Young Writers Society

I was in a field of summer gold. Sunflowers were smiling down at me, radiating warmth and happiness from their brown faces. They seemed so close, yet so far away. "Let me touch you," I whispered, gently reaching out to caress their velvet petals. They flinched away from me, frightened that I may harm them. "Poor pretty flowers," my throat slowly grew tight, causing my voice to gradually become hoarse. "I won't hurt you."

 Their colours began to drain and drip from their beautiful petals, and they started to wither and die. Drops of yellow, green and brown fell on to my tank top, causing it to become covered in debris.

 Debris? That wasn't right. My top should have got covered in wet coloured drops, not dust and rubble... So where had this come from?

 I coughed, my throat now feeling as though it were being squeezed. My arm had dropped to my side, numbness making it heavy and out of my control. Standing up was out of the question - an invisible force seemed to be holding me down.

 "Why... What's going on?" I wheezed with pain, my eyes beginning to water.

 All I did was blink, and the world around me changed.

* * *

 It was like something out of an apocalypse. All around me were the remains of various buildings, with the sky being a dark ominous grey. The sunflowers that I had seen previously were only a dream, a result of being unconscious. The only thing I could hear was the slight breeze that blew through my hair and chilled my tear stained cheeks.

 How am I still alive? I should've died after being hit in the face by a desk and being thrown around by a tornado... so why was I still here?

 My throat throbbed in pain, making it difficult to swallow away the dryness that I felt in my mouth. Why was my neck so sore? Was I hit by something after being knocked out?

 No, being hit by a second object would've secured my death, right? Especially if it hit me in the neck region. Maybe the table didn't hit me in the face. Perhaps it struck me under my jaw, causing the blackout I had... that would explain why my face wasn't in that much pain.

 I need to get up, I thought to myself. I need to find Hayley.

 My arms were still unable to move. They were numb from not moving for a long time, and were probably bruised quite a bit. A large piece of concrete wall was preventing me from moving my legs, but it was movable if I had the use of my arms. I just needed to get the blood flowing in them again.

 Forcing myself to lift my head up slightly, I took a good look at the numb limbs that lay limp beside me. They were scratched pretty bad, like a feral cat had been let loose on them for fun. Blood was still seeping out of the wounds, creating little red bubbles over my skin. There was an abnormal bump on my left arm, which creeped me out a little bit. Was my arm broken? Was that bump part of a broken bone?

 I quivered, then winced as my ribs pulsed in agony. Being thrown about in a twister must have done a number on me.

 The piece of concrete that was weighing down my lower half had pipes and metal sticking out of various places. The pipes had rust all over them, probably from the amount of water that's passed through them over the years. The metal must have been part of the foundation of the building it used to be a part of.

 "Move," I mumbled to myself. "I need... to get moving."

 With that, I tried to move my arms. I couldn't feel myself moving them, but I could see that they were working. I slowly and carefully raised them above me, like I had done earlier when reaching for the sunflowers in my dream.

 My God, they were worse than I thought. Not only were my arms covered in cuts that went in all directions, I had some pretty dark bruises, the darkest being where the strange bump was on my left arm. These inflictions must be due to being hit numerous times with incredible force, which may explain the possible broken bone. Either that, or I got these injuries after my body left the tornado, meaning I sustained the damage upon landing.

 Whatever the reason was for me getting these wounds and my possible fracture, they looked painful as hell, so I had to be prepared for when the feeling came back into my arms.

 I decided that the best thing to do was to try and sit up and lean on my arms. That way, I could survey how I would go about getting this chunk of wall off of me. Pushing through the pain that was trying to hold me down, I forced myself to sit up and folded my arms behind me, leaning back on them and catching my breath. The pain I felt across my upper body was excruciating, like a thousand knives had pierced my body numerous times. 

 The feeling in my fingers was starting to return, which meant that the same would happen with my arms rather soon. I flexed them, feeling at the little pieces of rubble that lay on the ground. They felt grainy and dusty, and coated my fingertips in a light grey colour.

 Where the hell am I anyway? I thought to myself as I shook debris from my hair. How far away am I from the school grounds?

 It's possible that I was carried rather far away from the school. Either that or I was actually quite near the school, only now it just remained in ruins.

 "Ngh," I winced as I tried to push myself backwards, but to no avail - my legs were being firmly held down by the wall, and my arms were too weak and sore to gather a lot of strength. The feeling in my arms had started to return, and it took me a lot of effort to resist lying back down and screaming in agony. My arm was certainly broken if I was in this much pain.

 Getting a better look at the wall now, I nearly vomited at what I saw. A dead bird, torn in half, lay splattered on the surface, it's lifeless eyes looking up at me. It's blood was spread all over the place, kind of like when you throw paint at a canvas. The bird's insides seemed to be missing, with only a few bones of it's body still intact.

 "No..." I whispered, traumatized at the tragic end of this bird. "This is wrong..."

 This could be me, though. I'm lucky enough to be alive, despite my injuries. I'd prefer not to have them, but at least I still have a beating heart. I know that, deep down, many others probably won't be as fortunate as me. That girl with the pigtails who was ripped out of the class... She died instantly from cracking her skull against the window frame. The students who were trying to escape... They were just... Whisked away against their will, never to be seen again. God only knows what happened to them.

 And Hayley... The girl who was my guide... The girl who I thought would be my first friend...

 I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to think about what could have happened to her. It would only make me cry and that wouldn't exactly help me in my current predicament.

 "Come on," I growled at myself. "Get yourself together."

