The Chosen

"There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. There are things we don't know we don't know."

~Donald Rumsfeld

Messenger:

    For a time, all they saw or knew was darkness. Although time is a difficult word to use because they had no sense of it. It was simply obvious that time had passed once they were awakened. The world was different; changing like always. They had seen change over thousands of years and were used to it enough. What they were not expecting was the reason they were awakened.

          It’s an uncanny feeling, being woken up from a period, however long, of dormancy. While dormant, or in Torpid Mode, everything fades away into nothingness. Time, color, seasons, weather cease to exist. They lay in the bottom of a lake, beneath the surface, dormant, unconscious of time, for however long they are not needed on earth.  If they are wanted, they are summoned from that mode.

    When awakened, they find themselves rising. They begin to feel something strange, something lost. Water, cool water… a mixture of two things they have not felt in a long while: temperature and liquid. It is frightening at first, especially when they emerge all the way out of the water and are met with a million forgotten noises, smells, feelings and colors.

    It takes them about a day to recover. After that, they are just as they always have been: beings above mortality, neither male nor female, ageless. They slip in with society, adapting to whatever has changed in the culture, and answer the call for help that awakened them.

    They were not super heroes. They did not wake every time a natural disaster caused havoc or a criminal broke in. But there were workings, mysterious and unknown to human life, that sought to destroy Earth beyond repair. Power, huge yet concealed, rumbled like thunder above everything humankind was used to, threatening to blow in a storm. The lightening would strike, setting fire to dry and crumbling civilization, wiping it out in unquenchable heat. Then the rain would pound in with vengeance, drowning whatever might remain. After that, the power would roll in with nothing left to hold it back.

    The beings rose out of dormancy when this threat was greater than before. And this time, danger was on the brink of inevitable. Everything the world was used to would change. However, those that came out of the bottom of the lake, although not human, were still unable to do anything about the looming peril. It was too supernatural, too pure of an evil.

    Yet they could carry a warning, far and wide, to the only ones who could give an attempt at saving humanity. These beings were Messengers. And they had a most urgent message to carry.



Camira:

    Camira cleared her throat and turned from the white board, marker held in her left hand. It was as she expected. Half of her class was dozing and the rest were bored out of their minds. Only a few seemed the least bit involved. Camira often wondered how anyone can find her topic dull.

    Greek mythology. Camira had studied diligently to become an instructor in this subject her entire life. She had excelled beyond compare and when she was finished with college, universities all around asked to hire her as a professor. She chose the New York University, because she had grown up in the city her whole life. And because this was where her fiance lived and worked.

    Her dream had come true. Indeed she was living it. When admiring people asked how she became so academically accomplished, Camira replied it was through persistence, attentiveness, and, of course, a generous amount of natural talent.

      That was why she could not stand it when her students seemed to pay such little attention to her lectures. Didn't they want to succeed? Camira raised her voice a little and pointed to the board. “This means that Greek civilization has been around so long that it has had a chance to try nearly every form of government.” Although she thought this was fascinating, the students did not. Their blank expressions and twirling pencils did not stop. 

    Camira tried to think back to a time in her life when she could relate to these overly bored students,but she could not. She had always loved to learn, striving towards an actual goal. She was only twenty-seven but already a professor at a university. Camira wished her students would look up to her as an academic example. She was a good one after all. And it would make her feel even more accomplished if she knew her success rubbed off on others.

    Camira sighed and checked her watch. “Does anyone have any questions before class ends?” This, she knew, was really an unnecessary inquiry. The students knew that as well and began packing up their notebooks.

    Unexpectedly, a middle aged man with large glasses stood up. Camira blinked as the scratching of his chair on the floor rang painfully in her ears. Her head starting pounding. A sharp warning alarm went off in that front her mind; a feeling she had never sensed before. She looked up at the man and the room vibrated around her.

    The man unzipped his jacket, face emotionless. Something was strapped around his waist. Screams tore through the room as students realized what it was. Everyone scrambled in a frantic rush from their seats and ran for the door. But it was too late. No one stepped past the threshold. 

