Girl Divided

by Willow Rose

  "TYLER!" Jetta screamed and fought her mother's hand.

  "Let it go, my dear," she said. "He was, and always will be, a distraction. And we can't have that. Better to let them all go. You don't need them. It's just you and me now."

  Chapter 78

  Jetta felt so helpless, so useless as her mother carried her across the skies, riding the wind like she rode her bike, having it take her anywhere she needed to. Jetta no longer cared where they were going or what would happen when they got there.

  Loviatar laughed, satisfied, her laughter echoed by the wind, making it sound like it agreed with her. The sound of her laughing only angered Jetta further.

  "I hate you," she yelled against the wind. "I hate you!"

  The statement only made her mother giggle even louder and more forcefully, and that was when Jetta realized that her mother fed off of devastation, off of anguish and sadness and death. Just as Shango fed off of happiness and dancing; this was her source of power.

  Jetta gave up. She couldn't even muster the power to try and fight her mother anymore. It was no use. It was all over. She had no more strength to fight.

  While hanging in her mother's arms, wondering what kind of hell her mother would turn the Earth into, she heard it. It started as a low rumble in the distance that soon turned heavier and heavier as it approached them and surrounded them, completely enclosing them. Soon, it felt like the air itself was shaking around them, as the rhythmic sound vibrated so forcefully it threw Loviatar off the wind and they fell.

  As Loviatar fell and fought to get back up on the wind, she let go of Jetta, who felt the rhythm of her father's drum inside her heart. It was like it empowered her, like she received new energy from the very sound, enough so that when Loviatar finally turned into the massive bird and soared towards her, reaching out her talons to try and grab her, she shaped a lightning bolt and shot it at her, piercing her mother's chest.

  Loviatar's shriek shook the Earth and the Heavens. Then emerged a wet gurgling sound and Loviatar turned old and wrinkled like a prune, her blind eyes white. The bolt of lightning had split her lung. Her hot blood spurted on Jetta as she coughed and gasped for breath, causing it to rain blood on the Earth beneath them while they continually fell towards it.

  Jetta saw the ground coming closer and closer when something soared up from it towards her so closely she could grab onto it's back and sit on it while riding it back down.

  It was Oya. Even though she couldn't see as the antelope, she still managed to find her way and, seconds later, Jetta was safe on the ground, her mother's wrinkled old body lying broken on the rocks. Shango was standing above her, looking down at her.

  "Is she dead?" Jetta asked as she approached them cautiously.

  Shango looked at the hole where the lightning bolt had gone through Loviatar's chest, then grinned. Smoke was still coming from her chest.

  "Looks like it, kiddo." He put his arm around her shoulder. "But, then again, nothing really dies. It just goes somewhere else."

  Jetta stared at her mother, who looked nothing like the woman she had met in the swamps as she lay there all pruny and skinny. There was a hissing sound in the distance, growing louder and louder, and long dark shadows emerged in the distance, growing longer and longer. They approached Loviatar's body with great speed, grabbed it, and dragged it after them until they were all gone, disappeared into the ground. As soon as they couldn't see them anymore, the sky suddenly cleared above them, and the sun warmed Jetta's body once again.

  She could no longer feel the cold or smell the rain.

  EIGHT MONTHS LATER

  Chapter 79

  When Jetta opened her eyes, the room was dark, but there was a faint light coming from outside, from the sky to the east where the sun was about to rise.

  She was still in West Africa as she had been since her mother had fallen from the sky, causing the locals to think the gods were going to kill them, drowning them in blood.

  She walked outside to find Tyler sitting in a chair on the porch, rocking back and forth. He was looking at his feet when she approached him.

  "You're up early."

  "Couldn't sleep anymore," he said.

  "Still worried about back home?"

  Tyler didn't answer. He didn't have to. Jetta knew he was. It was constantly on his mind, the war. According to the news they had heard so far, the situation seemed to be slowly improving. They had agreed on a truce between the blacks and whites and dividing the country in two, making one area for people of color, and another for the whites, separated by a long wall that was going to make even the Chinese jealous.

  So many had fallen in the civil war and so much blood was shed that less than a third of the entire population was left to rebuild.

  "You want to go back?" Jetta asked.

  He looked at her, then back at his feet. He had no answer for her. How could he? He knew she wouldn't be able to go back with him. The war would only flare up once again as soon as she set her foot on American soil. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. The kiss made her blush.

  "Happy birthday."

  "Sweet sixteen," she said. "Don't know what's so sweet about it, but I’m hoping I'll find out."

  Tyler chuckled. "Shango and Oya will make sure to make it sweet. Oya has been in the kitchen all morning, even before I got up, tipping everything over with that big stomach of hers.

  Something shattered in the kitchen. Oya grumbled.

  "See?"

  "I can't believe how big she has gotten," Jetta said.

  "What did you expect when she’s carrying eight children inside of her?"

  "Nine," a voice behind them said.

  It belonged to Shango. He was standing in the door, looking exhausted, bottle in one hand, drum in the other. "We're up to nine now, Oya says."

  Jetta laughed. "No time for parties?"

