Sick Heart

 By  Bethany Stevenson, age 16.

 

She cursed him.

She thickened his soul with black magic and grew power from the mistakes in his life.

He heard her dark laugh, the shrill rang through his ears.

She dragged the magic of the spell from within him. He twitched and shuddered, seeing the swirling darkness escape his chest and drown the air around him.

He thrashed against the weight and force of her powers, fighting to be free. He gripped the potion bottle hanging off his belt, tightening his fingers on the crystal surface. His other hand flexed around the spear he’d meant to kill his enemy with before she sent swelling pains through his veins and blossomed her spell within him.spell

He needed to remember; to know where he came from and how this darkness formed so cleanly in his past life. But she stole his memories; with each passing second nothing made sense as she sucked his life’s story away in the hole of his mind. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten there, how their war began, whom he fought against, why he fought, or who he was.

Wait–– why do I have to kill who?

 

 

His fingers curled tighter on his spear, nails digging into his palm. The empty potion bottle slipped from his hand, the only indication he’d drunk the liquids inside. A fizzling burn bubbled the saliva in his mouth.

Why did I drink that potion? Wait, why did I even have potion in that bottle–– where’d I even get that bottle?

With a jerk of her claw-like hands, he’d been thrown down, stars blinking in his fading eyes and the impact of the ground throbbing through his head. He stared glimmering pieces of glass around him, scowling at their presence.shattered-glass

What bottle? What just shattered?  He staggered to his feet, the heavy curse fighting his straining and screaming limbs, wondering what he had dropped or why he had dropped it. Then he pondered why he thought he had dropped something.

Lightness washed his mind, flowing through him and lifting him off the ground with weightlessness. Adrenaline tingled, giving his soul a breath from the eternal tearing of his curse.

He could fly.

he-coul-fly

    

 

 

 

 

 

 No, I could always fly, since when did I not fly?

He pushed against the air, launching himself, and flew, riding the wind. He surfed his way to the dark blur: in there somewhere, the lady cackled at him, pulling on the darkness eternally growing in him out as if it were a never-ending rope. The more she stole from him, the more the curse bloomed.

What is growing in me? His memory of the moments happening about him disappeared as quickly as they took place; eaten by her power, preventing him from having a chance to remember who he was and fight. What will bloom? Wait, why did I even think that something would bloom? What am I so confused about? Why am I floating here thinking? Was I even thinking?

Every drop of evilness that drained from his cursed soul plagued others he once knew. He winced as the sharp pains and darkness took their first bite in them; feeling what they did.

Pain from what? He’d always been in pain. He was always pain. Why did I even think of pain? What is pain?

He dipped on the breeze, wind rushing past him and gravity trying to pull against the weightlessness holding up his body. He flew closer to the red blur surrounding the woman who cursed him; the woman he had to kill for some reason.

He had to stop the spreading of his curse. Well, whatever was spreading, he forgot what it was. Oh well, he needed to stop it anyways.

Somewhere, a girl called out for him. Pleading and begging for help as his curse grew in her too, ready to turn her into the memory-less and lost creature, his curser created him to be. An illness grew deeper in her, burning in his heart as their cursed souls were joint in the spell of wickedness.  He didn’t know her or where she lived, but he knew she wanted him to save her anyways.

Searing and cutting magic snapped at him. He struggled and clawed at his own chest, fighting against it. He would reach his enemy and he would stop the curse, no matter what happened.

Leaping around a dark thrash of magic pulled from his heart, he flew down upon the curse-giver and raised his spear to kill.

***

“Kyden!”

His eyes blurred, opened, and focused. He gasped as the girl smashed into him, clinging to his arms and shoulders and sobbing into his clothes. Kyden stared at her, blinking. The darkness that controlled him for ten years washed away, clearing from his head, and making him new.

Skye let him go, smiling and wiping the streaming tears from her face. “You did it. You stopped the curse and are free.”

Kyden swallowed, letting out a deep breath. He was himself, free, unpossessed, uncontrolled. The curse and enemy had come out of him and he defeated them. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging.

Memories of his childhood in his father’s mansion back home, of his friends, of his sister, and of his life before the spell was cast on him filled his head. A smile spread over his mouth and a glowing joy filled his soul where darkness used to roam. He’d been cursed with a spell that turned all his mistakes in life into power for the enemy that held his leash. She’d abducted him but he found a potion and flew, attacking her as she tried to harvest the power from him. When the woman died, he saved the world from the horrors her grew inside for her. “I am free.”

His little sister Skye hugged his arm, beaming up at him and sighing. “Now we can go home.”

Kyden draped his arm over his sister’s shoulder and smiled at the bright sunlight streaming through the holes of the dead enemy’s crumbling fortress they stood in. “Free and alive.” He flashed a grin at his sister as he used to do before the spell and incident. “At least I know what mistakes I made, now I have a chance to start over.”