      The middle aged man took one more large step towards Camira's desk before exploding. The detonation ripped through the room, blowing glass from the windows, and hurling tables and chairs in all directions.

    Everything was on fire. Students lay over the floor, dead or bleeding to death. One girl who had been sitting next to the window was crying and screaming, trying to pull glass out of her face in useless desperation. She, too, would be dead in a matter of minutes.

    Camira sprawled on the floor next to the white board, blood running down her forehead from stray pieces of glass. Her eyes were open and glazed over. She stared at the ceiling of her classroom, now drenched in torrents of flame, and wondered how this could have happened. The last thing she heard before blacking out were deafening sirens.



  Faye:

    The deep purples, sprightly oranges, and gentle yellows of the morning sunrise rose above the shadowy mountain tops, turning the gloom of night into something beautiful. The rays splashed among the lanky tree tops and glistened against the cool mist of dawn.  This was a time of peace, and the young girl hunched against a crag in the mountain would not miss it for anything. She gripped her legs in a tight hug, warming herself. It would not be cool for long, however. Chilly mornings in New Mexico did not last.

    A calm smile rested on the girl’s thin lips, and her eyes were closed. The light streamed off her golden hair. This was her favorite place to be in the mornings, and she never missed a single sunrise. The day ahead would be busy, as always, and filled with people, strangers. And strangers were loud and unpredictable. The girl knew this better than most, and so, every morning, she came out here and sat alone, soaking in the serenity while she still could.

    “Faye.” A single voice drifted through the fog from somewhere farther down the mountainside. It was a voice the girl recognized, and she opened her sky blue eyes. “Faye, are you out here?” A form moved into visibility, climbing up the rocks to where the girl sat. It was a boy, with dark hair and eyes. He grinned when he saw the little figure of the girl and hurried to sit next to her, wrapping his arm around her thin shoulders.

    “Hi,” the girl said, smiling over at him and enfolding him in a tight hug.

    “I thought I’d find you out here.” He looked quite a few years older than her and was clad in black dress pants and a white collar shirt.

    “Where else would I be, silly?” Her merry laugh faded after a moment and she looked down, smile vanishing, arms moving to her lap. The glory of the morning disappeared.  “What if I never see you again after today, Mark?”

    The boy chuckled. “You should really be hoping for that, Faye. That means you’ll have a real family. Isn't that what you've always wanted?”

    Faye shook her head and glanced back up at the sunrise. The magic colors of the earliest dawn were almost gone, leaving bright daylight in their wake. “I've been at the orphanage ever since I was a baby, and you, Mark, have been like an older brother. I…I don’t know anything else.”

      Mark stood up suddenly, taking Faye’s hands in his and helping her to her feet. “That’s the brilliant thing about life. You can discover new things. Your future doesn't lie in what you know. I mean, you should hope it doesn't.”

    Faye nodded in thought and walked past Mark, up to the ancient tree that grew crooked and strong by her favorite part of the mountain. She leaned against it, already feeling the warm winds of the coming day blow through her hair. “I’m going to miss this view. You can see so much.”

    Mark walked to her side and peered out. “All I see are miles and miles of flat lands, a hill here and there, and a rundown village. This is all you’re ever going to see here in New Mexico, Faye. That’s the truth. And the sunrise…well, you can see that anywhere in the world.”

    Faye seemed to consider. “What about you, Mark? What are you going to do with your life? You, of all people, shouldn't stay here. You're brilliant, funny, everything anyone could want in a person.” A bright look lit up her face. “Maybe you’ll get adopted too! Into the same family as me!”

    “It’s nearly impossible I’m afraid. No one wants to adopt a seventeen year old kid.” Mark smiled sadly down at Faye. “You, sis, are the one who will do great things. I’ll probably be here until I’m eighteen, and then who knows. When you’re renowned and famous, just remember me as the boy who inspired you.”

    Faye turned on him. “Stop talking like that, Mark. You’re going to do great things too. And when you get out of this state, make sure to come and find me.”

    “I will.”

    Faye gazed into his eyes. “Promise me, Mark.”

    Mark stood for a moment, jaw working back and forth, trying to swallow back the lump in his throat. He knew this was the only promise he would make to Faye that would doubtlessly be a lie. “I promise.” 

