January 1st, 2023;

The day is empty. The sky has gone deep purple tainted by the smoke, almost the same as black. Bats hang upside-down from the edge of the roof, and the road is destroyed like a biscuit broken in small chunks. The storm had just happened. The world had just died.

Deacon stands in the mess, barely able to hold himself up, just observing it. Posters and confetti from the new year parties make an effort to brighten up the day. Bodies cover the ground, charred beyond the point of recognition.

“Flight EK1011 is now un-boarding. Please leave the highlighted paths near the gates empty and stand behind the yellow fence to ensure a safe and efficient arrival of passengers.” The partially broken speaker buzzes out.

Suddenly, something hits the ground. The shattered glass rattles, and Deacon feels a burning sensation. Then, the ground begins shaking. Broken cars’ suspensions try to keep up with the vibrations.

It gets increasingly intense. That’s when, a pillar from the bridge above Deacon breaks. The road begins falling slowly.

As it sluggishly descends on him, he tries to move, but feels paralyzed. It slowly angles down towards his head.

Suddenly, a sharp burning sensation engulfs his hand, and he wakes up in a cabin.

December 27th 2022;

“It was just a dream.” His brain had told that that evening. He did not know what to make of it, but had remembered one strange detail from that day. He woke up in a burning bed, while he was unaffected. He could feel pain, but his skin was alright. Just his arm hair had burnt out.

"Deacon!” calls out his dad, David with a sob following my name.

The sorrowful sob comes from last night. Deacon’s mom had passed away, choking on dinner. She ate alone. They found her on the floor this morning, with the dried half-digested food running down her face, into her hair, and sticking to the wood. Her eyes pushed halfway out till they turned red.

The morning is gloomy. He would be smelling pancakes in the air every Sunday morning, but not today. The twenty-two-year-old nose of his smells the sweet, clean wood of their cabin, with the pine trees from the forest outside.

The trees gently sway side to side as the wind flows through my window, then through the door, and then through to the room where his mom lies, drifting over her body gently, drying off the water from the bath that his father, David used to bathe her all night long. Both of them had a hard time sleeping. David went off to wash mom while Deacon was asleep.

“It’s time.” David says.

Deacon understands and picks out the black suit his mom once chose for him. He put on black pants and a black shirt, with a white bow-tie, and obviously, a pair of black leather wood-hard shoes. It’s like they paid to not be comfortable.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

They drive to the church, following the hearse. The sun peeped at them, hiding behind the thick, slow clouds. “It may rain today.” Says David.

Soon, they arrive.

A crowd of familiar faces awaits to shower them in their hugs… or rather smother them in them.

“I am so sorry.” Says Aunt Margaret. Deacon bows his head, and lets out a pained smile as he walks past her to stand next to the casket.

On the way, he stops and decides to stand in the back.

His father watches him walk away. Disappointment drowns in.

The speech begins.

“Theresa was a great person. I knew her,” says David, “I knew her like no one else did. Now, she always said things will happen for a reason. But why this? What is the reason for this? She won our hearts, and received our flowers. She now shuts her eyes once again, to rest in peace in one of God’s special drawers. May she be content. May she remember us, for the life we had shared with her. May she rest in peace. Amen”

A low-toned ‘Amen’ then follows.

Deacon begins to weep, and holds his head rather tightly for a festering headache.

He walks over to his dad, and begins building up the courage for a speech.

On the way, he begins feeling dizzy. The world begins spinning till the point it is just a big motion blur. Suddenly, his hands begin twitching, while he stands still in place. His eyes roll up into his head. Sweat seeps out of his skin and instantly soaks his clothes.

Everybody’s eyes are on Deacon. They all rush towards him to try and help. But before they could, his arms are set ablaze with a low-pitched whooshing sound. The people around him rapidly shift a few feet back.

His arm hair slowly burns away, showering onto the floor as ash. His shirt and blazer catch the flame, and begin disappearing from random spots, revealing the blindingly lit arms. The fire looks unnatural. So concentrated, it is a blinding white in color.

His hand then lifts up slowly, with the weight of a thousand ships dangling off.

As he does that, everyone’s heads turn to the closed coffin, as it cracks.

Deacon’s mother’s body breaks through the coffin and begins floating in the air.

Slowly her remains rise to about a hundred feet over her husband. Her smooth, long black hair hangs in the air as wind swooshes them to the side. Her black robe waves in the silent, chilling wind. Her legs straight, and hands still folded.

Deacon’s arms twitch further, and this time, his wrists turn. As soon as they do, in one swift motion, the levitating corpse twists too. Violently it shoves itself to one side. Her bones crunch around.

Her head and feet now point in the opposite direction. It moves further to make a full rotation. Her bones crack and crunch, as her skin begins ripping. Slimy, halfway-congealed-blood begins pouring from her corpse like slime from a packet.

She looks calm. She looks beautiful, even with all that chaos, she sleeps blissfully, knowing she is done with her struggles. She looks relieved.

With a sleeping face, a fire sets on the sides of her resting body. It slowly burns away the skin, turning it to ash. An air of melancholy surrounded her, fuelling the fire.

As her pretty eyes stay closed, the flame slowly eats away her face. Her eyelids burn away and their ashes fall into her eyes. Her eyes melt down into her skull.

In the moment of horror, there was relief for Theresa, as ashes engulfed her skin, and slowly ate around her face, before finally covering her face.

Wind gently brushes past the visitors, showering them in Theresa’s ash. Breathless and clueless, people stare at Deacon as the fire disappears. His twitching stops and he stands back up again.

With all his skin exposed, no visible burns are there. Just burnt arm hair. The crowd watches in silence, as David watches with a face of sorrow. But there’s something under that sorrow. Is it disbelief in Deacon? Or is it vengefulness against Deacon?

Then, the air stops, and the complete corpse, now in ashes, is showered down onto David. He stops sobbing. A gulp goes down his throat and he exhales. His lips open and in a grainy, deep and shiveringly angry voice, he looks at Deacon and says;

"You did this."