A veil of water covered New York City. Heavy raindrops raced down from the perpetually dark sky above, painting the ruination of once a megapolis in glittering black ink. Complemented to this canvas, the black crystals emitted grey, flickering dark light; the flickering things look strangely beautiful in the gloomiest of times. A string of sounds reverberated all around the desolate city. “Tick, tock, tack,” echoing from all around, the pitter patter formed a surprisingly harmonic melody. Raindrops bounced off of millions of black crystal fragments floating around the city, creating a convoluted maze of water patterns in the sky. The bizarre scene actually made for a fascinating marvel in this lonesome world.

Near an old subway station entrance that look more like a dark, wet cave to the underworld, a young girl in a dark dress was walking straight down the dark path. The girl was strange, or rather, supernatural. Despite the downpour around her, she was dry. Raindrops seemed to just slide along her dress and skin, and despite the clear physical contact, the girl remained as dry as a wood. The girl had no breath, and no footsteps despite walking under such heavy rain, she was as inanimate as the dead city around her. And yet, the girl was walking, slowly and airily into the black tunnel.

The girl was emotionless, or it should have been if not for the raging storm beneath her eyes. If one looked carefully, one could feel the murky darkness lurking and twirling inside the girl. It was an overwhelming sense of dread, coiling and spiraling into a malignant tumor inside one heart.

The girl slowly descended the rusty steps, the ceramic tiles had fallen off here and there revealing the dusty concrete pavement beneath. The walls on either side are not in any better shape, the porcelain covers have been peeled off by time, and web-like cracks deprived the station of its once pristine look. Dark reflections stalked the lone figure of the girl, howling cry of thunder and wind like a roaring banshee.

“Click!” The sound of the girl’s last footstep resounded in the dark, wet, and constricted space of the crumbling station. It was like the girl was announcing her arrival. And surely, the answer that she was expecting came soon enough.

“Welcome back.” A hoarse, and raspy voice acknowledged the girl’s arrival. The voice, despite sounding like a broken cord, was strangely pleasant to the ear. It had a touch of a beautiful soprano pitch at the end, warm yet airy that gave of a gentle image of the person.

Instead of replying, the girl walked toward the origin of the voice. Her steps were slow and measured. “Click, clack, click,” the sound of her footsteps echoed in the isolated space. The almost muted echo reverberated loudly through the collapsed station.

Slowly, the girl approached a humble hut made of brown bricks, and concrete which was covered in a thick layer of glittering black crystals that lay conspicuously in the middle of the railroad. The girl laid her hand on the ceramic door, which had magically survived the black crystal assault; the thing remained spotless despite the whole hut looking like it could become a black construct any moment now. She pushed her fingers lightly onto the door, and it gave way to a small room, a bundle of fluffy blankets and pillows carpeted the floor inside. Laid in the center, a fragile figure lifted her head to welcome the visitor.

“Why such a long face, did you not find any water?” The thin woman said, her eyes lingered on the girl’s empty hands.

“Hum, there’s none.” The girl said, voice filled with guilt and anguish. She cast her gaze over the frail woman dressed in a willowy grey, tattered dress. The woman's skin was a sicky white, her collar bone and rib cages protruded plainly over the wide v-neck of her dress. Thin arms and legs, like an old twig that could be broken by a gust of wind. Her breaths were shallow, her chest raised and felt sporadically. The whole person was ghostly, and the only thing that separated the woman from a corpse was her expressive face and voice.

“Are you sure, wasn’t it raining outside?” The woman asked, skeptical evident in her voice. “If… if it is too much trouble, please don’t mind me.” Her voice fell, and the raspiness rose to overshadow what little hopefulness remained.

The surroundings once again returned to their suffocating silence. “Pit.” A water droplet fell through the crack on the ceiling to the ground. It broke the silence.

“You know, it was selfish of me, asking such a young girl like yourself to venture outside, I know how dangerous it is. You should…”

“It’s not that!” The girl raised her voice, her face contorted in pain. A rare change of expression; the girl might not even realize it herself. “I… I have water.” In the end, she said in a whispering tone.