  He shook his head. "Not even one little party. She won't let me go. Says she needs me to pick up after her when she knocks stuff over and to massage her feet at night."

  "Well, when she’s carrying nine of your children, she’s entitled to demand a little help," Jetta said.

  Shango drank from his bottle, then sat down with them for a few seconds, enjoying the sunrise. Oya knocked something over once again, then called his name in an angry shriek.

  "Argh! SHANGO!"

  "Uh-oh," Shango said and got up. He sipped his bottle once more before he left. On his way, Shango whistled, and soon Oya was yelling at him for setting the curtains on fire.

  Jetta chuckled, took Tyler's hand in hers, and squeezed it.

  Chapter 80

  Shango walked around town and invited all the locals to a day of festivities and eating. He said it was to celebrate Jetta's birthday, but as the day went on, Jetta got the feeling he was just using her birthday as an excuse to have a party, and after hours of music and dancing, Jetta walked into the kitchen, where she found Oya still cooking.

  "Need any help?"

  Oya turned, knocking over a glass on the table next to her. Jetta reached down and grabbed it before it shattered on the floor. Oya was sweating heavily, her stomach reaching out so far, Jetta wondered how she could stand up and not tip forward. On her apron, it said BUN IN THE OVEN.

  "Sure. If you could peel the potatoes?" Oya said, turning first to one side, then to the other, pulling down everything within her stomach's reach. "They were here a moment ago. Now, where did I put them?"

  "It's okay," Jetta said. "I'll find them."

  She looked around the kitchen and found the potatoes in the garbage can, still in the bag. She didn't tell Oya where she found them since she would only get angry with herself for being so confused. Instead, she just started peeling them over the sink while Oya fried some lamb on the stove. It smelled heavenly, even though Jetta was so full she could burst.

  "You didn't really come out here to peel potatoes on your birthday, did you?" Oya said after a few minutes.

  Jetta smiled. "No. But I don't mind helpi
ng."

  "Spit it out. What's on your heart?"

  Jetta shifted her weight on her feet, looked down at the potato in her hand, then said:

  "You said deities rarely have just one child."

  Jetta looked at Oya's protruding stomach that made it impossible for her to even reach the stove properly unless she turned to the side. The apron she was wearing was simply resting on top of it since it could no longer reach around her stomach.

  "Yes. That is true. We have many children."

  Jetta looked up at Oya. Their eyes locked for a second, then Oya smiled gently.

  "Ah, I see. You wonder since you were the only child."

  "Yes," Jetta said. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Could there be more out there? I mean, what if I have more siblings? What if I was part of a bigger flock?"

  Oya drew in a deep breath. "Oh, boy," she said and put her hands on her back to support it.

  "What?"

  "I had hoped your dad could have this conversation with you. Well, I should have known it would be on me." Oya wiped her hands on the apron on top of her stomach, then looked at Jetta.

  "I do, don't I?" Jetta asked, looking into her eyes.

  Oya sighed. "We believe so. But we can't know for sure. Your mother refused to let your father have anything to do with her or the pregnancy and, to be honest, she didn't even tell him about it until the child—or children—were already born. He found out from other sources. But, yes, it is very likely there are more out there more or less like you. I am not saying they necessarily look like you, but they might."

  Jetta almost dropped the potato she was holding. For months, she had wondered about this but never dared to imagine it could actually be true. But now she did. Now she believed.

  I am not the only one. Somewhere out there, I have more family.

  Chapter 81

  She couldn't forget what Oya had told her, not for even a second. Every day for the next two weeks, she thought about it. She went over the possibilities repeatedly, wondering what her siblings might look like. Did they look anything like her? Could they do things no one else could? Did they have any idea who they were, who their parents were?

  It became like an obsession for her, one she refused to relinquish.

  One afternoon, she heard Shango and Oya in the kitchen talking. Thinking at first it was just one of their usual quarrels (and there had been a lot more of them since Oya got pregnant), she approached the open door, but then she stopped.

  "I am worried about this, Oya. I feel like we have to do something," Shango said.

  "I don't want to hear it," Oya said. She was working in the kitchen while they spoke. Jetta could hear the rattle of the knives, then she heard Oya start chopping something.

  "You know why it's happening," Shango said. "I heard from one of the villagers the other day that five more were killed in Zambia yesterday. Just because of their skin color. Emerson, you know the white man outside of our town, was chased out of his house just last week by an angry mob with torches and machetes. His entire family was chased out of town. Other whites here have said they don't feel safe anymore. Not after that kid was killed three weeks ago. It's getting worse. And you know why. We both do."

  Oya continued chopping, the sound of the knife hitting the wooden board getting louder and more aggressive as Shango spoke.

  "So, what is it exactly you want us to do about it?" she asked. "They are the ones fighting. We're not."

  "We're immune to it in this house, you know that. But they're not. Out there, they are not. We have to do something."

  "What? What do you want to do about it, huh? She's your daughter, for crying out loud."

  Shango sighed deeply. From a person who was always as happy and cheerful as him, it felt devastating. "I don't know. I really don't know. I know she can't help it…I just don't…"

  Jetta didn't need to listen anymore. At this moment, she knew exactly what to do. What she had thought about doing for a very long time.

