Horizon

Conor Lowery

The sky was dark, overshadowed as always by the clouds. The sun was alien to Becca, only spoken of in stories; it no doubt seemed as alien to Becca as Becca did to the others, marked as she was by tattered jeans and the elaborate web of tattoos across her body. Becca was considered peculiar among her peers. At age fourteen, Becca had gone into the Forbidden Zone dozens of times, a journal in hand. Becca who saw the red eyes all too often. She saw them in the alleys. She saw them in the sewers. She saw them in the pipes, and she saw them when she was running, running from the Forbidden Zone. Becca was always running somewhere.

Becca ran through the streets. She ran past the red eyes. She ran away from the clouds. How many times now, how many times had she left the toxic safety of her underground home, a gas mask on her face and a journal in her hand? Despite the innumerable escapes, she never escaped to where she wanted so badly to be.

People said there was a gate. They talked about it in bars, in shelters, and in privacy. If the red-eyed men caught you talking about it, you disappeared. That only made Becca want it more; that was why she was here on an abandoned street, the red eyes creeping from above. She could see them in her peripheral vision. Across the rooftops, they were stalking her; they were coming, and they wanted her. Why wouldn’t they descend upon her? Why weren’t they attacking?

Becca had drawn maps. She’d organized paths. Every supposed location, she’d traced to its end; now, she was on the last three. This had to be one of them. If the gate existed, as she so desperately hoped it did, she could finally make her way out of the shadows. Out of the clouds, and into the sun. God, she wanted the sun. Becca had only ever heard about the sun in hushed whispers, yet the people spoke so highly of it; there was a sort of reverence in the way they addressed it. Becca had never known it, but that was what she wanted.

That was all she had ever wanted. She wasn’t alive anymore; she couldn’t feel heat. She couldn’t feel anything

at all; she’d been safe underground, but she hadn’t wanted safety. She had a hunger the others didn’t understand. Pains they couldn’t feel. Now, she was going to find the sun even if it killed her. Becca was going to see the dawn.

The red eyes were catching up. Their pace had increased. They were gaining on her now; they were close, ever closer, always looking for her. She had an utter confidence that if she kept moving, they wouldn’t attack. She didn’t know why.

The red eyes continued; at least four, all slinking above her like rats in the wind, seeking her. She didn’t want to disappear. She didn’t want to fade away. They were coming nearer now, and their numbers were growing. From four to six, from six to eight, from eight to twelve, expanding infinitely. Becca began to sprint, notebook still in hand; the streets were lit in the darkness, the debris of society all about her path as she finally made it. She saw it, bright and golden. She slammed her hand into the gate, and pulled. The red eyes disappeared all around her. The gate opened, and into her eyes flooded such furious, flaming light that she felt her chalk-white skin begin to crack; it slipped from her like a shell as she bounded into the world outside, the light enveloping Becca entirely. Becca finally saw the sun and ran into freedom.

All the while, the red eyes followed her. In their hive-like mind, those that followed her laughed. Finally, they thought in perfect unison, she’s led us to the horizon!

Judge’s Comments on “Intensive Care”

by Gabe Montesanti

It was an honor to judge the nonfiction entries for the Rising Phoenix contest this year. The winning essay is “Intensive Care.” I was drawn to the frankness of this piece, the way in which the author bluntly states in the second paragraph, “Somewhere around Arizona, I was mooned by a guy getting head at a roadside stop.” The themes in this piece, although serious, are rendered with levity and precision. There is an exquisite balance of reflection to scene, and the piece concludes masterfully.