Indigo Whispers: The Collective

Crick, crack, crick, crack.

On a cloudy Sunday afternoon, a pair of footsteps could be heard crossing the desolate expanse of Michaelson's Graveyard. Patchy, dried grass blanketed the ground under crumbling tombstones, sickly trees dotted the dented metal fence. It appeared as though nobody had attended to this place in ages. A wonder, the passing figure thought, that of all the places in the world he had been buried here.

This figure in particular stuck out in several ways from the average human being. From the silken white hair down to her knees to the black cat's tail twitching under her coat, one wondered if she was a human being. Some would argue she most certainly wasn't. For this person was an indigo child, and her name was Amia Hart. 

To and fro she gradually paced among the tombstones, eyes wandering from name to name. At 28 years old she was not the excitable girl she had once been, but this was still a rather interesting and curious place. It made her want to explore, but she shook her head and kept her pace. She was on a mission here. A mission to find his grave.

Finally, after 10 minutes of careful scouring, she discovered it. A tombstone taller and in much better shape than the rest of those in the graveyard. Her footsteps slowed as she saw the inscription, and in spite of herself her breath hitched.

Harold Hart

1853 - 2030

God and Leader

With its curious inscription, this wasn't just any grave. It was the grave of her father.

All at once, she couldn't do it. Heart racing. Head spinning. Hands shaking. Every fibre of her body screamed to turn around and leave. However, she forced herself to decide that she wasn't going to panic. With a deep, shaky breath, she began to go over the exercises she'd practiced in therapy. 5 minutes of grounding did her good, and before long she was calm again.

A million emotions had surged through her - anger, fear, sorrow, confusion. This man had been no ordinary father to her. He was the reason her life had been ruined, the reason she had so many mental issues to this day. Yet in spite of this, she had come here for a reason, and she planned to carry it out. With hands still lightly tremblimg, she knelt down in front of the grave and took a second deep breath.

"...Daddy?"

Obviously there was no answer but the whispers of the wind. However, Amia had always been a superstitious person. Some part of her truly believed that if she spoke, it would reach him somewhere.

"It's been a long time, daddy."

Indeed it had. 20 years since she had laid eyes upon his face. 20 years since she had dared speak his name. 20 long, suffering years since she had ever chosen to confront him in a similar way to this. A pregnant silence followed, as she swallowed the choking that threatened to bubble up before finally launching into a flurry of words.

"It's been 10 years since the hell barrier. The one you caused, you know. I still dream about it at night. But... it's okay. All three of us made it out alive. And all of us are finally living again."

Amia pondered this for a moment. Dwelling on her two friends and their present careers brought a much needed smile to her face.

"Eva is finally a professional artist. You should see her work! She does gorgeous paintings, and was able to find her own style! I'm so proud of her. Jackie is a veterinarian's assistant. Their heart for the animals they work with is so big! It makes me smile. ... And me? I'm a psychologist now. I'm working back at the ICS, the same place we all grew up."

She then halted, wondering what her father would truly care about these things if he was alive. As such, she sighed, and summoned the courage to say what she sought this place out to say.

"So... I want you to know that I'm free, daddy. I'm free. Free from everything you did to me. Free from all the nasty stuff you tried to start while you were alive. Free... finally free. So, it's okay. Even though you hurt me deeply, I'm growing. I'm healing. I'm okay, and I forgive you."

Just like that, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Even in that lonely, bedraggled graveyard, everything felt brighter, the sun seemed to shine warmer. As she stood to her feet and turned to find the gate, the world seemed to be a wonderful, worthwhile place to live in.

Free. She truly was free.