  She hurried to her room, found an old backpack, and packed a few pieces of clothing that Oya had bought for her, grabbed her hoodie and put it on covering her face, then looked in the mirror.

  Tyler came up behind her.

  "What's going on?"

  "I'm leaving," Jetta said, her eyes avoiding his.

  "Just like that? Without even a goodbye?" He sounded angry.

  She sighed. That had been her plan, yes. She wasn't good with goodbyes, especially not with people she loved. It hurt too much. She was going to leave him a note.

  "Little J!" he said accusatorily. "After all we’ve been through, you were going to leave just like that? I can't believe you!"

  She lifted her eyes and stuck her face out of the hoodie. Their eyes met. He pulled the hoodie off and stroked her cheek.

  "They're fighting again," she said. "It's starting all over. Because of me. I create division wherever I go. It's my curse. That's why I have to go, Tyler. I can't stay here and watch it happen all over again. All the killings all the suffering. I can't go through it again."

  "But…but where will you go?"

  "I don't know. Maybe I'll try and find my siblings. Oya says I might have some."

  Tyler swallowed hard. He had moist eyes. It hurt Jetta to see him sad. She had hoped she could avoid it by sneaking out without him seeing her. She grabbed the drum Shango had made for her, put it under her arm, then looked up at him. He had a determined look in his eyes. She knew that look a little too well.

  "No," she said.

  "Yes," he said. "I am coming with you."

  "No, Tyler. It's dangerous. Everywhere I go, people will end up fighting at some point. I can survive it, but you won't."

  Tyler shook his head. "I won't survive without you either. Besides, I made a promise once to stay by your side no matter what, and I intend to keep it."

  He rushed out of the room, then returned with a backpack of his own. In it, he had put Shango's double-headed ax, one of the many that used to hang on the wall in the hallway. The wooden handle was sticking out of the backpack.

  "I'm ready," he said with a smile.

  Jetta smiled, then pulled the hoodie over her head. They left a note, walked out the door, and closed it behind them. In the direction of the village, something exploded and there were screams. Jetta sighed deeply, knowing she had made the right decision, then started to walk.

  "Where are we going, by the way?" Tyler asked as they reached the end of the dirt road leading up to Shango's house.

  Jetta smiled inside the hoodie.

  "Finland," she said.

  Tyler made a face. "Finland? Why Finland?"

  "Because that's where my ancestors are from. On my mother's side. I figure they might know where to find my siblings."

  Tyler shrugged. "All right. Finland, it is, then. Wait. What do they eat in Finland?"

  "That's what you're worried about?" Jetta asked. "Seriously?"

  They laughed. They weren't alone. Next to them walked Nanna, Kevin and his family, Mr. Richards, and Amare, also laughing soundlessly. Behind them another couple hundred of the dead were marching with them, their bones rattling as they walked. Jetta smiled at them, knowing she was the only one who could see them.

  There was a strong warm wind pushing them forward. In the distance behind them, coming from the village, Jetta could hear the low rhythmical rumble of Shango's drum. It had a sad quality to it.

  May we meet again, dear father, she thought to herself as she glanced back once more, before settling her eyes on what lay ahead.

  May we meet again.

  THE END

  Afterword

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for purchasing Girl Divided. This book is the scariest I have ever written. You know why? Because it could happen. Parts of it at least. The bad parts. The war parts. History has a way of repeating itself, unfortunately, and for some reason, we as humans don't seem to get smarter. It was painful to write because the thought of something like this h
appening tormented me greatly. But one of my favorite writers of all time, Anne Rice, often says as advice to other writers: Go where the pain is.

  And there is much pain in a story like this and in the world today as well. So much division between us. Not just in the U.S., it's everywhere. I see it in my own home country of Denmark too, where the fear of the growing Muslim population is dividing people. And I can't even blame them for it. With the growing terrorism all over the world, it is no wonder they are scared. But division is never good, in my opinion. We are so divided that even what was supposed to be the European Union is dissolving. The UK is leaving and who knows who will follow. Most recently, the small region of Catalonia voted to separate themselves from the rest of Spain. We're getting divided in a world that was supposed to grow closer to one another with globalization. We can't start hating each other. We simply can't. We've got to believe in love.

  Sorry for the rant, but sometimes a rant is exactly what we need. It is in no way an attempt to be political. I just observe, then ask the question, What if? What if we don't stop it? What if we keep getting more and more divided? What will happen to us?

  It happened back in the former Yugoslavia. In the year 2000, I went on a trip to Sarajevo and Bosnia. There, I was told the most terrifying stories of how the population suddenly started to hate each other, just because of their origins. How neighbors suddenly killed each other, and families were split apart because they were mixed. It was devastating to listen to. How it had in a short period of time escalated greatly to the point where they had concentration camps and used innocent children as human shields on trucks when entering enemy territory.

  This was a country where my parents used to vacation.

  The people I spoke to said that the war was over, but they could never forget. The town of Sarajevo had been liberated five years earlier but was still bombed to pieces, both the buildings and the people's hearts.