The Nightmare My Life Has Become {working title} *unfinished

Odd . . . that word should have been censored. xD To be on the safe side, I prefer posting something like [beaver] in place of the actual swear word when I'm planning on posting something on Twig . . . perhaps if you tried that it could keep it from happening again? xD

Great job, anyway. :3 Lol, this is really mysterious.

Kk, I'll just blank it out. xD

Thankies.

Chapter 6
The next few days I fade in and out of consciousness. Every time I wake up I make the nurses give me more painkillers. Not only to deaden the pain in my legs, but also to block out the horrible images that dance around my head. Most of them are my memories, but a few aren’t. Sometimes they appear as my dreams. Nightmares.
I’m Terrence, and I’m exactly four and a half years old. I have a mother, Miriam, and a brother, Dennis. “Can’t catch me!” my twin yells, running away from me.
“Yes I can!” I holler back, chasing after him.
“Dennis, Terrence, it’s time to leave!” Mom calls. Dennis runs over immediately, but I take my time as I trudge towards her, pouting. The sky is blue and the grass is green, tickling my bare feet as I walk across the wide field. Mom straps me into the back seat and gets into the front.
Then the memory skips ahead a few hours.
I wriggle out of Mom’s hands as she tries to carry me upstairs for a bath.
“I don’t wanna!” I announce, landing lightly on my feet and scampering away.
I expect to hear her running after me, but when I’m safely on the other side of the room and there’s no sounds of pursuit I turn curiously. Mom is staring out the living room window, a frozen expression of shock and horror masking her face.
“What is it?” I ask, feeling a chill run down my spine. It’s a weird feeling. I don’t like it. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“Hide!” she hisses at me. “For God’s sake, Terrence, hide! Don’t let them take you. Promise me you won’t.”
I take a frightened step backwards. I’ve never seen her like this before. She’s not making sense. “O - okay,” I stammer, watching her run upstairs to get Dennis. I’ve only just vanished around the corner and am sheltering in the kitchen when a sharp rap sounds on the door and a voice echoes around the house, the noise amplified by I don’t know what.
“Miriam Waters, you have exactly thirty seconds to open this door or we will knock it down and shoot on sight. You can’t escape us. You have twenty five seconds.”
I open up a cabinet and cram myself inside, shutting the door. My breathing is ragged and I’m so, so scared. I don’t know what’s going on.
“Fifteen seconds.”
The cabinet is dark and cramped and I can barely breathe. The walls are closing in on me. I think Mom called it closetphobia. Something like that. No, wait, claustrophobia. That’s it. How did I remember that?
I have no time to dwell on it.
“Five seconds.”
I can’t stop myself from counting them out. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
There’s a slam as the door is forced open and then the sound of heavy footsteps, like a lot of people wearing boots and running on a hard floor. More slams as every cabinet and closet in the house is thrown open and searched thoroughly. It’s only a matter of time before they get to me. Soon I hear a shriek, just outside the kitchen. There’s a gunshot and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. I stifle a scream.
Don’t let them take you. Don’t let them take you. Don’t let them take you.
Then the door to my cabinet is thrown open and a huge, strong hand closes around my forearm as someone yanks me out.
“Boss, I got the boy!” the man’s deep voice yells. I don’t hear any footsteps but a moment later another man is looming over me. Both of them are dressed completely in black. The second man’s voice, which I recognize as being the one amplified, isn’t nearly as deep but much, much colder.
“Good,” he says, nodding appreciatively. “He should train up nicely. Unless...” He peers closely at me. “What’s your name, boy?”
I’m trembling so hard I can barely get my mouth to work, but I manage to stammer out, “T - Terrence.”
He curses. “There’s two of them, you idiot,” he tells the bigger man, his voice low and dangerous. “This is the wrong one.” He spins on his heel and yells, “Keep searching! The boy is still hidden!” Then he turns back to the big one. “You may dispose of this one. Slowly, please. Let him feel every morsel of pain.”
The man grins wickedly and pulls something out of his belt. “Gladly.” A light glints off the blade and I can see it’s a knife, long and cruelly sharp.
I’m so confused. I’m so frightened. I’m four years old and about to be attacked by a man five times my size who has a knife.
And that’s when my mother’s face fills my head. One last time, she tells me, “Don’t let them take you.”
So I don’t.
The next thing I remember is standing by myself in the middle of the forest that surrounds our house, with no idea how I got there and adrenaline still coursing through my veins. Something warm is trickling down my cheek. I touch it and my fingers come away bloody.
I’m lost. I’m alone. I don’t know what’s going on. And I am so, so, so, so scared.

