TFS: Burnt Earth
MOLLY 15: EGG SHELLS

Molly – 25 years ago

Broken trust isn’t something I’m mending with time alone to aid me. Since our first mission was botched so beautifully, we’re grounded until further notice. The lack of effective distractions is torture, and my growing need for sustenance never dulls. It’s always the first thing on my mind, from the time I wake up until I go to sleep. It’s hella worse now that I know how glorious it is to devour a fresh kill. Sheelin tries to help. She can fill me with as much water as she wants, but it does fuck all to abate my craving. I’m fucking bloated on top of being generally miserable. Not ideal.

In addition to the grounding, I’m made to sit in a classroom to receive formal education while my peers are physically training and gaining practical knowledge. That’s not to say the lessons are wholly fruitless. I learn the entire purpose of a scouting mission is to gain insight into the Solathair in transition. I also learn those Tribunal fuckers are semantic shitheads to the max. Yes, there can be only one Solathair in transition at a time, but there are plenty in the queue waiting for their turn. If I had any lingering remorse for Butterfly Brunch—I don’t. I really, really fucking don’t—that juicy nugget would’ve eliminated it.

When it’s deemed appropriate, we bring the thing to Sheelin, where it’s stamped according to its element. The stamp, or brand as some call it, is a protective mechanism meant to deter those like me, who’d just as soon drain them of their energy as look at them. Once marked, they control their energy output, and giving is a choice no one chooses, since it means death for the Solathair. There’s no way to stop the exchange once it starts, except in the throes of conversion. My takeaway from this lesson is I can’t find a stray Earth Solathair on the street and drain it to dregs. Boo. Tranny’s are still on the table though. They can’t control their output. While the direct elemental connection (i.e. earth to earth) tastes the best, any flavour is better than plain old water.

Those nearing transition who the Tribunal don’t deem suitable for such means of protection, are escorted to the extermination room, where their lives are met with an unsettling end, contents extracted and fed to the next lucky fucker on the energy intake list. It’s a very efficient process. Acceptably tidy.

I give zero fucks about the intricacies or determinations going into who’s approved entry and who’s declined. I only care about those being declined. Because food. As such, I’ve never met a stamped Solathair, much to Asteria’s disappointment. She hoped meeting a recent inductee might change my unfavourable view of Solathairs in general, which I make no effort to hide. Knowing how much I dislike them, and her by default, has no effect on the attention she continues to pour over me. Bitch should’ve been the element of water for as much shit as she spouts.

“They can’t stay mad at you forever,” Asteria offers. “Forever is too long a time for such short memory spans.”

I shrug.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about the Solathairs we accept?”

“No,” I counter. “Sweet fuck all interest in those cunts.”

“I take their memory away of the entire event!” she proclaims proudly. Such a douche. Does she want a hug? I’ll give her a fucking throat hug.

“I said I don’t fucking care.”

“No,” she corrects me. “You said you weren’t interested, therefore not curious. Curiosity has nothing to do with caring.”

I sigh. These people need to take their semantics and shove them up their asses.

“I liked you better when you asked questions,” she points out unnecessarily.

I stare blanks. “I like you better when you go the fuck away.”

“Suit yourself,” she states sourly. “Being lonely is a choice.”

I fold my arms across my chest when she shuts my door on her way out. It does little good to sulk in silence, but I’m not about to join the others, though I actually want to. I want to be around people who are feeling the same way I am. I want the distraction of practise and laughter, even if I’m not directly involved in what they’re doing. Just being around them helps me, like we all share the heavy load we’re carrying.

The egg shells I’m walking on aren’t egg shells. They’re more like shards of broken glass, tearing into my feet with each solo step. Every time another scouting party returns with another Solathair potential, it takes all my willpower to keep from running to look and see where I am on the stupid intake list. That list rules my life. Our expansion or long-term existence? Meh. Dinner? Fuck yeah. Care all about that. And Connor. Care about him too. Speaking of that dipshit, he moved himself to the bottom of the list again. That worries me. I know what he’s putting himself through. More withdrawal. Intentionally. Will he let me help him this time? Am I even capable of that?

For weeks, things go on as normal. They feed us well, but it isn’t the kind of food we want. It’s like eating cardboard cut-outs, despite the obvious efforts they put into ensuring we have an ample menu selection.

In the third week, the silence embargo ends. The broken dam brings with it horrible realizations of the absolute danger we’re in. All of us. I’m lying in bed staring absently at my memory stone when from outside my room comes the loudest roar I’ve ever heard, even during the most intense training. Someone’s severely fucked up out there.

Crashing and thrashing follows, complete with shouted explicates, but I can’t make out the words. Nor can Sheelin help me eavesdrop. She’s busy defending her structure from whatever creature is aiming to destroy the walls outside my room.

“It’s done,” someone hollers. “He’s gone.”

Only, whoever or whatever it is clearly isn’t gone. He’s still wailing and fighting as they drag him down the hall, kicking and screaming with every forward step.

I climb under my covers, pulling them up to my neck. I’m suddenly overcome with a cold as bitter as when I first arrived in Sheelin. It rips through my insides, making camp in my heart.

When Connor enters our room a short time later, I want to run and wrap my arms around him. Not because I missed him, but because the horrible darkness consuming me has finally strangled the remaining light, dim as it was. I’m desperate for his luminescence. He radiates an immortal goodness. He’s every bit as light as I am dark. He crawls under the covers with me, and I hold him close. Finally, I’m warm.

“What happened?” I probe.

“Frank went berserk.”

“What do you mean? He had a bad mission?”

“No.” Connor swallows hard. “It happens sometimes.”

“Is he okay now?”

“It’s not something you get over.”

I turn to face him. “What the fuck?”

“Every time our energy diminishes, we take this chance,” he remarks.

“What fucking chance? I’m not following you.”

“They explained the Solathair transition to you in class, right?”

“Yes,” I confirm. “They go through this monumental transition where they leave their body behind. Literally. It’s different for all of them, with one key similarity. It’s gruesome, life-altering, and perfectly horrific. I paid close attention during that part.”

“This isn’t a joke,” he chastises me.

“I wasn’t fucking joking,” I mutter.

“Well, a Solathair only has to go through transition once. A Sumair…every time our energy tanks are emptied, we have to go through it again. We refill, things go back to normal, and when we use our fuel up, the cycle starts again. It’s a painful, persistent cycle. Each time it’s like Russian roulette. We never know if we’ll come out of the withdrawal. When we don’t…well, we berserk. We totally lose ourselves.”

“Oh.”

“I’m scared,” he whispers.

“Don’t be scared, Connor,” I soothe him. “That won’t happen to you. You’re too good a person. You’re just…different. Innocent. Kind. Not like this. Never like this. Nothing like that’ll ever happen to you. I won’t let it.”

“I’m not scared for me, Molly,” he pleads softly. “I’m scared for you.”

I half smile, a cheating smile.

“Me too, Big Little Bro. Me too.”

Clearly, the egg-shells are infinite.

I watch my dreams with eyes wide open, afraid to fall asleep to the nightmares suffocating my conscience, snuffing out all that’s good and anything remaining of the person I used to be. Those dreams, with happily ever afters and white picket fences were doomed from the start. They were never real. If they were, I certainly don’t deserve them now after everything I’ve done. I put away the childish keepsake, snuggling Connor closer to me. I’ll protect him from it all. I have to. One lingering fear keeps making it impossible for me to fall asleep. Who will protect him from me?

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