    Faye smiled again, all the cheerfulness flowing back, and took his hand in hers. “Perfect. Then there’s nothing to worry about. Now, we should head back home. I wouldn't want to be late for today.”

    They walked back down the rocks, hand in hand, both lost in thoughts, and reached the bottom just as the sun rose full and blazing into the sky. A new day had begun.



Gunner:

    The first thing the newcomer noticed as he pushed through the door of “The Devil’s Den” was the pungent aroma. The mixed smell of alcohol, sweat, and heat was almost as heavy in the air as the thick smoke that rose from everyone. Drunken laughter, loud cheers, and bitter curses flew about like bullets in a dense fog. But the newcomer pressed on, through wooden tables with tipped chairs and half empty beer mugs, realizing that most of the commotion was coming from a corner of the bar. As he neared, new sounds mixed in with the others: grunts and moans. And…yes, his first hunch was right. A new aroma as well. Blood.

      Through the haze he saw a small ring, elevated a few feet off the floor, surrounded by large men, shouting and cheering. The ring was simply a wooden platform that had poles sticking up out of the floor at all four corners. A rope was wrapped around the poles, separating the ring from the rowdy spectators.

    Two men were in the ring, circling each other slowly. The newcomer, interested but not surprised, drew a little closer, ignoring the rest of the madness, carefully watching.

    The men continued to circle each other like rabid animals, teeth bared, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The fight didn’t look very fair however. Both men were shirtless, skin shinning with sweat, muscular bodies heaving from previous attacks. But one looked much younger than the other. Blood ran down from his nose into his open mouth, staining his white teeth. His fists were clenched tightly, raised up by his face, focused on the defensive side of things more than the offensive. The other man was bigger, bulkier, and uglier. He wasn’t defined and cut like the younger man; instead, his weight was probably his biggest advantage. A bruise was formed where his left eye was, and he spit blood from his mouth every few minutes.

    They circled each other for a split second more, and then the younger man attacked. He lunged forward, swinging his right fist with that same motion and landing it in his opponent’s gut. The big man gasped as his air was blown from his lungs. The smaller fighter threw three more punches: two into his opponent’s stomach, one into his opponent’s face. Teeth, saliva, and blood sprayed across the ring’s wooden floor causing an outbreak of laughter from the enthusiastic crowd.

    The large man fell, shaking the platform as he hit it. The younger fighter raised his fists in triumph, grinning into the crowd. He turned to leave the stage. But he made it only one step before the downed fighter snaked his hand out and gripped the young man’s ankle. The crowd swarmed even closer to the ring, pushing and shoving to get a firsthand position. The young fighter, startled, began swiveling back around when he was yanked down to the ring’s floor. His opponent got to his feet, drooling blood now, rage twisting his face. He dropped back down to his knees over his opponent, pressing his hands on the young man’s shoulders. The trapped fighter grimaced in pain, twisting to get free, sweat running down his dark skin. But he was completely pinned down. Helpless. The tables had turned. 

    The big man shifted a little, pushing down on his opponent’s chest with his palm, cutting off breath, and hefted his huge fist into the air. He swung it down, pummeling the young man’s face. After two more punches, he shoved the dazed boy onto his back, grabbing his arm and pushing it up in an unnatural twist. The boy’s cry was loud and wet the crowd’s appetite for intensity.

      “Surrender!” the bigger fighter roared into his opponent’s ear. “Say you surrender!” For a few stifling moments the bar fell almost silent, everyone listening closely for the younger fighter to throw his towel into the ring. But all that was heard were his groans and gasps for air. “Fine.” In a decisive and swift movement, the older man pushed upwards just a tad more and the loud snapping of a bone broke all previous silence.

    Lurid shouts from the audience rose once more into the stifling air, and a few men climbed onto the stage, pulling the bigger fighter off the yelling boy’s body. They rolled the young fighter back around, someone calling 911. Chaos had erupted.