Woah. That's epic, Ratty. :1 I got a chill . . . it was so easy for me to picture myself in her little dream thing. x3

Whoah... this is really amazing!

Oh! Oh! I know! I know! The other kid Gabriella keeps seeing is the twin!

Anyway, it's really good.

OMG! I didn't even notice that, Alice, but I think you're right! xD

Of course I am. I'm always right.

xD

Thanks, guys.

Perhaps.

You be welcome. =)

That's better than no! xD

SPOILER.

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

This is the last chapter I have finished.

Chapter 7
I wake up screaming.
Terrence is the first one there, struggling to hold me down so I don’t hurt myself by thrashing around. I shove him away, shuddering, and realize that my cheeks are wet with tears still flowing. I gasp for breath, trying to break the hazy hold the nightmares still have on my mind.
“Stop it,” I moan to the pain that wracks both my body and mind, pressing the heels of my hands to my forehead. “Stop.”
“Gabriella?” Terrence’s voice is quiet, cautious, but it breaks through the barrier of darkness that shrouded my mind, jerking me fully awake. My eyes fly open. His face is even paler than usual and the two scars on his cheek stand out prominently.
“You said you didn’t know where you got those scars!” I burst out accusingly.
“I don’t,” he replies, frowning and looking utterly bewildered.
“But it- But you-” I break off my incoherent mumbling to flinch as my legs remind me that they’re broken. I bite my lip against an exclamation of pain.
He grabs my shoulders and gently pushes me back down onto the pillows but I fight against him, trying to sit up. After a few seconds he gives up and I shove my hair out of my eyes.
“Where did this come from?” Terrence asks suddenly. I twist around to see him holding my locket, which I remember as still being in my suitcase, which I assume was caught in the fire.
“Where did you get that?” I demand, snatching it away from him.
“I dunno.” He sounds genuinely confused. “It was in my pocket. I didn’t put it there.” Frowning, I undo the clasp and loop the fine golden chain around my neck. The small metal heart is cold against my chest.
He stares at me for a moment and then goes back to his own bed. I lean back against the headboard, closing my eyes for a moment.
“Gabriella.”
My eyes open. The room is dark; I must have fallen asleep. Terrence is standing at the foot of my bed. But it’s not Terrence, because Terrence is in his own bed. It’s the ghost.
“I’m not a ghost,” he says, striding forward to stand beside me. “And I’m not Terrence.”
“Who are you, then?” I whisper.
He stares at me for a long moment, studying my face in the dim light. Finally, he speaks. “My name is Dennis.”

HA! I - or, well, Alice xD - was right! (I assume that's what you put in the spoiler that I didn't read? xD)

Yush. xD

Is Dennis going to injury her in any way, or try to? It'd be weird if that happend and Terrance came and rescued her.. Post more please

I'm not sure, actually. xD

Spoiler:

Well I would, except I have no idea where I'm going with this and I don't think I have any more completed chapters. I might, though, lemme check...

Oh, hey, whaddya know? I have one more chapter. But there probably won't be any more for a while afterwards.

