Leigh Reye [d7 fin]

The dripping entrails of slaughtered runts are tossed in the gutters, left to slowly bleed scarlet down the mudbanks and seep into the old creek. Flies infest their carcasses, building empires inside their rotting intestines, methodically populating and distributing the muscle tissue, making cities from decay. This diseased river weaves through the woods, running deep enough for the ancient sentinels to quench their thirsty roots at the painted embankments. I suppose that's why they're redwoods, stained with sin, bleached with pain, standing tall over everything else - monuments of our regression.

I feel something coming. Something in the corner of my eye, standing behind me; looming. Dormant, but present. Aggressive, but patient. This town is dying, and there are twisted forces at work, moving under the cover of darkness, using the night like a cowl to hide their bastard faces. Money is moving underground, stacks of paper cash in exchange for shipments of illegal substances. Selfish acts of cowardice. Crimes in the names of gods or idols that either don't exist or invent themselves omnipotent for personal gain.

There's a storm brewing. Factions are at war; lost trade caravans, hijacked caches. The state has taken notice of the bodies found face down in the dirt or strung up in the trees. Platoons of Peacekeepers now thunder through the streets on a strict schedule, synchronised like clockwork soldiers that have been wound-up to search and destroy. They seek out conflict and stamp it out without mercy or restraint, such is their motto; but the rats still plague this town, no matter how heavy the boot.

The suffering of others is something that I struggle with. This District has always struggled - there is always work to be done in the forests, but the pay is meagre and the hours are long. The unions used to be able to negotiate better conditions for themselves, but between mayors those unions have been discouraged, lost direction, or otherwise liquidated through lack of leadership.

I've always felt like I could offer something. I'm studying currently, I want to be a dendrologist when I graduate, which looks more and more likely with each positive exam result. There aren't many colleges in Seven, they don't take in many students each year and there aren't many subjects to choose from, but the standard is very high and the professors are superb. It's either this or go work in the woods, and I want to be able to provide for whatever family I'm going to build. Maybe even be transferred out of this hell-hole.

There were simpler times, believe it or not. Back when my eyes were a naive, curious hazel, and my hair was soft caramel. The evening winds always smelled of dinner, and Solaris and I would race home in amber light, through the groves and over the fallen logs, down the creek and straight to the dining room table, tucking in to chicken and veg, lathered in gravy.

My brother is not the playful, sweet boy he used to be. Now he drifts through a smog of cigarette fumes, seeking purpose, resenting advice. A great contradiction, a person who wants something more, but doesn't want to work to achieve it. He wears bruises like war medals, talks about them as if they are commendable. I worry for him, but I am exhausted. I'm so tired of him saying that he'll do more for himself, and then doing the exact opposite of what he says he is going to do.

He and I have long drifted apart, so much so that I'm not even sure who he is anymore. I think he hates me, for all the effort I have invested in my brother, he still resents me as part of the problem. Never his fault, always someone else's. When I ask him this, he either lies or sits in silence.

His path is becoming more clear by the day, for each week that flies past with him in this state, and those supporting him becoming less patient and more tired of his selfish self-indulgence is a week closer to him being alone, homeless, and hopeless.

And I don't want that to happen to my little brother.

But I've done all I can.

Those two children in the woods, they went looking for the Gods.
And died in lonely places.