    This was just the kind of distraction the newcomer needed. He too climbed onto the stage, careful to draw little attention to himself. He would get plenty of that in a few moments. Reaching the young man, he knelt down beside him. The boy looked into the newcomer’s dull, gray eyes with agony. Soon, the newcomer thought, his pain would end. With that, the newcomer pulled out a knife and plunged it into the fighter’s chest.



Dylan:

    The dim lighting and strange smells of the grittiest parts of Los Angeles take some getting used to. Dylan, however, was more than used to it, and as he walked down the sidewalk he enjoyed the familiarity of it all. He blew a wispy trail of smoke from his lips, dropping the cigarette on the pavement and rubbing it out with his shoe. Yes, it all was so familiar. The run-down stores, mostly out of business, that were simply large walls for graffiti; the few houses that served as hideouts for gangs; and the dark alleys where nothing good happened. Most people would glance at the scenery and label it as a dangerous place to avoid.

    Dylan smirked when that thought crossed his mind. Dangerous. Maybe for the ritzy folk who choose to spend their nights and money with strangers at fancy casinos and expensive hotels. For the people who could not defend themselves if they got into a fight. Those types of people stay away from these places because to them they are dangerous. To Dylan, it was home.

    He was well known down there. Known for selling things you could not get anywhere else. Known for being young, but lacking optimism. Known for a mysterious past that he would not share with anyone. He was dark and silent. But worth a lot for his goods. He was untouchable in status.

    The cracked, gray sidewalk soon drowned in uncut grass. Dylan’s destination was coming up. Before long the houses and stores disappeared completely, and the dirt gave way to white sand. Dylan took off his shoes and sighed as he felt the cool grains run over his feet. His pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the sand and, soon, the cool ocean water lapped up against his legs. His jeans slowly soaked through as he walked deeper.

    Swimming. A passion of Dylan’s, one that he kept secret. Today, though, he was not really going swimming. Just wading, letting the water wash away memories.

    Each day brought them back. Memories of the past. When Dylan was waist deep, he lay back, letting the waves roll over his head. He felt the ocean floor with his hands, gripping shells and sand in his fists. The salt water seemed to flow through his skin. This was most familiar. The water, dark and murky at like melted iron, the sand, cool and glimmering with moonlight, and the fresh air, away from the dense city.

    Yes, Dylan was used to the dim lights and strange smells, but he often needed to get away. And this was where he went. The cold water was soothing, relaxing, and a way to forget about life. A reminder that this was now. He was not still trapped in his uncle’s home like a caged animal, suffering every single day with pain and hurt…

    The young man dove back down, swimming deeper, trying to shut those thoughts out. But something made him think back to a time when his mother would take him to this very beach. She taught him to swim, and he learned fast. A “natural” she had called him. He was young then, no more than six years old. A year later his mother would die in a car accident, leaving him alone. All around him people spoke about how it was not fair that such a young boy should lose someone. Sympathy. Did it bring his mother back? No, it did not. All those sympathetic people only taught him that empathy was meaningless and “good feelings” were shallow.

    Dylan splashed up by the small island located a quarter of a mile off shore and stretched out on the sand, shivering a little in the chilly night air. He gazed up at the stars, wondering why they still were shining. Why shouldn’t they turn out and never turn on again? What did they have to live for?

    After his mother died, because she was divorced, Dylan was sent to live with his uncle and aunt. They turned out to only add to the nightmare Dylan had been living. His aunt, Martha, was cold, unforgiving, and intolerant. When she acknowledged him at all it was only to scold. Dylan’s uncle, Robert, was worse. At first he tried to be patient and kind. But Dylan grew up with an ache that made him rebellious, and Rob soon became physically abusive. Not only did Dylan grow up without a mother, he grew up in fear. Constant fear. He used to come out to this beach at night, if only to escape his uncle, and swim to this island. Too afraid to go home. Wishing he had a real home. 

    Dylan slipped back into the water, mind troubled. Why did he have to recall these memories? He knew it was because they were part of him, stirred up even more by the cool, clear ocean. The young man started swimming slowly back to shore. He was on his own now. After he turned eighteen he left his uncle’s home. He wanted to move far away from Los Angeles forever but a lack of money held him back. Instead, he tried to build a life in the scums of the city, close to the beach. He gained popularity among the gangs in the community for his drug dealing, something he picked up to get money. He could hold his own in a fight and soon, the dim, smelly streets and houses became familiar. Home. Something he had not felt since his mother's death, fourteen years ago. 

