So I haven't been writing a whole lot lately and I'm thinking it's mostly because I've got a large idea stewing around in my head and I don't want to write anything on it/write anything else to pollute it. Well anyway, this is something I wrote the other night at least concerning a couple of the main characters. It's not really apart of the story in any way.
Till next time,
Vicki
---
The smoke filled her lungs. The
gunfire unloaded into her mind. Her chest grew cold and hot simultaneously.
Blood oozed.
Her vision blurred and came sharply
back into focus – she closed her eyes against the suddenness of it all.
When she opened her eyes again she
realized she was lying in the mud. When
did I fall?
Rapid, frantic feet raced toward
her and warm arms cradled her.
“Riley? God, Riley, can you hear
me?” a quivering voice whispered. Hopeful.
She’d been parched of hope for a
long time. He’d find none with her.
She nodded and realized how
difficult it was, how much strength it took. A surge of lethargy washed over her and she
slumped into him more.
She felt as if she was watching it
all unfold from above, as if she didn’t really exist and was a passing spirit,
pausing for a moment to see. To see the unbecoming of a powerful boy.
“Why does it have to end like
this?” she heard him murmur brokenly. “I can’t ever make it in time to save
you, I can never beat the clock. No matter
how hard I try, it’s like running into a brick wall.“
“Fixed point,” she slurred slowly.
He clutched her harder, closer, as if that would banish her words. She could
smell his effort – all the grime and dirt and sweat he endured to get to her.
Pity it was all wasted.
“I just want you to come home with
me, to come back home and laugh with me, tell me I’m doing it wrong, tell me
you can’t understand me sometimes,” he said. She could hear his throat closing
up. Liquid warmth seeped into her shoulder and she realized he was actually
crying.
“I feel no pain, Malachi,” she said
feebly. Her mind was beginning to go fuzzy the more she felt blood ooze. It
painted his shirt red, but he didn’t care. Who really cares about stains when
your love is dying in your arms?
“Good,” he choked out, partially in
relief and partially to humor her. He began to tremble against her body and she
wanted to comfort him, but there was no strength and no ground to stand on.
What could she say to make him feel better, anyway?
“I love you.”
He sobbed.
I
guess that wasn’t the right angle, she thought as her mind began to drop
off completely. She was being whisked away with the wind.
“I love you, too. I’ll miss you,”
he replied as steadily as he could manage. His body gave him away.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Me too.”
He felt her heart stutter and stop
against his soaked chest. It rattled finality throughout his entire being and
he started to realize she was dead and he could never bring her back. From the
place she was going he couldn’t retrieve her.
