Artemisia stared at Thea, their eyes connected. Leaning towards Thea, Artemisia places a finger, her index finger, on Thea's face. Then her middle finger, then the ring finger, and a pause.
Artemisia, in a gentle manner, holds her left palm and places a soft kiss on her ring finger.
Then she takes a small knife from her pocket and cuts her ring finger.
Not the whole finger, just enough so that she could still wear a ring.
Thea didn't blink but followed each action with careful concentration.
"Why?" Thea asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
She watches the blood dripping down the finger, dirtying Artemisia's clothes. Everyone looked wide-eyed in horror.
"Hmm, why not?" Artemisia smiled, then held the finger out for Thea. Right above her lips. Blood dripped on Thea's lips and stained them red.
Artemisia rubbed the blood away, "This is all just for fun, okay."
She forced open Thea's mouth and fed her the finger.
Thea swallowed.
Unblinking.
Artemisia giggled, her eyes sparkled.
The finger tasted like nothing to Thea; the only taste that remained was that of iron.
And someone vomited. Artemisia turned to look at it, but all Thea looked at was Artemisia and the way she played with the knife, and her bleeding finger.
Thea took her handkerchief, and took Artemisia's hand too.
Artemisia turned to her with a questioning gaze.
Thea wrapped the handkerchief around her finger.
"Did her finger taste good?" The kid with mahogany hair and big, black eyes, who had been saved by Thea, asked.
His mother grabbed him, a shiver in her bones, and fear to meet anyone's eyes.
"No, tasted like crap really," Thea answered, shrugging.
"Then why did you eat it?"
Thea extended her palm to the kid, the mother moved back with him.
From her palm grew a pink little flower.
"Pretty!" The kid yelled.
"It's a bomb." Thea smiled.
No one moved.
The kid tried to touch it, and Thea moved it away.
"It can kill you," Thea said.
"I wanna play—"
The sound of sniffling breaks the atmosphere, the mother swallows her saliva, her eyes red, and she hugged her kid closer.
"Mama, why are you crying?"The kid asked, shaking his mother.
The woman looked at her kid and smiled. Her hair was a mess, her nose leaking. But she smiles and says—"I won't cry, I won't cry if you are safe."
"But I am safe?" The boy tilted his head.
The mother hugged her child closer.
Everyone looked at them, the gravity of the situation sinking deep down to their capillaries.
Artemisia watched with her face in her palm.
Thea looked outside the broken glass.
Then the coffee house remained silent.
It was the sort of silence that suffocated you into nausea. It was like eating your least favourite food. But you had no choice.
Because no matter if the café smelled of burning corpses or burnt cookies, the only way to live was by being suffocated.
"Does anyone else have any powers?" Artemisia asked, and no one answered.
"I can kill anyone, you know?"
"I think I do!" A shaky voice spoke; it was the barista who prepared the mocha.
"Really?" Artemisia stood up, and the barista moved back,
"Yes, there are strange words behind my grocery list." He did not look at her and spoke very fast.
"What is the power?" She asked, licking her lips.
"Barrier?" He answered unsure, and not looking.
"Make one right now!" Artemisia said, her smile radiant.
The barista looked at her, "Huh! How?"
"Don't know, don't care," she shrugged.
The barista stared at the woman, then at his feet, then at random faces, all of which looked away. Then he ran to the counter and looked at the grocery list.
"It said I need to surround the area I need to protect with my blood." He mumbled.
"That is cool!" She jumped and smiled.
Then she stared at him.
He stared back.
She smiled widely and dragged him outside.
He screamed.
"Scream more, and it will be your throat where the blood comes out." Artemisia doesn't look at him.
And he swallowed his tears and his fears.
But even if you kill all that terrifies you, reality won't let you live how you want to.
Because reality is indifferent to your pain.
Reality only loves those who can challenge it.
Not just swallow it whole.
But even as the barista entered the building after covering it with blood. Tired, parched.
Lost quite a bit of blood.
And no one looked.
Still bleeding.
He stumbled onto the floor.
"Activate the barrier!"
He looked at Artemisia, closed his eyes, and nodded.
And he closed his eyes.
One.
Two.
On three, the barrier was formed.
Four, like rain, an attack from the spheres.
Artemisia wrapped her palms around his eyes.
"Don't look," she warned, and he sat still. Sweat dripping off of him.
Bleeding.
The attack continued. Like thunder dropping on the ground.
The mother hugged her child. Strangers leaned against each other.
Thea opened her phone and read some articles.
'The deadly attack of the monster species—666'
"666 is so uncreative," Thea shook her head.
Thea tapped her fingers against the table.
She looked at Artemisia, who closed the barista's eyes.
And the barista bled, garnet red blood that stained both their clothes.
And like rain pouring down on the roof, the attack continued.
Thea looked at Artemesia and saw her sighing.
Thea looked at her closed palm. Then opened it.
The index finger.
The barista started to cry, his tears stained his clothes.
The middle finger.
An old man prayed.
The ring finger.
Artemisia yawned.
The little finger.
The kid sang–'pitter-patter'
And the thumb
The attack ceased.
Some stood up, some fainted.
Some looked around,
Some hugged their children.
Thea walked to Artemisia.
Artemisia looked at her, then smiled, "What do you think a barista's favourite flower would be?"
"Money?" Thea replied.
"Hmm." Artemisia nodded.
"Why?" Thea tilted her head.
"'Cause he is dead."