    Dylan plunged back under the water, letting it wash away his sudden tears. This was not the life he ever wanted. He never dreamed he would be making money illegally, running from the law, hiding his face in the decent public. This would not be what his mother wanted for him. Then why did she have to die? Anger coursed its way through him like the very blood in his veins. He knew it was all that kept him going these days: the rage, the fury, the need for some sort of revenge.

    Dylan stood up, water dripping from his skin, jeans, and dark brown hair. He was ankle deep now, wading back towards the shore. The sand was colder than before, and Dylan realized it was probably after midnight. The moon lit an eerie path back up to the place where he dropped his shirt and shoes. Picking them up, he began walking back to his home: a rundown, abandoned clothing factory. His sleep would be full of nightmares.



Haydn:

    A knock on the bedroom door woke Haydn out of his rest. He snorted and picked his head off his arms, looking up across the room from the bed where he was sprawled. “Come in,” he muttered before dropping his head back down.

    The door opened and a middle aged woman peaked through. “Haydn, honey, are you really asleep?”

    No, I’m trying to die. The words floated temptingly across the boy’s mind but did not leave his mouth. “Yeah,” he said instead.

    “Okay.” The woman walked all the way in, stumbling over a pile of clothing. “Really?” She sighed in defeat. “Honey, your dad is coming in…” She glanced at her watch. “Five minutes.”

    Haydn rolled over with a groan.

    “Be downstairs in two.” The lady waited a moment with her fists on her gaunt hips for a response. She did not get one. Marching back to the door, she walked out without another word.

    After the door shut, Haydn revolved onto his back. Chill, mom, he mouthed. Pulling a phone from his pocket, he glanced at the time. It was 11: 43. She said to be down in two minutes.

    The boy reluctantly got out of bed and ran some gel through his hair. May as well look halfway decent. Haydn leaned onto his dresser, peered at his face in the mirror, and ran another hand through his hair. The more he thought, the more he realized that there really could be girls at his dad’s work. But what kind of girls worked at an insurance building?

    The boy took one last look at his rusty red hair and green eyes. Handsome devil. Suddenly more reassured about the fact that there just might be girls at the office, Haydn left his room with a smile on his face.

***

    The car ride was quiet as it always was. Haydn glanced at his dad briefly before reaching for the radio. “Back in Black” blasted out of the stereos, and the elder man jumped. He glared at Haydn and shut it off. “Son, you know how much I can’t stand that junk.

    Junk!? “Dad, how could you be so harsh? That is the classic stuff. You grew up with it.” Haydn was on a roll. “Heck, that’s what music is all about!”

    The man rubbed his eyes. “My generation was unfortunate to have been introduced to that rock.” He said the word “rock” with a good amount of disdain.

    Haydn sighed. “I bet you’re the only one who thinks that, Dad.”

    “And why is that so bad?”

    “Because…well, let’s just say there were a hundred people in a room. One of them thinks all the rest are crazy, while ninety-nine think that it’s the one that’s crazy. Odds are it is the one that stands apart that’s crazy.”

    “Are you calling me crazy, son?”

    Yes! “No! Of course not.” Haydn received another dangerous glare and cringed, turning towards the window. Time to shut up. 

    The busy streets and choked sidewalks of downtown Chicago rolled by for ten more long minutes, before the car parked in front of a large building that resembled basically every other in sight: tall, full of windows, boring. Haydn suppressed a sigh of anguish as he stepped out. It was what he expected but, somehow, it was still a bit depressing. Stupid take-your-son-to-work-day…

    The boy’s father opened the back door of his car and pulled out a black, leather bag, swinging it professionally around his shoulder. Together they walked across the packed parking lot and up to the rotating doors.

    The lobby was massive with painstakingly clean red carpet and a large wooden semicircle desk in the center. There were multiple halls, doors, and elevators that led who-knows-where. A sign on a wall that said “Cafe” caught Haydn’s eye, and he made a mental note to venture back down there sometime in the day.

