Excerpt: House of Wolves

124 P.R.
May 24 – 4:08pm

A small, crude wooden cross stood atop a mound of dirt in a yet undeveloped lot of land. Nothing else of its kind could be seen in the vicinity. Graveyards were obsolete; bodies were cremated to minimize waste and leave land for other, more productive uses. The dead were unimportant, anyway. Only the living could contribute to society, and that’s what truly mattered.

But not to the young boy standing in front of the little mound. He cared more about the dead than the living—particularly the dead body buried before him. His red-hazel eyes were fixed on the cross, concentrating; seemingly, he was under the impression that, if he concentrated long and hard enough, he could bring his loved one back to life. The body would breathe again, and everything would go back to normal. They could be happy. Safe. They could start over and never look back.

He knew that it wasn’t possible. She was dead, and she wasn’t ever coming back. Moisture gathered in his eyes, and he rapidly rubbed it away. There was no point in crying. It wasn’t productive. It wasn’t as if his tears could mix with the soil and work some kind of miracle. Life didn’t really work that way—only fairytales did. Fairytales were banned, anyway. Only those who were brave or stupid enough dared to repeat those stories. Still, there was something appealing about them. There was something appealing about fantasy.

Letting his chin drop to his chest, the boy stared at his feet, letting his unruly black hair obscure his vision. His feet. They were the only tools that he had, so he might as well use them. His only family was dead. There was nothing left. Only the earth and his feet.

Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, reaching out a hand to rest it against the cool, moist dirt. Moisture was still building up in his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge that, letting the teardrops find their way to the makeshift grave. If they couldn’t bring life, then at least they could bring a message.

“Goodbye, sister.” The words came out in a whisper. There were so many things that he wanted to say, so many promises that he wanted to make, but he knew that they would all be said in vain. There was only one thing that he could promise. “I won’t forget you.” Then, with added severity, “I won’t forget this.”

The skyline was visible on the horizon. It was domineering, and the boy found himself despising it like he never had before. Altis. It was far away, but visible enough. He never wanted to see it again, but he knew that he would. One day, he’d come back.

One day, he’d make it burn.