze. He remains in my thoughts but I no longer shed a tear.

Any will that is left inside of me to go to sleep distinguishes as I throw the sheets across the room. Landing my naked feet onto the glacial floorboards, I head out; hoping nobody else is fighting a restless night. An orchestra of snoring can be heard down the corridor, likely my older brother and male cousins competing with my father for the loudest snore; like with everything else, nobody has claimed that prize from him.

It is hard to fight the creaking floorboards as I creep into the downstairs study, the sound likely announced my presence as I am greeted by a familiar voice. ”Yeah, I can’t get to sleep.” I tell my sister as my eyes quickly grow with curiosity. ”What are you reading?”

Some say when a close one dies; they leave a void inside of you. Jenoah did but it has been filled with something. I don’t know what it is, some foreign energy. It is not grief or loss, rather chaos. I have noticed it, the silent war within the family and those that work for us. They are all trying to find someone to blame but are too frightened that my father will hear their thoughts drop from their mouths. If only someone spoke up. If only someone would finally speak their mind and allow the battle the charge forwards.

Everyone one of us has some beliefs and I know that my father is scared that they will cause the business to topple. Maybe it is time for that to happen.

I haven’t figured it out yet though, who is on which side. There is probably a well-balanced divide; otherwise I would not have noticed it. Jenoah’s death has really brought all the secrets out of the woodwork.

I move closer to Laurel as she speaks, my vision set on the leather book in her hands. Ripred’s words as she calls it, a fantasy novel. That is what has caused it, the sudden upheaval in the family, Ripred. A false tale, capable of destroying a family?

I kneel down on the floor besides Laurel’s chair, my knees planted on the carpet. ”Between you and me, I haven’t believed in that for a long time. I don’t understand how anyone can.” And so the angel’s wings are clipped and the real identity is revealed.

Supposedly the world was created by Ripred. I have heard the tale and I have heard tales of other gods creating it too. What is the truth? Death, pain, destruction, would a true god allow such things in its own land? I understand why people believe in it, it gives them a sense of hope. Hope that their prayers will be answered, their prayers of health and fortune. Has anyone ever had answers?

Father taught me to prayer as soon as I was able to speak. When I was unable to hear the answers, he told me to listen harder, I did and still nothing.

Nobody is listening. Nobody listened to my pleas to bring Jenoah home. His performance gave me hope that the tales were true, that the secret prayers were being answered and that it was I who was wrong. But I was right and unfortunately so.

"I'm glad you've got some sense." I am sure father would say the opposite, at least somebody under this roof understands me. My frown mirrors Laurel’s as she speaks, her words painful to the ears but they’re the truth.

"Ripred can't be real, Ripred wouldn't take Jenoah from us. I know it, Daniela."

Maybe the Rasoios are out of luck. We are all doomed if that is the truth.

”I wonder where he has gone now though.” I curl my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as I try to contain the warmth. ”I wonder what happens to him, now that he dead.”

I don’t know why I asked. Maybe I am just so naïve. It’s just darkness after death, like when I go to sleep. But there are dreams in sleep? Surely our brain can’t switch off like that. "There is no him. He's dead, he's buried, the body will rot." A shudder creeps over me as the image of his body eroding into the earth projects itself in my mind. Yes the body may rot but something must happen to the mind. It may not be a god that we go too, but there must be something.

There aren't any places for him to go."

Maybe he is still here, a paranormal figure watching over the house. Maybe he is the sudden warmth that takes over my room in the cold nights. Maybe he is the one who makes the floorboards creek at night. Him and mother, wandering the halls together now, protecting us from the dangers of the darkness.

"Heaven and hell add insult to injury."

Those places, hell for the sinners, heaven for those who do good. I am sure if either exists, hell will be the overrun one. And it’d likely be the next destination for this family.

I release my arms from my knees as I pull up my body, my knees still supporting me on the floor as I kneel up on them. I turn my head directly to Laurel, grabbing a better view of my older sister.”Yes our bodies must rot but something must happen to our mind, our thoughts surely can’t just vanish like that?”

I am fifteen years old, yet I have the burden of death lingering over me; these are the kind of questions I need answering.

Truth bites at my heels, it always has and it won’t stop biting until it gets a good hold. An innocent child. Father’s name for me, just because I am the youngest of his legitimate pack. Laurel is just a year older than me, yet it seems like we are a decade apart with the wisdom that has been shared to us.

I am the Rasoio baby. That concept needs breaking, now.

Jenoah was less of an adult than I am; I need to make sure that I don’t follow his mistakes for his uncertain fate is the one thing that I fear.

"That's what death is. It steals. It robs.” A fact already known to me, death has already stolen two from me. Mother and Jenoah, but where did death take them? When somebody steals something, it is with the intent to use it. A poor man steals bread to eat it; a criminal steals jewels to sell it. There is always a use behind something stolen.

"There's nowhere. We just—" Tension strengthens in the silence, readying to snap… "Disappear."

And so it does snap, along with something inside of me. Fury, that cannot be it, that cannot be the truth. Nothing can simply disappear. I push myself off the ground, the fury projected in my vision on Laurel. ”That is not the truth! “ I turn my back towards her, heading for the door. ”You’re a liar, like everyone else in this house.”

The door mirrors the pain that has erupted inside of me as it slams into the frame, surely someone in the house will have woken to that.