by Kylie Wang
Boom.
The creatures in the underbrush scattered as another tree fell, her arms cracking when she hit the ground. The giant had stood tall and proud despite— or rather because of— her age, with her leaf-crowned head facing up to drink in the sunlight, but that didn’t change the way she keeled over and collided with the forest floor: heavy, like a vault door slammed shut.
The family of Chaos leapt over her fallen body. Tailing at the end, the Little Chaos’s shrivelled legs and long claws ached from hazy decades of blind slaughtering, and his nose permanently scrunched against the stench of death. Usually, the wasteland was a playground to him, but recently the fumes penetrated his lungs all too quickly, and now he only barely managed to jump over the tree.
Looking up, he discerned his family’s shrinking figures through the smog, and his footsteps slowed. He circled back, came to a stop beside the giant’s head, and his bony fingers reached up to caress her wrinkle-lined skin, burrowing into the soft greenery of her hair.
Dark fumes blended with silhouettes of dying trees and creatures around the Little Chaos, the familiar warfare of his family. He didn’t move his leaden muscles, only the occasional blink to dispel ash from his beady eyes. An ember floated down onto the tree. He leapt into motion, stamping and beating, trying to bury any trace of flame with the numb, leathery skin of his hands. The embers burst into a fire, however, flaring and crackling tauntingly as it crawled down her spine. Her wood creaked and moaned, splitting the darkness with dazzling light in a last effort of rebellion. The dark, hardened skin on the Little Chaos’s hands flaked off with the heat, exposing raw, white flesh underneath. When he tried to touch the flames again, the burn brought tears to his eyes.
At last, he had to surrender. Sinking to his haunches, he wrapped his arms around his legs and curled up amidst the fire. His grimy, tattered cape quickly ignited, but he paid no heed, leaving the thick, black skin on his back to protect him from heat.
A branch fell behind him, crisp leaves tickling his cheeks. The tree’s last gift— her offering of peace— clung to a twig, shivering in the acidic wind like a lost child refusing to let go. He plucked it from her stiff finger. It was small and round, and dismal for a gift, but he curled his hands around it out of pity.
By the time daybreak crawled across ashen sky and the hissing of flames disintegrated into lifeless silence, the Last Forest was utterly dead. The Little Chaos’s cape was gone, along with the leathery layer of his skin, revealing tender, snowy flesh. Without his hardened coat, he felt the cut of harsh gales on his bare body, as they roamed freely among charred stumps where a viridescent canopy once filtered the sunlight. Cinders littered the cracked ground, and clumps of scorched carcasses dotted the wreckage. The last wisps of smoke rose into the sky, like bitter angels that left a stinging in the Little Chaos’s eyes as they escaped the mortal world.
He heard footsteps. Mother Chaos called out to her youngest child, a sadistic grin cut across her already-contorted face. She grimaced when she caught sight of the thin white layer he now wore, preparing for a lecture. The family jested at each other— the Brother shoving at the Sister and earning a snap in return, the Father freeing his throat to caterwaul a gruesome song with the Grandfather, satisfaction etched on their marred cheeks. The Little Chaos didn’t answer, looking around at the miserable greyness in every direction.
Digging his sharp, curved toenails into the ground, he shook his head and refused to leave.
The family snarled, their mouths warping into an ugly line. The rotten skin on their foreheads creased as their littlest one growled back defiantly. One by one they retreated, piling into their vessel. In a few minutes, their ship sputtered hot, black gas, and like a silver firework it hurtled into the dim sky, a swirling storm of dust left in its wake. The Little Chaos stood alone with only the wind to keep him company, howling in pain as it blew the past away.
Perhaps it was the ashes, but a tear rolled down his sunken, soot-covered cheek, leaving a trail of cold.
Through the murk, he could make out images from another time, long ago. He remembered how he had been picked up into his grandmother’s lap instead, who had dried his tears with a handkerchief. He remembered being rocked while his grandfather told stories to take the Little Child’s mind off his scraped knee. The memories flooded back: riding bicycles with his sister, folding paper airplanes with his brother, baking with his mother. He remembered the chirp of birds in the morning, the wide expanse of blue ocean under an equally blue sky, cool tendrils slinking between his toes in the hot sand. He remembered the music of his family’s laugh, the charm of their smile, when those were still part of the everyday melody before they disappeared into complaints, jeers, screeches.
His father wiped the glistening sweat off his brow, his elbow propped on the handle of a spade. The littlest one, much younger than he was now, crouched down next to the freshly dug hole, depositing a seed. With utmost care, he covered the hole up with dirt and sprinkled the mound with water from a plastic red watering can.
Gasping, he looked down through blurred eyes, unfurling his fingers one by one to reveal the tiny, round object cupped in his hands. A seed, he remembered, as he let out a soft chuckle while wiping his tears. That was what it was. A second chance.
© Kylie Wang
Kylie Wang (she/her) is a Taiwanese writer who grew up in Hong Kong and is now a high school student in California. Her short works have received 30+ awards and publications, including from YoungArts, the Scholastics Arts and Writing Award, Paper Lanterns, and Bluefire. Her co-authored Young Adult novel, “Stuck in Her Head,” is coming out with Earnshaw Books in October. You can find her on Instagram @kyliewangwrites and on her website twoteenauthors.com/kylie-wang/.
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