She held out her right hand, and in it was a water bottle that was previously missing.

The woman's eyes lit up, she struggled to sit up and reach out her hand.

“Wait, let me.” The girl said gently and kneeled beside the woman to support her back. The woman leaned onto the girl; her head raised weakly to take in the offered water to her dry lips. The woman drank the water like it was her live blood, weak gulps drowned out by heavy breaths. A line of water spilled from the woman’s lips to her pointy chin. After drinking about half the bottle, the woman looked up at the girl judgingly.

“If you had the water, you shouldn’t mess with my pitiful heart like that.” The woman’s voice had regained that lightness and gentleness. She said it in a playful tone.

“Your gentle eyes are my guiding light,”

The girl squeezed her eyes, her face had returned to its stoic nature. “Even though you don’t need to drink water.” The girl said in a neutral tone, her voice didn’t reveal any of her thoughts.

“What are you saying, everyone needs water to survive.”

“Not to people like us.”

“What? Are you messing with me again?” The women joked, convinced that the girl was teasing her again.

There wasn’t an answer this time, the girl just stared fixedly into the woman’s eyes, it like she was looking for something beyond those black ivory eyes.

“What? Is there something on my face?” The woman lifted her hand and clumsily wiped her face.

The girl’s eyes relaxed over the woman’s cute action. She touched the woman's cold cheek and gently caressed it as if holding a precious piece of artwork. The girl’s eyes betrayed any emotions, but there was a deep sorrow burrowed within.

 

“Your smile is my salvation.”

 

“No.” The girl simply said. She raised her head to the ceramic door, the floral patterns on it were beautiful, carefully crafted and well-preserved. She lowered her hands to hold the woman close.

“Hum… You are a weird girl, aren’t you?” The women relaxed into the girl's warm embrace. “But it’s a good kind of weird,” the woman paused, then added: “I hope my child will grow up to be as kind as you.”

The girl tightened up, she cast her gaze down at the woman. Or rather, at the budging stomach in her arms. Her hands hovered over the round stomach, not touching it, just lingered there.

“You can touch it.” The woman said with smiling eyes. “I don’t mind, it had been such a long time, just me and her, all alone.” The woman showed a fragile smile, her expression revealed hints of indescribable agony. Her voice was weak, almost inaudible. The woman lowered her head to reveal her pale nape, her thin, grey hair scattered about.

The girl lightly touched the woman's budging belly, just the tip of her fingers. That was enough to confirm it.

 

“Amidst the darkness, there will be hope,”

 

“Your child, how long have you carried her?” The girl asked.

“Hum… I don’t really know myself. It has been such a long time; everything down here is so dark, I can’t tell.” With a delicate expression, the woman uttered words like a concession.

“You said that you were three months into pregnancy when everyone vanished, right?”

“Yes, is there anything wrong?” The women asked, a small smile reappeared. However, a hint of conflict crept up on her face, which had not escaped the girl’s observation.

“The day everyone vanished, it was the first Dark Condensation.” The girl stopped, letting her words hang in the air. She was fishing for any reactions from the women, only to be disappointed. “It was more than ten years ago.”

The woman’s eyes widen at those words. Then she relaxed again: “What are you saying, silly girl? You shouldn’t trick an adult, less, a pregnant woman like me.” Realizing that the girl didn’t respond to her, she continued: “How can I survive for ten years in this dark place all by myself?”

“The same way I have survived for the last decade.” The girl paused, assorted of memories and emotions sparked inside her. “By having someone to remember of, or to look forward to seeing.”

This seemed to bring up something within the women. Fragmentations of despair, love, sorrow, joy, hopelessness, and something unbreakable erupted inside the women, disrupting the lively façade.

 

“Never ever let go of your light.”

 

The girl gently laid the women back on feathery pillows, stood up, and walked to the ceramic door. She ran her hand slowly across the cold surface, along the graceful, intricately crafted floral patterns of rose and spider lily.

