The cold wind was howling, and its wretched song seemed to reflect what was going on inside my soul. As the flock of hollow-eyed crows veiled the sky, I knew it was the end. Nothing constrained me, but I was captive; my brother would make sure the wheatfield stretched out forever from where I was standing, so I’d have no safe place to run.
I said his name so quietly I couldn’t hear my own voice. The next second, my twin stood in front of me. Only his expression was the complete opposite of mine—confident, fearless, murderous. I smiled and closed my eyes, asking him to make it quick.
“This can stop,” he said.
He pointed to the birds.
“They claim they can help find the wizard that cursed us.”
In different worlds and in multitudes of lifetimes, we would be born twins, both gifted with magic and the memory of our past lives, and both mortally ill. The sickness would leave one twin only after the other died and plunged into limbo until the next cycle.
“Let’s go,” I said, not caring if it was a trick or whose trick it was.
We followed the crows into the night.
Written for Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge.
I so love this painting. Van Gogh is awesome *dreamy sigh*
All comments are welcome!