The Hunt

By Punyasweta Mohanty

This was the end.

All the realms were in turmoil.

One moment all was grey, the next red.

The Valkyrie’s piercing cry signalled the commencement of the nightmare. The battle had begun.

Almost everyone had picked a side and gone to play their part in the vicious battle. Some fought, others healed, yet others were assigned to bury or burn the dead.

Those who were left behind were staring up at the sky, holding their breaths, waiting.

The sky was tearing itself apart. The wind carried bloodcurdling cries of the dying. The thunderous screech of the dragons threatened the very existence of men. The glass barrier separating our mortal existence from that of the Gods was breaking. And through the cracks, tear drops were falling on to the dry, arid earth.

The Earth. The house of the prey.

The prey was tiny. Tinier than one could imagine. Eyes sparkling like stars, it was reckless and playful, ignorant of what lay ahead of it. Smiling like sunshine, it was pure innocence.

The predator had been lurking in the shadows. Its chameleon-like hide making it possible to camouflage its monstrous colours behind shades of trust and responsibility. Its bloodthirsty nature unbeknownst to the world, it revelled in its own power.

Evil.

The predator has been looking for its prey for quite some time now. Or so it seemed. One can never really know with beasts such as this. The true motive, if there even was one will remain forever a mystery. Unexplained, inexplicable.

The predator had already set its eyes on its prey. Its plan was in motion. First, building a trust that cannot be broken easily, It would pretend to be a caregiver. This could take a while. And It was always in a hurry, always impulsive. For why else would It deviate from its normal choice of prey and go for something so tiny? It simply had to satiate Its hunger. It could not wait. It must feed.

He must feed.

He would eventually find The Prey behind the stairs. He would take her small hand and her smiling face and lead her upstairs to the wonder room. A promise to show her wonderful things, a promise to surprise her. A promise he would keep.

The wonder room. A room full of worlds and stories and magic. Magic, her childlike wonder would later discover. Magic, that could help her escape. Magic, that would save her. Magic, that would make her. But not today.

Today, as fate would have it, she would follow him. She would listen to his words. She would obey him.

He would lay her down on to the cold hard marble floor, ready to devour her. He would look straight into her eyes as he would tell her that this is what grownups do. He would whisper all the things he was going to do and she would listen.

Black, red and white.

That’s all she saw.

Black, red and white.

She’ll always remember.

His pungent breath on her neck, she can’t forget.

Black and red, the colour of his eyes. Black and red, the colour of his hair. Black and red, the colour of his skin. Black and red, the colour of evil.

White, the colour of the floor. White, the colour of the walls. White the colour of peace. White, the colour of helplessness.

Black, red and white.

She can never forget.

Dirty, guilty. That’s how she would feel.

The whitewashed walls of the wonder room, would stare in horror at the scene that unfolded in front of them. Never before would they feel their own helplessness, own limb-lessness. Unable to do anything, they would weep, silently lamenting.

The battles above would stop. Through the cracks in the glass, everyone would see. The Gods, the angels and their soldiers will stand in deafening silence, bearing witness to an unspeakable crime. Their holy war, already lost.

The winds would stop moaning, the waves would stop crashing, the birds would stop singing, and the whole world would come to a standstill. The teardrops would turn into thunderstorms, causing havoc all around.

The earth will crack itself open and hot magma would swallow everything, ever.

The blue earth, now red.

The helplessness of the natural world in fighting against crimes of a human nature, would never before feel so crippling.

The prey would go down the stairs all alone. The hunt complete. The predator, now satisfied, would go down the rabbit hole it crawled up from.

The prey too young for the words to describe what had happened would stay quiet for as long as she could, eventually forgetting all about it.

Her eyes wouldn’t twinkle as much and her smile would slowly fade away. Her grace would be all but gone.

She would wake up in the night screaming, wetting herself, terrified of the terrible monsters out there. She would lash out at everyone, rebelling against every single person. Soon, she would learn to withdraw herself from the world. Soon, she would stop empathising. Soon, she would forget herself.

One day, a certain smell, a certain flash of colours would take her back to those days. And as everything would come back to her she would drown in self-pity, loathing herself for all that she has become. Her guilt, her sorrow, strong enough to kill her.

Her pain would make her angry. She would feel like a victim, used and abused. Her rage, turning her black.

She would burn. But she won’t give up.

Out of the hole, out of a burning pyre, she would rise. A black musketeer.

She’s a warrior.

No longer the prey, she would be graced with scars, flaws and courage. She will learn to avenge herself, she would learn to forgive but most important of all she would learn what it is to be kind. To be loved. To be happy.

She would no longer be a victim but a glimmer of hope for all those who are broken and the righteous fire for all those who have sinned.

And the world will stare in awe at the woman she would become.

But for now, ensconced in her cocoon, she must wait and transform.

For now, she must heal.

For now, she must prepare herself for a lifetime of ordeals.

For now, we must wait.

Because for now, the wars won’t stop.

By Punyasweta Mohanty