 And with that, I put my hands under the wall and attempted to lift it.

 "Argh!" I shouted painfully. My left arm seemed to pulse and squeeze when I tried to move the wall, causing pure and utter agony to shoot up and down my arm. Tears slowly trickled down my cheeks, with hiccuping sobs following soon after. Why did my arm have to be broken? Why did I have to be so weak?

 "Do you need some help with that?"

 The wall was effortlessly lifted and thrown to the side, revealing my brutally torn legs. The wounds caused my ripped jeans to stick to my legs, making moving them without opening the scabs difficult without it being uncomfortable and sore.

 I wiped my nose and looked to my right, where I saw a familiar pair of dirty black and white canvas shoes. As I moved my head up, trying to control my sobs, I confirmed who my saviour was.

 It was the punk kid that I'd lent my pencil to.

 "I was hoping I'd run into you," he shrugged casually, his green eyes locking with mine. "Thank God you're alive when I found you." Holding out a hand to me, he introduced himself. "I'm Billie Joe, by the way."

 Taking his hand, I responded with, "I-I'm Jay." Then I gasped as several gashes on my legs tore open, letting blood gather along the crevices that had just opened. It felt like a very sharp wire just attempted to slice through my legs, but only just brushed the first few layers of flesh. Not being enough to make me bleed to death, but enough to make me suffer and make me feel uncomfortable.

 "Lean on me," Billie Joe instructed, and I did so without question. Anything to stop some of the pain I now felt would be great.

 "Th-thanks," I stuttered, putting my arm around his shoulders to hold me up. He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me towards him to give me more support. My skin tingled beneath his touch, making my hairs stand on end. I wasn't used to being... touched by another person like this. What I mean is, I'm not used to another person being non violent when their hands are touching me.

 Billie Joe started to guide me west from where we were standing, whilst also reaching into his pocket. "I wonder if i can get signal now..." he mumbled as he dialled the emergency services number into his phone. After pressing dial, only a constant 'no signal' tone could be heard. "Fuck," he spat, frustrated, before shoving his mobile forcefully back into his jean pocket.

 It was only now that I realised that Billie Joe didn't have one scratch on him. He must have went somewhere safe enough that he wasn't hurt during the tornado after getting out of the class. It made me wonder though... How did he find somewhere safe so fast?

 "Wh-where did you go?" I asked through heavy breathes. Limping at a slow pace with Billie Joe's support took a lot of effort, due to the fact I was having to move my badly injured limbs.

 He looked at me, a frown having formed on his face, creating a slight shadow over his eyes. "What do you mean?"

 "After you... left the class," I managed to say before my legs gave out, causing me to stumble forward on to my knees. I screamed as a sharp rock cut into a gash on my shin, going so deep that I felt it scratch at my bone.

 Billie Joe panicked, frantically trying to get me to stand up again and shushing me as I cried. I couldn't help the amount of noise I was making. I was hurting way too much to hold in my screams, or my tears.

 "God fucking damn it!" Billie Joe said angrily whilst kicking rubble with full force. "Why can't you stand the fuck up!?"

 "I can't," I wailed, then looked up at him through my tears. "The pain... It's too much."

 "I'll just have carry you then."

 Then, with a sigh of frustration, he scooped me up off of the ground, carrying me as though I were a child. His face scrunched up with discomfort at where I once knelt. He probably saw the sharp rock that had dug into me, covered in my blood.

 "I'll show you where I went, okay?" he said softly, to calm himself more than to calm me. He had gotten pretty angry at me rather easily, even though I hadn't really done anything wrong. Maybe he was just easily tempered?

 The wasteland around us bobbed up and down as Billie Joe walked, making me feel slightly nauseous. I'd never been carried like this before, not even by my parents, so seeing everything just constantly moving up and down caused my eyes to throb slightly and my head to spin. It didn't necessarily help that I was in a lot of pain.

 "It... hurts..." I managed to whimper like a wounded puppy.

 He didn't say anything, and just kept on walking, winding his way in and out of debris piles and dust covered bodies.

 Bodies... They were everywhere. Some were bloody, some had limbs missing, some had visibly broken bones. It was a heartbreaking sight. What if my parents are like this? What will I tell my sister when she gets back from New York?

 That's when I also remembered someone else who had been on my mind.

 Hayley.

 That's when I started to sob. I just sobbed and sobbed, burrowing my face into Billie Joe's shirt to muffle my cries. He didn't protest, luckily. Maybe he sensed that I needed to cry, to just vent, so he just let me do it. If I were in his shoes, I would have just left myself to die, because I'm useless. I'm worthless. So worthless that I couldn't even save Hayley from being sucked into the twister. I've never done anything good for anyone in my life, so why should I get help from, basically, this complete stranger?

 I don't know how long I cried for, or how far away we got from where Billie Joe found me, but I remember feeling light-headed from crying so hard. I kept screaming "Mom" and "Dad" constantly, wanting them here to comfort me like they have done for me my whole life.

 It hurt to cry. It hurt to breathe. It hurt just to be alive. 

 Finally, after what seemed like forever, Billie Joe stopped walking. "Shut up!" he barked, shaking me off of his t-shirt. A large wet patch remained from where my tears, and probably my snot, had been absorbed by the cotton. I wiped my nose with my dirty right arm, then looked up at him. Why did he stop walking? Was something wrong?

 "We're here," he breathed, relieved that he probably won't have to put up with my cries anymore.

 Looking around us, I saw the remains of Oakland High.