“This door, it looks pretty new.” The statement, which sounds more like a question, “I haven’t seen one this beautiful since before the Dark Fall.” The girl turned to look directly into the woman’s eyes.

“Who crafted this door?”

Silence permeated the air. The question, like a hot knife that sliced through the feeble façade of the whole situation, lingered in the air. An agonizingly long time passed; however, time held no meaning to these two individuals.

 

“My baby, please be happy,”

 

Inside a small hut, in a crumbling subway station, under the ruination of New York City, a girl and a woman stared at each other, no one made a move, not even a breath, like two discarded statues forgotten by the world.

The unbreathable stagnation came to a stop when the woman finally gave in. Her face relaxed into a smile, but this time, it was a smile full of despair, and self-hatred.

“Seems like you got me. My husband started it, but I was the one who finished it, using the very same thing that killed him.” The woman said in a low, grumbling voice that stood a stark contrast to her previously gentle and loving tone.

“My mother was a whore, someone who sold her body for a living, if you don’t know what a whore is. She was not a good mother, she was abusive, had a foul mouth, and a short temper. Growing up with her was not the easiest thing in life, I spent more time cleaning up after her mess than having normal conversations with her. She didn’t do groceries, didn’t cook, didn’t do any laundry, never asked about my life, and didn’t even sleep at home most nights. To sum it all up, I don’t even know my father, and I doubt my mother knew any better. But you know, I actually love her, she was my mother after all. She actually took care of me financially; the landowner had never knocked on our door asking for rent, I always had enough money for groceries and some extra on top, I was able to go to school, and I had more clothes than I knew what to do with, even if they were just hang-me-down. I didn’t think of it at the time, but now that I looked back, she had never come back home with a man.” The woman paused, her eyes far away. “I was young and foolish, I despised my mother for who she was, and the men that slept with her for pleasure. It was just a job, you know, a means to provide for herself and me. For the longest time, I avoided men like a plague, I thought of them as something dirty and unpleasant. I blamed them for taking my mother away from me.” The woman hiccupped, an unnatural occurrence for beings like them. “Then the Dark Fall happened. The world collapsed and revealed its ugly color. People killed each other for tickets to board those floating islands, the paradise, or so they say. People were dead at the hands of their neighbors more than the black fog. In just the first week, the police force was disbanded, and followed by the army soon after. Chaos ruled the streets of New York, we had more bodies than living people at times. Ironically, those were the times that I got to spend the most time with my mother. She protected me, we curled up in our 300 square feet apartment, door barricaded. She had somehow managed to secure enough water and dried ration to last us through the worst of it. When we left our small haven, mother had shown me a golden ticket to board one of the floating islands. Apparently, she got it from a congressman, a regular. She gave it to me, told me to save myself, to go to paradise. She sacrificed her golden ticket to me, an ungrateful child. She had always sacrificed for me, her happiness, her body, and her dignity, to raise her daughter. I knew it, just choose to ignore it.” The woman lowered her voice, guilt and yearning in her eyes. “In the end, I have failed her. I didn’t board the island; I went back to look for her at the last minute. It took some time, but I found her inside our old apartment, dead. Seemed like she had chosen death after knowing that her daughter was safe. If only I had made up my mind sooner, if only I had stayed by her side.” The woman smiled a sad smile, then continued her story: “I met my husband under this very same tunnel, he was the one who had rekindled my love, my will to live.”

 

“Cause I will never leave your side.”

 

“When he knew that I was pregnant for the first time, he cried. I was so happy myself, just thinking that I was about to become a mother filled me with love and strength. It was the most beautiful period in my life; my husband busied himself with this little hut, gathered piece by piece of red brick, then we stacked them up nicely while talking about how lovely our child would be.” The woman said in a breathy voice, her whole body weakened to the point of lifeless; still, her bony hand stubbornly covered her stomach. “We never had the chance to witness our baby, and he never had the chance to finish what he started. One day, he disappeared and turned into those black crystals, along with everyone else, along with our child. I thought I was crazy, my whole world just crumbling like it had always been a lie.” The women finished, followed by a long sigh and the hut fell into the deadly silence once again.

