Flash Fic February Day Fifteen (02/15/2022) Prompt: Desert
Now, the real fight begins.
That’s what the stars had whispered to her before she had lost consciousness. And when her world went dark, she had expected an actual fight; that the stars would lend her the strength to overtake Persephone.
But instead, there was a vast, empty desert stretched out before her, great dunes cutting regal outlines against the night sky. Hecate had found herself lying in the sand, spread eagle, as though she had fallen. She looked upwards, towards the sky, imploring the stars to guide her, but her connection felt weak… muted. What had once been beautiful song in her ears was now a strangled whisper. It’s because I’m dying, she realized. I can’t hear them because I’m dying.
She scrambled to her feet, her bare soles slipping in the still-warm sand (when had she lost her shoes, she distantly wondered). At least she could still hear them, no matter how faint; that meant they hadn’t left her, hadn’t abandoned her to her horrible fate. Hecate looked skyward again, searching for the North Star to guide her. She had no idea which way to go, she was relying on nothing but her gut feeling, which told her to follow the sky.
So she did.
Hecate began to trudge northward, every step a fight as the sand slipped underneath her. The massive dunes proved to be the most difficult challenge, as every step threatened to knock her off balance and send her tumbling back to the bottom of the dune. She had a horrible feeling that, if she slipped and fell to the bottom, she’d lay there and never be able to get up again. So she didn’t look down, didn’t look back, as she marched her way through the desert.
It was when she was crossing a relatively flat stretch of sand when she’d tripped over something. She hissed in pain, nearly falling over whatever had tripped her but regaining her balance last second. Unsure, and wary of her surroundings, she knelt down and brushed sand away from the cold, hard metal object she’d nearly fallen over. As her hands cleared the sand, freeing the object enough so she could see, she screamed and scrambled back away from it as though it had bitten her, a pit of dread opening in her stomach.
It was a grave marker, the flat, square kind. And there was text printed on it in thick, black letters.
Here Lies Lucille Moore. Lost to the Stars.
A nauseas feeling swept through Hecate, her hands shaking as she looked at the marker. Was she standing on her own grave? Was she too late, and was dead already?
She tentatively approached, kneeling once more, clearing away more of the sand so she could read the rest of the text.
Here Lies Lucille Moore. Lost to the Stars.
1990–2015
May You Carry Your Burdens to the End, and Never Look Back.
A chill went down her spine, like the feeling that someone was behind her, staring straight at her. She fought the urge to turn around. Never look back. That part, at least, seemed easy to understand. But what did it mean by carrying her burdens?
She was taken over by the sudden urge to dig deeper into the sand at the foot of the marker. She had no idea if it was the stars, or instinct, or just a blind attempt to feel like she was accomplishing something. But for now, with the stars so muffled, she was on her own. So she dug, ignoring that feeling of eyes at her back, watching her dig and dig. She had only gotten about elbow deep when her elbows brushed against something solid. Relief filled her; there had been something here, after all. Her fingers closed around what felt like a small, metallic box.
Hecate ripped it free from the grip of the sand, nearly staggering backwards as it came loose. In her hands, she was holding what looked to be a time capsule; it was square, and covered in rust, its lid shut tight to protect against the harsh elements. Fingers trembling, she pried open the lid, finding what looked to be a piece of shattered glass nestled into plush fabric. She recognized it; it was a shard of glass from the telescope her parents had gotten her before they died. The once Percy had broken so long ago, now.
She picked it up in her fingers, careful of the sharp edges. It felt warm in her hands, as though it had been sitting in the sun. Why was this here? Of all things?
But Hecate didn’t have time to ponder it; she felt another set of eyes on her back, and then a third set joining them. She didn’t dare turn around as she rose to her feet, clutching the piece of glass to her heart. She had no time to lose, no time to worry about what was behind her.