    “Hey, Rob!” The lady behind the center desk smiled at Haydn’s dad. The boy and father turned towards her, the first with an interested expression. The lady had shoulder-length blonde hair, pulled from her face with a headband, bright blue eyes, and cute glasses. Haydn guessed they were just for fashion. To top it off, she spoke with an elegant British accent.

    “Jess,” Rob acknowledged with a brief wave, heading towards the elevators without pausing.

    Jess… Jessie? Attractive name. Haydn flashed a smile. Yes, he would definitely venture back down there sometime in the day.

    The elevator rose into the air. Rob checked his watch and leaned forward and back impatiently on his shiny black shoes. After what seemed like a long time- and the dinging that sounded at every single level began to get annoying- the doors opened into a long hall.

    Rob fast-walked out with Haydn trailing behind. The hall’s carpet was shiny white but not as clean as the lobby’s. The boy noticed a couple of coffee stains here and there. So very typical.

    The walls were lined with numbered office doors. At 116, Rob paused to unlock the door before stepping in. “This,” he began, a little out of breath from the stressful ride up the elevator, “is my office.”

    Haydn nodded and looked around. The walls were minty green- weird- with photos lining them. They were mostly baseball pictures which gave the boy the feeling that he was in a twelve-year-olds’ room. The desk, however, was clean of anything personal except a… Haydn peered closer. What the heck? It was a bobble head statue of a Sox player. “I like it.”

    The lie must have been obvious. Rob laughed stiffly. “No, you don’t. Mind telling me why?”

    Haydn opened his mouth.

    “Wait! I got it!” Rob announced. He moved the bobble head to the other side of the desk. “Better?”

    Haydn swallowed. “Yes, dad, that’s perfect.”

    His father smiled and sat down on the rotating chair behind the desk and pointed to another on the other side. “Sit. I want to show you what I do.”

    The boy sat slowly. This was an extraordinarily sedate start for what was going to be a long day. “So… is there ever a take-your-dad-to-work-day?”

    Rob laughed again, pulling some papers from under his desk. “I don’t think so. Why?”

    “Cause you would just love making coffee at Starbucks all day long.”

    A knock on office door cut Rob off before he could reply, but he gave Haydn a dense look that said we are not done here.

    Rob cleared his throat.  “Come in.”

    The door opened and a tall man in a pressed black suit stepped in. Or, Haydn observed with a cynical eye, waltzed in. The man glanced between Rob and Haydn for a split second. “I see you brought your son, Robert!” His voice was boisterous, and he wore a glistening white smile that could blind you. The stereotypical businessman if there ever was one. He faced the younger man. “It’s nice to meet you, Jaden!”

    “Haydn," the boy corrected in a dry tone.

    The big man winked and laughed. “I was close!”

      Seriously, does he think I’m five? Haydn managed a weak smile.

    Rob stood up quickly. “I may as well formerly introduce you two. Mr. James, this is my son Haydn. Haydn, this is Mr. James, the manager of this company.”

    Haydn stood to shake the manager’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

    “You too, son.” Mr. James then turned back to Rob, all business now. “Robert, we have a new proponent to fill in the spot of assistant chairman for business. This new guy is..." Yada, yada, yada...

    Haydn watched as his dad and Mr. James embarked on the number one dullest conversation he had ever heard. The words that came from the mouths sounded to him like hundreds upon hundreds of “blahs.”

    Finally, the two men shook hands and Mr. James left. Thank goodness Haydn leaned back in his chair and looked on as his dad pulled open his laptop and started pounding away at the keys. “Hey, I’m going to walk around a little.”

      “That’s fine.” Rob replied so absentmindedly that Haydn wondered if he was even aware of his son's presence anymore.

    Haydn pushed into the still, cool hallway, thankful to be out of the stuffy office, and started towards the elevator. He pulled out his iPhone and untangled his ear buds. Smiling as “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen filled his ears, he stepped into the elevator and pushed level one.

    With the music on he could not hear the horrid dinging as he was carried down. But it was a much slower ride as many men and women- usually over thirty- got on and off at different intervals. At last, the doors opened into the lobby. Haydn headed over to the reception desk after pulling his ear buds out, happy that Jess was still there.