Minutes stretched to hours and the tension in the air was almost physical. The girl, who had yet to reply since, remained deadly still, eyes looking straight at the woman, face as white and stiff as the cold ceramic door behind her. Despite the frosty exterior, the women recognized glimpses of sympathy and pain inside the girl. Whether it was the silent companionship, or the barely disguised coldness, the woman decided to finish her story.

“I finished that door using the same force that had taken him away from me. I often wondered” the woman paused, her eyes looking at somewhere far away, “living in this small dark hut, the one we have built together, I wondered how I have survived for such a long time.” Her hand sluggishly caressed the round stomach. “It was my daughter, our child, that saved me. Regardless of what is she.” She finished with a conceded half-smile.

 

“The road ahead might be full of suffering,”

 

“So, you knew.” The girl finally whispered out those words.

“Yes, I knew. I knew that my child was nothing but a clump of black crystals, an amalgamation of negative emotions, despair, anger, envy, lust. I knew that my child is nothing but a malignancy that slowly killing me from the inside.” The woman said in a neutral tone, the previously intense emotions missing.

“Then…”

“But she was my child; and, is my child, regardless of what shape, form, or intention she has.” The woman interrupted the girl, knowing what she would say.

Not knowing how to respond to the woman, the girl fell into silence. It was not the first time she experienced this feeling of powerlessness, and despite gaining omnipotent power since, apparently, she was still that helpless little girl. The girl crushed her fists until cracks appeared on her hands, her body was responding to her raging emotions, but before her body could burst apart, the woman asked.

“What do you think a ‘mother’ is?” The woman asked with a gentle voice, as if she was not the one who was suffering from being the supported ‘mother’.

The woman's expression halted the furious stream of grievance that was fast arising within the young girl. Her look was one of a loving mother, benevolent and merciful.

With eyes wide, the girl tried to calm her chaotic emotions. Her mind was full of disbelief and confusion. “Why was she so calm?”, “Why didn’t she dispose of the monster?”, “Why had she carried that monster inside of her?”, hundreds of questions ran across the girl’s mind, but in the end, she failed to answer any of them.

“A mother is …” The answer lingered on her lips, unsure of what she should say. The girl wondered if there was anything she could say to save the woman.

“A mother is the one who loves.” The woman finished the sentence in a peaceful tone, her smile was serene, and not a trace of repulsion could be seen on her face.

 

“But my love for you will be your guiding light.”

 

“But that thing is not…”

“Don’t!” The woman interrupted the girl. “That is not for you to decide.”

The girl bit her lips, guilt and hatred flooded her heart, but she held strong because somewhere, she knew that was the truth. She couldn’t save the woman, it was a foregone conclusion from the moment she met her, it was the nature of their being. To be able to remain human when infused by the black crystal, one needs a strong drive, usually fueled by intense emotions and memories. The girl was a vengeful spirit, her memories were her armor, and her emotions were her sword. The woman, however, was a mother, and the moment that she ceased to be one, she would become a mindless chunk of grotesque moving black construct.

The women’s time was running out.

The girl cannot change the inevitable.

Silence. Death. Despair.

“Then what is love, what is a mother?” The girl asked, as if her existence depended on the woman’s answer.

“Love is love; I think.” The woman said, ever so softly, she realized what rampaging emotions could do to beings like them, one wrong word might be the end of the whole continent. “There are many kinds of love, but I think that love is a blessing, a precious vow that we treasure and save for our cherished ones.” A smile graced the woman’s face: “Love, you see, is capable of saving us all. My dearest treasure.” She looked into the girl’s jewelry-like eyes, tenderly: “I believe that you also have the same love inside you, every one of us, survivors of the dark world, have love.”

“Then, a mother must be you.” The girl said, tension released from her being ever so slightly. “You are someone who loves your child, you can even love a stranger like me.” Her gaze downcast, the girl finally relaxed her cracked fists. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as it submitted to the cruelty of things.

