geist klara

Three sisters. The youngest fled.

It was all too much to bear. With her sisters gone, Klara Vovk found herself bearing the brunt of years of frustration within her household. The smell of alcohol and smoke hung heavily in the air always. There was no life, no happiness. Only a cynical coldness, every word barked and sometimes backed up with a harsh hand.

This was nothing new. But before there was at least the promise of something better. The three girls, together, made their own optimism. But perhaps underneath it, the elder two knew that the only way to survive was to leave. At eighteen, they both disappeared. And Klara knew that if she were to make it, she would have to follow suit.

But how was she to succeed where they had? There was something weak inside her, uncertain. A constant underlying static of doubt. There was little love in the household, but there was effort. Wasn't that worth something? Who the hell are you to abandon them and leave them with nothing? You are terrible.

The answer came in a flash of anger and movement as her home city tore apart at the seams. Yet again history was repeating itself, and the massive neighbor to the East was beginning to assert herself once again. Even if she held out, there would be no future for Klara here, only a cycle of hope, things getting slightly better before they crashed back down into misery. Nothing ever changes.

It was a decision of raw fear. It was run or die. Run or die. If not die now, then slowly waste away, or so the thing in her chest spoke.

So, in the dead of night, she disappeared, boarding a train heading west with what little money she had. She made eye contact with no one, tears dripping down her face though she didn't make a sound.

She'd developed a talent for crossing borders illegally, but as she made it further and further into western Europe a horrifying thought crept in. Her money was draining fast, eaten away by conversion after conversion until she reached the Union. She was growing hungrier, weaker, but more than that the static had grown to an outright roar, lurking under her every action.

Now you're really going to die, it said. You gave up safety, and now you will pay for it.

It was in Austria that hopelessness really began to set in. She knew no one, had no roots. How was she to set them if she went to country after country without knowing a single bit of the barrage of languages she was faced with? The money had run dry, and she'd developed a cough. Some virus hanging in the air had clung to her weakened state and was ravaging through her body. If she were back home, she would have had shelter, at least. She could have dodged the smoke and anger and slept it off. Sleep... It was probably a week since she actually got any sleep.

But now, this was the third train station she'd been kicked out of. There was nowhere to go but the night streets.

And there was nothing else to feel. She looked down the streets, saw a handful of fast food restaurants whose doors were still open, all easy shelter. But she kept walking, stumbling down the streets looking for all the world like a drunk.

/I don't deserve it,/ She thought to herself, /Why prolong the inevitable?/

She took a place in an alley behind some buildings, shedding her coat and letting her skin out into the winter night, and closed her eyes. It took a while, but it was quiet. Peaceful.

--

And her eyes snapped open immediately the second her heart had stopped.

What had changed? Nothing. Except when she jolted there was strength in her limbs again. She drew a breath and her lungs were as clear as they had ever been. Startled, she got to her feet, grabbing her coat and wrapping herself up again.

Not only was she alive, she was in perfect health. And the /energy/. It had to have been years since she'd been this alert.

But why?

The alley contained no one else, but she felt watched. No... there was someone, or something. There had to be, as the feeling of a presence, some kind of consciousness was definite. A breeze tostled her hair, but it didn't move like any natural wind. It was bitingly cold and seemed to swirl around her body in a perfect arc. Small white tendrils moved through it, the occasional bit of trash and debris, leaves.

She reached out and the wind left a phantom frost on her coat that disappeared immediately. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw someone lying prone on the ground, but when she looked, there was nothing.

It was bizarre, unnatural, but deep down she knew that whatever this thing was, it was conscious. The wind answered her thoughts, and in its depths she heard echoes. The sounds didn't seem to have any meaning. The barking of a dog, the whinnying of a horse, and finally, human sobs. She heard words, begging and full of despair, in her mother language.

She didn't know what it was trying to say. But somewhere deep down she knew that whatever this thing was, it told her that she had done the right thing. She had to keep going, no matter what it took, and that it would help her.

So went on she did.