| The scene played out in his head again and again. He struggled vainly to push the dark images from his mind, but always they resurfaced, bubbling over his sanity. Coherent thought was not possible. Every word that flitted across his mind was fragmented, the thoughts incomplete, as the horrible memory of what had happened played out again and again, like an old, scratched record.
He tried to deny it, to force himself to believe it was only an imagined moment, something he had conjured out of insecurity and fear, out of the darkness of his own heart, but he knew better. Fooling himself as such was impossible, because he knew that it had been real. There was no illusion, and it was not imagined. Despicable though it was, unreal though it seemed, it had happened, and nothing could change it. Nothing could ever be the same again. With that one moment's passing, everything he'd become accustomed to in life changed in an instant. No more could everyone journey together hand in hand, smiles on their faces, and hope in their hearts. Never again could he trust a word from their mouths, nor a move they made. No amount of salvaging could repair the damage this had done, and he knew. He knew, deep within his heart, that this was the beginning of what would unravel everything he'd ever held dear.
He gazed out at the torn landscape, ravaged by the blasts of foolish men so long ago, and sighed. The world had changed since his parents were children. Wars had torn the world to pieces, but he didn't really miss the way it used to be. How could he? He'd never known anything but this wasteland. His parents told him great stories of a massive civilization with influence across the world. So powerful that no one dared to challenge their way of life, with warriors who fought for justice and freedom all across the world. But now, that civilization was gone, and all that remained were ruins. Scorched earth was all the eye could see; no signs of the grass or trees or plants that had supposedly given the world color remained. Buildings sat haphazardly in random places along broken streets, with hunks of metal and wood littering the whole of the land. The earth rose and fell in sudden, jagged pieces, and deep fissures often seperated large chucks of land; just more proof of the awesome power that had visited hell upon everything.
He sat, dejectedly, remeniscing about the horror that had taken place only a few days before, right in front of his very eyes. The pillow he sat upon could hardly be called such; almost as hard as a rock, it hardly made the three legged stool upon which he sat comfortable. The shack around him was makeshift, with only a small, uncomfortable cot in one corner of the room, and a small firepit in the other for cooking. The one window he had was really no more than an opening in the wall, with a small wooden door that he could close on cold or windy nights. But the accomodations did not upset him; this was all he'd ever known. But still he sat, disturbed.
How could they? How could they do this to him? He had done everything for them. He had sacrificed, given of himself for them. The three people who meant more to him than anyone else, who he would have gladly given his life for, and they did this. It was unthinkable, unspeakable, unbelievable, and yet... they had done it. He shook his head violently, trying to shake the image out as tears rolled steadily down his dirt-stained cheeks. He shook, but the images clung on. He threw his hands to his head, gripping fistfuls of his short, dirty, brownish-blonde hair, tugging violently in hopes of ripping the thoughts from his brain. But no luck. Still they plagued him, sent him reeling in agony with every pulse of his brain, every beating of his heart.
He'd known a great deal of pain in his life; when his parents had mutated, when he'd been chased away from The Community, when he was impaled and nearly killed by the lead pipe that had fallen into his chest when he was 17. In fact, he felt pain almost every day from some new wound, some new emotional struggle. But before, he'd always had them. Now, he was alone. Alone, and facing the greatest pain, the most daunting hardship, the most challenging of occurances in his life. It was too much to bear. Surely this would drive him away from his sanity forever. Surely he would lose his grip, and plummet into the endless depths of the insane.
The images flashed again and again. He saw her there, with them. He heard the things they said, saw the horrible things they did to one another. How could they? Why? They were supposed to be his friends. She was supposed to be his love! Why?!
Again and again, that one word shot through his mind as the memories pulsed through his brain. Why? Why, why, why, why, why, why, WHY?! He stood quickly, the stool flying behind him as he did, turned, and punched the wall. Pain shot up his arm, and he felt a few bones shatter. But he didn't care. It hadn't banished the memories. Now, his hand throbbing, he stumbled out the door into the wasteland. He hardly took two steps, however, before he stopped. He realized he had managed to walk right into the last situation he needed right now.
There they stood. All three of them, in a semi-circle. She in the middle, with the boys on either side. Triage, Dash, and Maria. Their expressions were as varied as their clothes, but one thing was constant: there was tension in the air like there had never been before.
Triage, on his left, stood the tallest. Easily 6'6", Triage literally towered over the rest of the group. He had scraggley red hair, with a surprisingly clean face. Thin and lankey, he wore a ripped, neon-green mesh shirt over a wirey frame, with a single, fingerless black glove on his right hand. He wore black, baggy shorts, with so many tears that they were almost completely shredded, and a pair of mismatched shoes that he had found in the rubble. Unable to find either of their partners, he accepted the two as they were, since they fit.
Dash, on his right, was the shortest of the group. Standing no more than 5'8" tall, he seemed absolutely tiny compared to Triage. His hair, shoulder length, was a bright blue color; he was very proud of that. He was born partially mutated, since his mother mutated while she was pregnant with him. Still mostly human, the mutation had some minor effects on him, his favorite of which was his hair color. His eyes shone through the bleakness of the day like two fiery embers, and his skin was black as pitch. He wore a baggy white sweater, with haphazard composite armor strapped over it, made from trash can lids, scrap metal, and whatever he could find. He worn torn blue jeans, with one leg full length, and the other leg cut off shortly past his thigh, and a pair of black leather boots that were scuffed and scratched. A long, green birthmark worked it's way up his leg in a tribal pattern; another effect of the mutation.
Maria, who stood directly in front of him, was a miraculous vision of beauty that stood in direct contrast with the twisted and ugly world around him. Standing 5'11" tall, she was almost able to look him in the eye, and sported long, fire-red hair. She hadn't cut it since she was 12; it almost reached the ground, now. She wore a torn orange t-shirt with a long-forgotten logo of some rabbit character that she claimed was from something that had been called a 'cartoon', and a pair of shorts that ended halfway down her thighs. She wore a torn, white sleeve from another shirt on her right arm, pulled up into the sleeve of her t-shirt, as well as a brown leather glove. On the left, she wore the three bead bracelets he had made for her from things he had salvaged, as well as the only pure-gold ring they'd ever found. She wore an ankle-high black boot on her right foot, with a white stocking that came up just a little above her knee, and a knee-high boot on the left.
Triage looked sad, Dash angry, and Maria seemed to be flitting between swooning and very concerned. He stood there, staring at each of them in turn, silent. The memories screamed at him, but with a violent surge he managed to force them back. Somehow, this was more important. The memories submitted, and quieted. And all was silent.
They didn't move. They just looked at him, casting occasional glances at one another. Nobody said anything, and he began to wonder what would happen. And then, finally, it happened. Maria stepped forward, holding her hand out to him, and she opened her mouth, as if to speak. He could feel the tension in the air grow stronger, and he knew they felt it too. She hesitated, unsure of what to say, then looked him right in the eyes and said the words that would mark the official beginning of the end.
"We want you to understand."
------------------------------------------------------------
Lemme know what you think. Peace.
I love you Heather! xoxoxoxo |