    “Can I help you?” she asked, glancing up at him from some papers.

    “I sure hope so.” Haydn stuck his hands in his pockets. “See, I’m looking for…” A pretty girl like you to hang out with today… “a good place to get lunch. Any ideas?”

    Jess smiled and set down her pen. “Well, we do have a cafe, which is delicious.”

    “That sounds perfect. Could you point me in the right direction?”

    Jess motioned behind her to a hall next to the elevators. “If you head down that way then take a left then…” She paused and laughed airily. “I’m actually heading there myself if you want to come along.”

    Haydn grinned. It was more than he could have hoped for. “Great.”

    Jess stood up and walked briskly towards the hall, gesturing at Haydn. “Come on. It’s this way.”

    Haydn hurried to catch up. Side by side, they walked, Haydn not paying attention to where they were going and trying not to stare too much at Jess. She was really pretty and probably younger than he first thought. Maybe not even that much older than him…

    They turned at an intersection and entered a dim room through two swinging doors. Haydn chuckled. “This is a strange cafe. I always thought-”

    He was cut off as the girl turned suddenly and pinned him to the wall. Haydn gasped. “Jess?”

    She yanked out a small pistol and pressed it to his head. Her eyes had turned a cloudy color, her pupils gone. “You little fool. So quick to trust an attractive stranger.” Her lips formed a twisted, mocking smile. "Oh well… your loss, my gain. Any last words, pretty boy?”

    “Please, wait. Please, please...” Haydn swallowed and his breathing turned into uneven gasps. He did not know what to think. “How…how is this your gain? How would you gaining anything from killing me?”

      A wave of mock concern flashed across the girl’s face. “Oh, you poor, poor thing. Don’t you know who you are?”

    “What are you talking about?”

    Jess snickered. “You are stupid…”

    Haydn closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. What’s wrong with her? Who is she? Who am I? He suddenly looked at her again. “Please, Jess, just think. Don’t kill me.” He paused. “At least tell me who I am.”

    “So not only are an idiot, but you think I’m an idiot as well.” Jess shook her head. “And here I thought you liked me.” Still holding the gun with one hand, she pulled a small dagger from her shoe. “You see this? It’s made out of iron.” Jess shoved it into Haydn’s arm.

    He cried out in pain, clutching at the blood flow.

    Jess licked her lips and twisted the blade around in the wound. She leaned closer to Haydn until she could feel the heat radiating from his face and tears. Her voice was lowered to a whisper. “This is like poison to you, boy.” 

    Haydn fell to the floor, twisting and screaming as streaks of pain, sharper than a million knives, seemed to dig through the wound and up his arm. They continued spreading into his chest, down his legs, into his head. The boy struggled frantically for breath but felt a heavy weight pressing down on his lungs. The pain overwhelmed his thrashing body as Jess stabbed him again in the side. “How does it feel?” she shrieked, cackling as she twisted and dug.

    Haydn suddenly felt an intense heat blaze up in him, spreading from his very soul to every part of his body, pressing at his skin from the inside, trying to break through.  His muscles strained against the pain, the burning making him stronger. From behind tear-blurred vision he saw a startled look of horror and fear on Jess’s face. She stumbled back from his body, and turned to run from the room. But a wave of flame devoured her in its cruel grasps.

    Haydn squeezed his eyes as the flames surrounded him, burning, eating away at his flesh. He yelled out as he felt the pressure from the inside push harder and harder. Finally, it burst through and Haydn was plunged into darkness.   



Camira:

    At first, everything was a blur. She blinked once more, slowly, and an intense light made its way into the former darkness. She strained to hear anything, but silence surrounded her.

    The other senses began to kick in steadily, and the blur started to focus. She found that she was in a small room, sterile, white, and cold. It smelled like strong medicine. A hospital.

    Everything rushed back in a moment. The familiar classroom…her students…the suicidal man with the bomb…the explosion…the fire…the screams…the screams…the screams…

    Camira jerked up in the bed, breathing in gasps, eyes wide and bloodshot with horror.