[And yes, I might have sort of copied Twilight a bit at the end there. I couldn't think of another way to describe it. xD

And... yeah, I think they swear again. Sorry 'bout that. EDIT: Censors still not working. ]

Chapter 8
“But - But that’s-”
“Later,” Dennis interrupts. “We need to get out. Now.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you later. Go!”
“I can’t - I can’t walk,” I stammer, confused.
He sighs, yanking the covers off my bed and dropping them on the floor. He pulls a switchblade knife out of his pocket and I shrink back, afraid he’s going to stab me or something, but instead he carefully splits open the plaster casts that encase my legs. “You can now. Run.” When I hesitates he grabs my shoulders and forces me to look him straight in the eyes. They seem to burn with a fierce intensity that could be taken as madness. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice low. “They’re after us. They know you’re here.”
“Who?”
He grits his teeth and grabs my arm, yanking me roughly out of bed. I stumble, my legs clumsy and unsteady after several weeks of being confined to a wheelchair.
“W - What about Terrence?”
“They can’t sense him. That’s the only reason he’s lasted this long.”
“And me? How have I lasted this long?”
“Luck,” he replies grimly. He stiffens as footsteps come from the hallway outside. Something blocks the thin strip of light that comes through the door, which was left ajar. “We have to go,” he whispers urgently, pushing me towards the window.
“What about your disappearing thing?”
“It only takes one. We’re on the first floor, just go!”
I stumble over to the window, my legs still not working quite as I remember. I unlatch the window and clamber through it, dropping heavily down to the bushes several feet below. Dennis lands beside me a moment later, as silently as if he’d been standing there already. He grips my forearm tightly and pulls me towards the sidewalk, his pale skin yellow in the harsh light of the street lamps. I hurry after him, wondering what the heck was going on. He drags me down several blocks. By the time he finally pushes me into a narrow alley, the pain is starting to return to my legs, and I’m not sure how much longer they’ll hold me. I lean against the wall, watching as Dennis runs his fingers over the bricks, muttering to himself. Suddenly I gasp as the wall simply vanishes, revealing a shining white pod just big enough to hold one person.
“What is it?” I ask, staring in awe.
“It’s just the Chute,” he replies indifferently. “Get in, it leaves in a minute and a half.”
I limp in through the open doorway, which immediately slides shut behind me. I nervously take a seat and a thin but strong seatbelt slithers over my lap and fastens itself. My fingers clench on the thick upholstery as the pain in my legs mounts. About thirty seconds later the floor begins to vibrate slightly; the engine must have started. I assume it’s moving, although the Chute travels so smoothly that it feels like I’m not going anywhere at all. It’s several minutes before the engine suddenly switches itself off and the seatbelt slides off my lap, vanishing back into the seat itself. I remain where I am, my legs hurting too much to move. The door slides open again and Dennis is there, taking in the pain that must be written all over my face.
“----,” he mutters, striding forward. He carefully lifts me up and I shift in his arms, feeling very awkward; I’m only wearing a thin white nightgown and he’s a complete stranger. He carries me out of the Chute and into a brightly lit room. Because of my odd position all I can see is the ceiling and the fluorescents as he takes me down a long hall and then turns right into another corridor. After about five minutes and several more hallways he pushes open a door with his elbow and sets me down carefully on a chair inside, then strides out and slams the door behind him. I slump back onto the hard wood, letting out a small moan. However he managed to heal my legs before, it’s completely gone now, and all the painkillers from the hospital have already worn off.
Dennis comes in again, something small hidden in his hand. He picks up my left arm and something sharp pricks the skin. Almost immediately, icy cold spreads from the spot, quickly numbing my arm before moving on to the rest of me. “W - What are you doing?” I stammer, teeth beginning to chatter.
“It’s going to hurt,” he warns me. “A lot. But you’ll feel better afterwards, I promise.”
By this point the entire left side of my body is completely numb and the rest of me is quickly going the same way. I simply sit there, unable to move. My brain begins to fog. And then, as my heart begins to slow, the place where he cut me begins to burn, blistering with the heat that seemed to come from below my skin. The heat spreads even faster than the cold, melting the ice that’s gripping my veins and setting them on fire instead. I scream, but Dennis remains impassive. My screams grow louder and more frequent as the pain mounts, and then weaker and less often as it gets so bad I can hardly feel it anymore. It seems like forever until it begins to fade, but slowly, too slowly. I can feel my consciousness slipping away. My eyes flutter closed as with a small moan I slip into blackness.

