Shatter

Photo by 愚木混株 Yumu on Unsplash

“You must leave while you can. I was once his student. When my power matured he stole it and nearly killed me.”

Zira wrenched her wrist free. She backed away, and her mouth went dry. Her thoughts scrambled as she tried to make sense of what this stranger said. He’s wrong, she declared in her head, and lifted her chin. “You shut your fucking mouth,” she snapped, her tone deep and loud.

The homeless man—a pallid shell that reeked of rotten milk—gave a half-clenched smile, and then he wrung his hands. “You think I chose to look like this?”

Zira frowned, and her fingers balled into fists. He has no right to pity me. The Great Iredius chose me to be his student. “I’m sorry you couldn’t handle being his student, but that doesn’t mean you should be spreading lies,” she spat.

The homeless man’s sunken eyes glanced to the vine-like scar on her wrist. “Lemme guess, your magic is maturing.” He pointed to it.

She scratched the vine-like scar that her mentor had explained to her marked her magic’s maturation. She blinked and flashed back to the hungry glint in Iredius’s eyes, his chambers lit with the metallic smell of ozone and wood smoke. Zira had been chosen out of many poor children of her village to apprentice under the strongest wizard of the world. He saw potential.

“Don’t touch me again.” She turned on her heel, sweeping away the edges of her black robe that went over a gray vest, white collared shirt, and dark blue pants.

“Check the rooms, I’m telling the truth.”

This liar just wouldn’t quit. She ignored his pleas to listen. On her march to the tower, she scratched the scar again. This time, she noticed it had grown: a crack like lightning across the night sky—splintering, writhing, tearing apart her dark skin. A sharp pain struck along her arm and crawled across her body. Zira glanced around, but there was no one to help. She was all alone. Skin, appendages, and a head ripped from her body. Before her stood a 5 foot Black girl with the same thick curly hair, a busty shape (she even had the same big butt!) Except, this figure didn’t blink; its eyes were round, but they had a golden glow around the brown iris that wouldn’t be still. It could have been pretty if it did not look like the colors were at war, turning in on each other. Its skin hung loosely, and it looked like she was constantly in danger of melting.

“What--?” Her phone rang. She would have ignored it if the name didn’t read Mentor. She clipped it to her ear. Iredius was not a patient guy. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

Zira gaped at the figure—the thing that had torn itself away from her body (she refused to call it a double!). She swallowed rapidly as she was wracked with an uncontrollable shudder. She was sore everywhere. But she had no time to really think through what to do. She focused on her breath, and then said, “You should come with me.” Maybe my mentor will have a solution for this. Zira took the thing’s hand and led it to the tower—a large Gothic structure.

When she arrived at the tower, she guided the thing through the creaky, metal gates, and they entered the tall dark oak doors. Once inside, the air conditioner blew against the sweat making Zira’s clothes stick. The air smelled of leather and wood and faint traces of bread baking. This had been home for the past year. She was distracted by the gnawing, empty feeling in her stomach. The thing snatched itself free and shuffled back and back and back—the opposite direction Zira needed it to go. “Stop!”

The thing gave a blank look and scurried away. An overwhelming sense of dread dropped over Zira as the thing disappeared into the darkness of the forbidden wing. Her thoughts scrambled, and adrenaline flooded her body. I can’t just let it run loose like this. She pursued it. Her mentor explained not to enter this part of the tower, but the other Zira clearly didn’t inherit adherence to that rule. What do I even call you? Zira 2? False Zira? she thought to herself as she chased the thing.

In the darkness of the wing, Zira’s hands grew clammy. Her shoulders hunched up at a freezing draft made her lips tremble. Whispers passed the edges of her ears as her black boots scuffed the marble floors. Her steps stiffened, but then she darted after a door that slammed shut.

When Zira entered the room, a tightness clenched in her chest. All that faced her was an empty room—a room that had once belonged to somebody. It was different than hers, more pink and frilly while her bed had been a gray slab with gray walls. Of course the greatest wizard must have had other apprentices before, Zira scoffed to herself. Okay, so a thing that came from my body is now running loose around the tower and I cannot find it. Iredius is going to kill me. She returned to searching. She checked under the bed, getting on all fours. The figure’s bare feet stepped up to the bed, but when Zira raised herself, she was gone. “This isn’t funny,” she said. “I’ll be late for dinner.”

The wooden dressers caught her eye. Even though she was sure the thing was not in there, she opened it anyways: a diary. Every nerve in her body that had been trained to obey rebelled. She flipped through the worn pages, and while she did, she felt the hot press of breath on her neck. She whirled around, and the violence of those disturbing eyes shined on her. The thing tilted its head and snatched the book. Then it fled. And Zira groaned.

When Zira opened the door, her mentor stood glaring. His icy blue eyes froze her to the spot. But her heart was racing. “I’ve given you one rule,” he said. His voice was gently disapproving, making Zira feel worse. He loomed, and there was an ugly twist to his mouth as he waited. He knew she would grovel.

“I—I--” Where could she even begin to explain? “I’m sorry,” she stammered. Had he not seen that thing running off?

Her mentor grabbed her wrist, and his palm was flaming hot like a stove forcing her flesh to burn. “I will not warn you again,” he said. “Stay away from this wing.”

Zira cried out many apologies as he dragged her away. He didn’t react to that thing running the opposite direction, deeper into the wing. The physical punishment hurt less than the displeasure in his voice. He wouldn’t let go. When they arrived at the diner hall, he shoved her onto the chair. The decadent food tasted like ash as she tried to heal the damage he’d inflicted. They dined in silence. As further punishment, there were no lessons tonight.

When Zira went to her room, her mentor bound the door. That thing sat on the bed with its legs crossed, staring—still not blinking. Zira wanted to murder it. “This is all your fault,” she screamed. “I’m going to tell my mentor and then he’ll get rid of you and—”

The thing hopped off the bed and approached. Zira backed away, but the thing approached. It grabbed the corners of Zira’s mouth, stretched them, and tried to stick her head inside. Zira used striking magic to shove it back. Then, it broke, shattered into tiny little pieces patting all over the floor, and those pieces morphed into little roaches. Her throat was burning as Zira’s face blanched. She wanted to run, but the door was barred allowing nothing to come in or out.

The roaches raced towards her. She swatted at them, but there were too many. They crawled all over her body. She tried to scream, but the roaches flooded her mouth, finding a way inside until they were all gone. That thing was inside her. She dashed to the bathroom and threw up. Tears streaked down her face as she tried to catch her breath, hand over her restless stomach. Her eyes felt different. Her racing heart slowed to a sluggish thump. Chills erupted over her skin. She hoisted herself up.

When Zira looked into the mirror, eyes full of war stared back at her, head full of truth and reality a violent dance. The vine-like scar returned, now everywhere on her body, holding her in a vice grip. Her head was filled with secrets she shouldn’t know and on some deep level didn’t want to. She smashed the mirror. This new, wrong self in pieces stood in the light.