Bloodstained and Torn
By J. L. Young

Where they man-made or extraterrestrial? I may never know. All I do know is they washed up on this shore with unknown intent. Their eyes were lidless and white. The foul creature’s skin akin to milk mixed with too much water and stunk of death. Their sinuous arms ended with a single long black claw with finger-like appendages paralleling them. They moved with such grace no human could produce and possessed a strength unknown to our species.

Perhaps, I could ascertain their motive from their method of attack. When they found us, I stood between one of the beasts and my love Iona. Its claw pierced my flank and tore at the skin, caught bone and flung me aside. Iona scratched, fought, and jabbed at its myriad of eyes. It took her onslaught without notice as it took her within it.

With a summoned strength, I threw myself at the monster. My hands pulled open its hollow chest. It struck me rendering me unconscious.

I awakened to darkness and a head full of pain. Quickly, I roamed the house in search of light. Alas, the switches failed to illuminate my situation. The candle that sat atop Iona’s birthday cake caught my eye in the silvery moonlight. I lit it, gathered my Iona’s med-kit, and snatched the brandy from its tray.
The pain with every breath urged me to remedy it. Now I sit in the light of her candle, bloodstained and torn. Iona’s med-kit beside me and a decanter in hand. I pulled the stopper, drowned the pain, and cleaned the wound. Iona taught me how to stitch using a teddy bear. I wasn’t any good, but I applaud her for her attempt.

The fire danced. Within its flame, a face was born from the brilliance and light. It was her face I wished to see and so I have. The broken lenses before my eyes split the light into its constituents. The colors had distracted me as they danced with the beat of my staccato breath.

Though she longed for retirement, Iona also understood her necessary work as a battlefield medic. Funny, that’s where we met. She wasn’t above defending herself. Those things, whatever they are, they will endure the suffering they press upon the world. Maybe not at my hand, but surely at the hands of Iona.
Morning arrived and I awoke. Pain shot from my wound with every movement and breath. I removed the bandage to see how it fared the night and replaced it with a fresh one. I looked at the wall where the monsters came in. The mortar and broken brick were strewn about in the living room by a silent impact.
They filed in with their weapons drawn and ready. They scanned us and discussed our fate in a strange language that sounded like pops and gurgles. They possessed eyes that seemed to appear anywhere they needed them. The monsters were large. So large, their inner volume could easily envelop the largest of people.

I stepped out onto the snow and found their footprints, two toes attached to long arches and a large bulbous heel. They led to the street. A tracked vehicle’s tracks disappeared on the slushy road. Similar holes had been made in the neighbor’s houses, but I couldn’t find any other people.

“Why was I left?” I thought aloud and realized I was yelling down the street.

I stood in the street. Time stood still with me until my bare foot screamed in pain from the deep cold snow. I endured for as long as I could and retreated into the house to gather the necessary tools to retrieve my dear Iona and as many people as I can.