Waking

6 Years ago - October

Kyra stared down at the makeshift grave beneath the oak tree, rain pouring down on her wild and out of control curly hair. Even with the hood of her black jacket up, she was soaked to the bone, water dripping down from her hair and face. Crimson eyes fluttered away tears she refused to let fall as she crouched down and placed a few red poppy flowers down onto the mound.

Releasing the flowers, she placed the palm of her hand onto the ground. “I'm sorry, papa...” She whispered to the ground as she recalled those last few moments with him. He had suffered so much, been denied help even before the Rupture, and died a slow death. Breathing had been so difficult for him in those last days of his life.

She still remembered holding him as he let out that last breath of his.

By that point there were no funeral homes anymore. No more proper burials with how screwed up the world was, so she'd resorted to digging up a huge hole and burying her father there. She'd chosen this old and abandoned field with its single oak tree at the center. It was where her father used to come to relax when he'd get stressed out from work, from people and from life.

Now he was hidden here forever with a pathetic wooden cross stuck in the ground where the small mound was. She'd dug deep, hidden him well from the world so animals couldn't come for a free snack. Despite being only fifteen she'd been smart, capable of keeping herself alive and safe for the most part and could stay away from the authorities. They were always bugging her about where her father was and she was very good at avoidance.

At only fifteen she had been forced to bury her father three months ago.

Pulling her hand off the ground, she got to her feet again and began to turn. Only, she stopped when she felt something, an odd tingling sensation in the back of her mind. Something vibrated beneath her feet and she returned her gaze to the ground. What was it she felt? It was like something was alive and writhing, its very being reaching out toward her mind. This feeling was begging her to move, begging her to get it moving.

With a step back, she let out a sudden gasp as a hand burst from the dirt and slapped at the ground. Fingers curled and dug, pulling as her mind silently willed this without her realization just yet. There was the sound of crumbling, popping and fabric ripping as another hand followed. There were arms and a head as a body began to pull itself from the mound. Hair hung in patches and a grunting sound came from blue lips.

Kyra watched the familiar individual pulled their legs out of the ground, head rising so that a pair of sunken eyes could gaze at her. They were the same crimson as her own had always been – the eyes she had inherited.

“Papa?” She asked in both shock and horror.