Young Writers Society

Ashe's POV

My eyes flicker open as my consciousness floats in that dreamlike state between being asleep and being awake. A gray ceiling stares back at me, hazy through my blurred vision.

Then suddenly, a pang goes through me, a feeling of deep loss. A hole in my very being, as though I lost a part of my soul. Everything still looks blurry, and I sit up and raise a hand to my face. My fingers come off wet.

Tears.

On the surface, I feel confused, but the inexplicable sadness weighs heavily on me. I close my eyes, breathing in and out slowly, trying to will it away. After a while, it does.

It's not the first time I've woken up feeling like this.

I pull the blanket around myself, then glance down, surprised. Soft, warm fabric is wrapped around me, a strange yet pleasant smell coming from it. Oranges, I think. And something deep and rich, and something that's almost… windblown. Like the smell of outside. The blanket is strangely familiar, and so is the smell. I think about it for a moment then realize why it looks so familiar.

It's Kyre's blanket, the one I'd seen him sleep with. A small smile touches my lips at his kindness; he must have noticed that I was cold.

I reach over and my fingers find my tablet and stylus. Tapping the screen of the tablet, I find the painting I was working on last night. My stylus moves like an extension of my hand, and soon the strangeness from before fades away with the colors.

There's a creaking sound and I glance at the wooden square on the floor when it moves. Kyre's head pokes through the trapdoor, one hand propping the door open above him. He's wearing a short-sleeved shirt today, and my eye is immediately drawn to the tattoo on his forearm--an intricate design of a bird flying. With splashes of blue and strong black lines, the design stands out against his pale skin.

"I have to go out to get some stuff for Boss. You wanna come? It's not too far, and you can get clothes or something."

I move my tablet from my knee to the empty spot next to Kyre's laptop. "Alright, I'll be down in five."

Kyre nods and his head disappears through the trapdoor. A moment later I hear a loud thud and wince. Though he tries not to show that his leg bothers him, I can tell that from his limp that it does.

Five minutes later, I'm at the front door, my hoodie hanging from my hand. As soon as I pull it over my head, Kyre turns the handle and lets daylight enter through the doorway.

The air is cool and windy. A lone bird flies across the sky, wings flapping hard before it straightens them and coasts on the current. Kyre walks next to me, his footsteps slightly uneven. His stride is much longer than mine, and I walk faster to keep up.

The wall doesn't look as ominous, but in the light, I can read it. There is pain in the loopy lettering and harsh strokes of paint.

I won't be here tomorrow. Goodbye, world.

I stop walking, frozen, as Kyre walks on ahead. What could have pushed someone into doing something so drastic? My mind conjures up a thousand possibilities, each more horror-filled than the last and tears prick the backs of my eyes. I feel the loss of someone I never knew.

"Ashe!" Kyre yells, and my feet spur into motion as I run toward him. And then into him. His arms come around me reassuringly, and I stay there for a while, breathing in his scent.

After some time, he gently guides me to the spot where the floor falls, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. A quick tap on his watch, and then we fall.

We're in the tunnel. My horror fades in the wake of the darkness here. The place gives me the jitters, and I hum a song under my breath to calm my racing pulse. While I'm not an amazing singer, I can sing in tune without being thrown off-key. Kyre's hand finds mine, the cool fingers wrapping my warm ones. I shiver involuntarily. Is he always this cold?

The sound of our footsteps echoes off the walls. The sound of Kyre's hand dragging across the wall combines with the sound of our breathing. We keep walking. A high, sharp sound echoes in the far distance and Kyre lets out a harsh, ragged breath. I look at him in alarm, but of course, I can't see anything. His hand trembles, then lets mine go. Panic floods my senses.

*-*-*

Kyre's POV

Machine gun shooting. Screams fill the air. I'm crouched behind the remains of a burning house. An ember lands on my skin, a small flash of pain. It vanishes. My mouth tastes like ash and fire. The sky is dark; the stars are invisible.

A warm hand grips my forearm, and I glance back at her. Tears drip from her eyes, clearing layers of soot to form a visible path. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.

Black gloves. Harsh hands. Someone pulls me from my spot, stuffs a gag in my mouth. "Ay, I got one!" The person holds me with an iron grip. Running footsteps. Back-up, probably.

She stares at me from her spot, her face a mixture of horror and fear. Her dark eyes are wide, glossed with tears. There is a cut on her face, blood welling thinly from it. I try to move, try to say her name just one more time.

But I can't.

Another person, clothed in all black, aims a pistol at her. The dark metal glints with the chaos around us, but the world around me is strangely quiet.

Click. One move from his finger and the bullet will fly. My throat is dry.

A nameless strength finds me and I wrench myself from my captor's hands. I run and fall onto the ground in front of her just as the bullet flies.

One shot, two.

I can't move.

My leg throbs, flames of pain licking it from ankle to knee. My vision pulses with it, darkness threatening to pull me under. The sound comes back on. "Oh look at him. What a hero." 

"He'll love this, then."

Powerful arms grip my shoulders and pull me back. "Watch, boy." Someone else grips my head and turns it so I can see her. "Kyre!" She yells, her voice high, frightened. I try to escape, but I can't. The person holding my head lets go, aims another gun at her.

Her.

He shoots.

And shoots.

And shoots.

The bullets hit her. Spots of red appear on her shoulder, stomach, arm. Her screams pierce the air.

He shoots again.

A spray of red and gray from her forehead. Her screams abruptly cut off. She slumps, mouth still open, eyes glazed over.

I scream through my gag, my young voice high and shrill.

"Arra!"

I hit the ground on my knees, bile rising in my throat. Nausea rocks me back and forth. I can feel wetness on my face. Tears. A low scream echoes in the tunnel, and for a moment, I wonder where it came from. Then I vaguely realize it came from me. My breathing is ragged and heavy; my shin throbs with old pain.

"Kyre!" Ashe's voice is high with panic. I barely hear her over the roar in my ears. Her hands find me and she wraps her arms around me.

"It's okay, Kyre. You're okay." I can't stop shaking from what I just saw. Her hand rubs circles into my back and her breath is warm at my ear, her bangs brushing my face. Something about the gesture is oddly comforting.

Even though I know I'm not okay, I listen to her as she breathes soothing words into my hair. My throat is clogged with grief and I can't speak.

The grief for someone I can't remember. But I knew her, I can feel it in the way a part of my heart tears.

Who was she?

Why don't I remember her?