    “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” a soothing voice breathed from her left. She spun her head that way and found herself face to face with a brown-eyed, dark haired young man.

    “Josh?” Camira managed, relief welling in her and tears spilling from her brimming eyes.

    In response, Josh leaned in and softly kissed her lips, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Camira felt her frantic heartbeat slow to a steady pattern, and she closed her eyes, melting into the other. They did not even notice the nurse and doctor come in two minutes later.

    Finally, the nurse cleared her throat, and Josh pulled away. Camira locked eyes with him and for a moment they silently communed, Camira begging Josh to never leave. He smiled softly, deep eyes full of love, and she knew he never would.

    The doctor stirred. "It's good to see you up and responsive," he said, walking to the side of Camira's bed and checking a screen set up there. He marked down a few notes on a clipboard. "You were out for a few days."

    "Oh." It was all Camira could murmur. Things were just too shocking and sudden. She looked down at her sheets and noticed for the first time that a small needle connected to a tube was in her forearm. She wondered what drugs they pumped into her when she was asleep. Above her was a mostly empty plastic bag of blood.

    Josh noticed her looking at it. "You lost a lot, but you're fine now."

    "Did you give it to me, Josh?"

    Josh felt a lump rise in his throat at the weakness of Camira's voice. His precious Camira. His wonderful, beautiful Camira. "Yes, I did," he said, trying to sound stronger than he was for his girl's sake. His eyes traced the delicate features of her face, the soft cheeks, smooth lips, and lovely eyes. Her auburn hair was still in the messy braid she wore three days ago, the day of the bombing, but he still thought she was the most perfect person in the world.

    Camira smiled warmly. "Thank you, Josh."

    The doctor, who had left for a moment, returned with a small tray of vaccines. He set them on a side table. "I'm going to put these inside your tube, alright." He picked one up and stuck the point in the end of the tube.

    "What is it?" Camira asked.

    The doctor squeezed the top of the vaccine tube down. "Necessities."

    "She asked you what they were, Doctor. Tell her," Josh said firmly.

    The doctor looked up at him and sighed. "Like I said, they're necessities. But if you need to know, it's something to help her sleep and the daily dose of medicines.”

    “Help her sleep?” Josh glanced back and forth from Camira and the doctor. “But she just woke up.”

    The doctor continued injecting the last vaccine into the tube before picking up a small cup of pills from the tray. “Might I remind you, Camira was in critical condition just yesterday. She still needs a lot of rest. We can’t rush progress, Joshua.”

    “I was in critical condition? How long was I sleeping?”

    The doctor handed Camira the pills and a glass of water. “You were rushed to the hospital two days ago and have been asleep since then.” He cocked his head. “We did have to sedate you for the surgery, so you-”

    “Surgery?” Camira interrupted. “What exactly did you have to do?” She finished the water and handed the glass back to the doctor.

    “There were three shards of glass in you from the window in your classroom and we had to remove them. That’s all.”

    Camira shook her head in disbelief. She could not remember the glass hitting her. “Where were they?” Josh grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. He always did that when he was frightened or nervous or recalling a bad memory. “I’m sorry,” Camira said to him, reaching out for his hand reassuringly. “But, I need to know what happened.”

    “One was in your right shoulder, one was in your right side, and another was in your forehead.” The doctor hesitated before continuing. “You’ll probably have scars where we removed them.”

    Camira stretched a frail arm up and touched her forehead. She could feel a soft bandage covering a small section towards the right side. “Then why was I in critical condition?”

    The doctor nodded towards her right shoulder. “The cut in your forehead wasn't bad, the one in your shoulder was worse. You lost almost a quarter of the blood you have. It’s a miracle that you lived.”

    Camira reached her left hand over to touch her right arm. The bandage was much bigger, stretching from her upper forearm to the top of her shoulder. “I…I don’t understand.”

    The doctor smiled softly for the first time. “Neither do we. But you’re alright and that’s what matters. Now, sleep tightly.” Camira blinked at him and turned her head slowly to look at Josh. He gathered her cold hands in his and held them tightly. Then his affectionate, handsome face blurred into nothing.