Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,19

it’s like my hand is possessed.

Like a feather in a dust storm, with no direction

The Raven flies through life, helpless and omitted

Until night declares and the wind expires.

Then it flies to the land of stones and etchings

And becomes an Ember, breaking away.

I decide my poetry might be off tonight so I set the marker down, but my hand takes on its own life, forcing the tip to the wall again. I scratch down X after X until they nearly cover the wall, pushing so hard it peels through the paint. Then, in the center, I sketch an hourglass.

Once I’m done, the marker falls from my hand and I scoot away from the wall. I blink and blink again, but the drawing stays. Is this aftermath of the accident? Or am I starting to lose my mind, just like my dad?

I fall back on the floor, exhausted. Seconds later, I drift asleep.

Chapter 5

A week before my dad’s disappearance, he was acting strange, his behavior and attitude more offish than usual. One day when I came home from school, I found him in the garage with his head tucked under the hood of the car and the engine running. I hurried and pushed the garage open and he coughed as the door rolled open.

“Sorry, Emmy,” he said, hacking. “I didn’t realize it was shut.”

I trotted down the steps and peered under the hood. “Dad, are you okay…” The inside of the hood was covered in little red X’s. “What are those?”

“I’m not sure… I don’t remember how they got there.” He slammed the hood and I had to jerk back to avoid my fingers getting squished between the metal. “But you don’t need to worry about me, Emmy. I got everything under control. What I need for you to do is find that necklace Grandma gave you.”

“The maroon stone one?”

He perked up, his shoulders straightening, his chin elevating, along with his mood. “Yeah, do you know where it is?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure where I put it… but I’ll start checking in the boxes in the basement, if you want.”

He nodded and a flicker of yellow lit in his grey eyes. “Could you do that for me, Emmy? Please?” he asked and I nodded, then he glanced over his shoulder at the wall. “Do you see anything behind me?”

“No. there’s nothing there but the wall and the toolbox.”

He hopped into the passenger seat of his car, and removed a small knife from the glove box. “Good. Now go find the necklace.”

I stared at him, wondering why he was acting so strange, when suddenly a raven flew in and landed in the beams, its feathers molting and a few fluttered to the ground. At the sight of the raven, my dad went ballistic.

“You get out of here, you fucking little demon!” He threw a screwdriver at the raven, but missed, and the raven cawed. “Get out!” Spanning its wings, it flew away, and he relaxed, returning his focus to me. “Emmy, if there’s one thing you need to know about life, it’s to never trust anyone or anything. Life is a freaking mind game and you and I are the pawns.”

It was the first time I worried he might be losing his mind. After that, he rapidly went downhill, especially when I couldn’t find the God damn necklace.

***

I wake up on the floor with my cheek pressed to the marker, a feather on my forehead, and the strange drawing on the wall just in front of my feet.

“What the hell?” Sitting up, I rub my eyes and blink at the sunlight glistening through the curtain. Then I pick up the feather and notice smudges of red paint on my hands. “What did I do last night?” I remember crashing into a lake, Asher saving me, and Raven crying. After that, nothing, like I’m hung-over, but I didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night.

Raven’s not in bed when I walk out and the room is cleaned up, my clothes put away, my books stacked back on the shelf, and my pencils, pens, and markers put back in the desk drawer. It’s her way of saying sorry.

The neighbor across the street watches me from their front porch as I open the window and flick the feather outside. I start to pull the window shut, but pause at the sight of someone looking up at me from the sidewalk. His hands are inserted into the pockets of his black jeans and black eyeliner