So she limped past her emptied grave, leaving it behind as she began to climb the next dune. This one seemed taller than the rest, like a skyscraper reaching for the stars. But she didn’t hesitate as she began her climb. To her horror, there was the sound of shuffling in the sand behind her, like footsteps. She pushed forward faster, still limping in pain but trying her best to ignore it. She couldn’t say where the feeling came from, but she knew if she turned around it would be over, she’d lose.
As she got higher and higher up the dune, the glass in her hand somehow began to grow heavier with each step. Soon, it began far heavier than a shard of glass had any right to be, forcing Hecate to tighten her grip on it as it weighed her down.
And then the things behind her began to talk.
“Let it go, Lucy,” Percy’s voice sighed from behind her. “It’s getting heavy, isn’t it?” Hecate knew that Percy, or the thing that sounded like her, was trying to get her to let go of the shard.
“Fuck off,” She spat, somewhat breathless as she struggled up the dune.
“Aren’t you tired?” Percy asked, sounding bored.
“I don’t care.” Her grip tightened further, and she felt the edges of the shard cut into her hand. “Leave me alone.”
And to her surprise, Percy did. Only for another voice to replace it.
“Hecate, dear,” Artemia cooed. “You’ve cut your hand. Come here, let me take care of it for you.”
Dread shot through her like ice in her veins. She picked up the pace, but for every step she took, it felt like she slid back down just as much, the sand continually shifting beneath her as the shard grew heavier and heavier. “You’re not Artemia,” she panted, the desperation rising in her voice. “Leave me alone.” She refused to turn around, to give up here. I won’t turn around. I won’t turn around. I won’t-
“Lu,” Stephen’s voice came from behind her, sounding distraught. “Where did you go? Why won’t you come back?” It took every ounce of willpower she had to not turn to him. Tears were welling in her eyes; why couldn’t she climb this stupid dune? “Didn’t we make a promise?”
Hecate very nearly turned around then. “Stop it!”
“You promised,” his voice suddenly turned sinister in a way that struck true fear into her heart.
And as Hecate was slowly making progress up the dune… she suddenly felt a hand clamp around her ankle, threatening to pull her down. She screamed as she she slipped, her knees driving down hard into the sand, rattling her and nearly making her drop the shard. “Let go of me!” But the hand began to drag her down wards, undoing all of her progress.
Hecate shut her eyes, tears falling down her cheeks. I don’t want to die. Please. Her hand was aching, hurting, there was blood in the sand from where she’d cut herself on the shard-
The shard. Without thinking, Hecate drove the glass deep into the dune, holding onto one end as she used it to slow her downward progress. It cut even deeper into her hand, making her cry out in pain, but she didn’t let go. It was now the only thing keeping her from sliding all the way back down. Desperate, and fighting like a trapped animal, Hecate kicked out with her free leg, connecting with… something hard enough to where it shrieked and let go of her ankle.
Using the shard to pull herself up, Hecate hurtled upwards, sprinting as fast as she could and trying her best to ignore the pain in her knees. “Get back here! Hecate!” The voice that was “Artemia” called out to her, but it sounded… distorted. Wrong. She ignored it, scrambling up the dune and occasionally using the shard to help pull herself up. She sobbed in relief when she saw that she seemed to be making progress at last, the top of the dune approaching closer and closer.
“I thought we were friends,” Stephen lamented, his voice on the edge of tears.
“I always knew you were a coward,” Percy taunted.
But Hecate continued, fighting her way upwards until finally, at last, she had made it to the top of the dune, clearing it and hurtling herself over the crest of it. She went tumbling down, rolling and nearly bouncing off the sand. She gripped the glass tightly to her, holding it close as she tumbled, never letting go of it for an instant. When she finally came to a stop, and the world around her stopped spinning, she found herself as the edge of a calm, serene oasis, the water so clear it reflected the night sky above it.
And there, sitting across the bank, looking just as rough as Hecate felt, was the person she least wanted to see.
Persephone was waiting for her.
