Shakhra

Seagulls sliced through the clouds with such ease that, from below, I nervously shuffled my feet ever closer to the steel-stained bench. Sitting there, in this place, looking out of the window I envied the seagulls for their passion and freedom. An awful attempt at distracting myself away from the hidden scars, buried deep within my anatomy. As my whole body erupted in shivers, through fear, I erased the thoughts from my mind and cleared the memories. Sifting through the luscious, sweet emotions of grief, hate, love and joy, I thought of that dreadful day. Shaking my head from this as well I couldn't help noticing the smoke, smothering me, yet one thing, a tiny piece of evidence stood out; a wisp of smoke.

         That same curling wisp of smoke tempted me to the sensational view of the forbidden mountains. Gazing, daydreaming, out of the window, I noticed the clouded, blurred, shadowy figures; known as, what everyone calls, “Shakhra's.” As I drew ever closer to the edge of the window, tiptoeing silently, not only did the figures become greatly distinguished but I caught a glimpse of something from the corner of my iris. Even before I pivoted round, on my right foot, I hesitated and thought; 'Was it a trick of the light?” The rhetorical question ran through my head, even as I spun back around to continue gazing out of the window. Yet again, the unknown source caught my attention and distracted me away from my main interest. So this time I spun round faster and glanced over my shoulder as I did so, in-case it was a mind trick, I could return to my original position. Nothing strange appeared so I focused down the corridor ahead of me. Long and never-ending, little streams of footpaths wandered off in multiple directions creating a branch effect, but these too were long corridors that had streams of footpaths etc. A careful network of communication and confusion to the inhabitants of this place. 

     I slowly twirled back around to continue gazing out at the island. Beautiful, serene, structured network. Everything had a place and a right, apart from us who were held captives. But the island didn't deserve to be ruined or destroyed for our own beneficial gain. Everyone and everything in this 'Prison' is undeniably a stature of crime and lust. The inhabitants had a lust for committing crimes. We didn't deserve life, none of us, or at least that was what we were told. Now it was tapped into our brains so that no matter what we do we're in the wrong. These "Shakhra's" are the ones who control us and embed everything into our fragile minds. Corruption is the only reason why most of the inhabitants are the way they appear. There is nothing else to it. Nothing, nothing, nothing. If only it were that simple though. The past is the reason for the present, and the present will determine our future, if we get that far. Everyday is a struggle that no-one can possess how heart-wrenching the the emotional pain is that we go through. Even the island suffers for what we feel. A carefully placed network of communication.

  Palm trees that were still standing are on the verge of withering and passing over at any giving moment. Those that are standing are on their last limb. Those that are dead, and toppled over are no longer used for industrial purposes. They lie in await for decay and micro-organisms to engulf the nutrients that can no longer be stored for sustaining even the smallest of life. Life. The life that remains is diminished and futile. Pointless of it's existence. Such rarities of seeing creatures that moved freely, like the seagulls, was once in a Shakhra feeding time. Although the concept of time was lost, the simple concept of day and night remained, and one could only imagine being a bird or burden? at night. Although birds had an easy escape from the turmoil though, Reverb wasn't a place for sustaining nature. Nothing in this land could support it. Except for the leaves. Even though the trees had been scorched, torn apart and suffered the majority of pain, the leaves remained to be as delicate as the day they had bloomed. Green in their youth with the occasional golden-brown flecks here and there, but  thriving and living. No obvious pores or infliction's of pain. They were surviving somehow and it puzzled me. Before now we were taught that once a tree is stumped the leaves will follow shortly after because the nutrients and water needed will not get there. But this was clear proof that everything that we thought we knew was wrong. That was proved after a human disappeared, Julian Reverend. His body was found mutilated. He must have taken at least 5 pressure wounds to the head because his battered skull was pierced and cracked all the way around, with blood from the brain dripping out across the face of the John Doe. His eyes had been gouged out with some sort of knife because the edges were rigid and not a clean cut was delivered. The blood had escaped immediately and found it's way into his nostrils because it acted as superglue and sealed them shut. Paramedics later said that they had to 'Force' the nostrils apart during examination. Even though this was bad enough it was far off the worst that was yet to come. From his neck downwards the skin had been 'shaved'; like sheep wool and replaced next to him to create a shadow. Muscles and flesh could easily be seen from this was weakening and becoming flaccid and the muscles physically burst (which was recorded on camera) splattering the scene with blue blood that had recently been oxygenated. Then his bones could be seen and they retracted and split on their own accord piercing his heart and lungs, which oozed with blood but the lungs left a lingering aroma which could be smelt weeks after the crime or suicide? It was putrid and vile. A person could walk into the room and retreat the moment their foot passed the doors frame. The problem that arose afterwards was finding someone that knew him. His name was in records yet no-one, everyone over the world was contacted, knew Julian. He clearly didn't exist. Although the story got worse. When a medical examiner was finally about to do an autopsy the body evaporated before his eyes and steam entered the mans eyes and the process of Julian's death repeated itself but to the coroner. What remained of Julian was his shadow which was soon later to be called "Shakhra".