“That is true, I love my child, and you also, the strange kind girl that I hope my daughter will become.”

 

“Savior of the world, the love that shines on this darkest hour.”

 

“I don’t deserve it.” The girl muttered quietly, just enough to reach the woman's ears.

“But that’s something I get to decide, as I am the one who loves, right.” The woman’s statement helped lift the girl’s head, which finally showed acceptance of the situation.

“I can’t win against you, can’t I."

“Hm. But thank you for coming to me just in time, for staying with me these past few days, for listening to my story, and for saving me.” The woman looked into the girl’s eyes, her soul. Knowing that the girl will accept her request.

“You sure are selfish, aren’t you.” The girl muttered, unsure of her own emotions.

In response, the woman just smiled. And regardless of what the girl might think of herself, the woman knew that she had the gentlest of heart, an unyielding soul, and simply the most beautiful existent that she had ever met. The women pitied the girl for that.

As if to lessen her guilt, to somewhat repay the girl; the woman sang:

 

“Walking through this brazen land,

My heart quenched in search of light.

I was a lost soul,

Drifting through life till I see your smile.”

 

The song started on a somber note. The woman sang with her eyes closed, in peace with the world around her.

 

“Your gentle eyes are my guiding light,

Your smile is my salvation,

You guide my heart, you bless my soul.”

 

The woman was the mother; her voice loving, her song healing.

 

“Amidst this world, I have found you,

Amidst the darkness, there will be hope,

Never ever let go of your light.”

 

The woman’s stomach budged; ripples ran across the sickly pale skin.

 

“My baby, please be happy,

Cause I will never leave your side.”

 

The woman’s skin cracked, fractured like shattered glass.

 

“The road ahead might be full of suffering,”

 

The girl steeled herself, her psy-mind raging to let loose of the suppressed emotions.

 

“But my love for you will be your guiding light.”

 

Something exploded from the woman's stomach.

 

“Savior of the world, the love that shines on this darkest hour.”

 

“ARGGGG!” An agonizing shout cried out from the depths of the abyss.

The hut collapsed inside; space warped in a vortex as black crystals rushed to the newborn black construct. Inside this realm of madness, a girl prevailed.

The girl was livid, agonizing ignited her being.

Time disintegrated into meaningless fragments of reality.

Somewhere, in this compendium, distorted realm, a shadow of a woman reached out to the girl.

The girl hunched her back, lowered her poster, kneeling in space.

Pain surged fort, blinded her senses, and carved her soul.

The girl continued to scream, her voice on the verge of breaking down.

The woman reached the girl, she touched the girl, she embraced the girl.

Light filled the girl’s world, the pain faded, and her soul was soothed.

The space contorted, a warm sphere formed around the girl, protecting her.

Images flashed across the fragments of reality, images of a woman, a mother.

The girl was embraced by the warmth of love.

A healing light enveloped the girl like a cotton cocoon.

Amidst the chaotic madness, a gentle voice echoed:

“My baby, I love you.”

 

 

Pitter-patter, the sound of rain submerged New York City in a melancholy veil of black and grey. The saving grace, however, was the peaceful harmony it brought to the fragile figure standing in the middle of the downpour.

Pitter-patter, the rain washed over the world, a somber aura surrounded the ghostly figure of a girl. Hair splattered to her face, skin as white as paper, dress clung to her petite body. She lifts her face to the sky, eyes vacant. She just stood there, letting the rain wash away the lingering warmth that imbued deep within her heart. The girl wanted to let it go, to forget about the woman, but she was not willing. Unable to forget, but also can’t forgive, the girl stood there in hope for a miracle.

Pitter-patter, the sound of rain indulged the girl in blissful ignorance. Afraid to admit the love that she felt, the girl looked into the dark, confining sky.

Pitter-patter, the rain fell hard on the girl’s skin. Her heart was thumping, unwilling to deny the love that it received.

Pitter-patter, the rain dulled her pain and cooled her head.

Pitter-patter, the sound of rain reminded the girl of her mother.

 

She missed her mother.