Oooh. Epic!!

Maybe it's the quotation marks that's messing with the censors? Cus the way they're set up, that seems like it could easily keep it from getting blocked out. xD Thanks for putting dashes in instead when you saw they weren't working!

Thankies.

Ohh, that could be it.

I'm actually starting to work on this again. :O Mostly just cuz I just reread The Hunger Games and got inspired to do something in present tense. xD This is the only complete (so to speak) chapter I've done so far, and it's really really short (hence the .5) but... yeah. Hopefully I'll keep going now. xD

Chapter 8.5 – Terrence
My eyes fly open. I sit upright, reaching up with the arm not wrapped in bandages to touch the scars on my cheek. They flare suddenly, and I wince. I remember now. I remember everything. My mother . . . I shiver. She really did die. I’d known she had to be gone, she wouldn’t leave me to an orphanage otherwise, but . . . I’d held on to the hope of a young child who wishes for the impossible.
And Dennis, too. I remember him. Was it possible . . . Could he be . . . The boy that kept appearing? But no, he had my scars.
I’d seen him a few times, when waking in the middle of the night. But I’d always passed him off as a sleep-induced hallucination and moved on. It had to be . . .
And yet, Gabriella acted as if she’d seen me before, her first day at the orphanage. And that time I’d seen her memories, somehow, I’d been there. Either we’re both having hallucinations or there really is someone who looked like me running around. It has to be Dennis.
I turn towards Gabriella’s bed, opening my mouth to speak, but she’s not there. She’s . . . not there. How is that possible? Her wheelchair is still beside her bed, so she didn’t leave, and . . . are those are her casts, split open and lying abandoned on the sheets?
What is going on?

Oh yay! :3 It's cool to finally see more of this.

PLEASE right more! This is an awesome story!

Oh, gosh. x.x Two days off the internet and I have this. xD Plus half of another chapter that I'm not posting yet. (And just so you know, half of chapter nine was written while unable to see my computer screen due to sun and dust, so there may be typos that I missed when I went back over it. xD)

Chapter 9 – Gabriella
When I wake up, I try to move, but I can’t. My whole body feels heavy, like an invisible weight has settled on top of me. I’m spread eagled on my back, my arms spread out to either side and my legs held together straight out, like I’m about to be lifted up onto a cross and crucified. The only thing I can move is my eyes, but instead of opening them, I squeeze them even more tightly shut, not wanting to wake up. Unconsciousness was so peaceful, so wonderful. I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel the pain.
And that’s when I realize that my legs don’t hurt anymore. Not as much, at least. My eyes pop open in shock and I let out a snort of surprise (I can’t seem to open my mouth to gasp) to see a face looming over me.
“Don’t worry, miss,” the girl assures me in an accent that I’m too out of it to place, a kind smile on her face. Her skin is as pale as Dennis’, and her rounded visage is framed by long red hair held back in a neat braid. “You’re safe now.”
Untrusting, I struggle to sit up, but whatever is holding me in my odd position continues to pin me down.
“Where am I?” I asked, my eyes darting around, but all I can see is the girl’s face and a blank white room. “Who are you? What’s going on?” But she only continues to smile, and after a moment my limited vision slides out of focus. My eyes seem to close of their own free will, and I sink into a sort of half-conscious state where I can still feel my immobilization and helplessness, but am powerless to even try to do anything about it.

“What are you doing to her?” Dennis’ voice is harsh and loud, the first sound I’ve heard since the red haired girl assured me that I was safe, and it jars me back into full alertness, though I still can’t move and my eyes remain tightly shut.
“Just giving her the treatment, as you asked, sir.” It’s the girl again, and I’m alert enough now to recognize her accent as something British, but it’s not English. Well, it’s the language English, but not the accent. I’m thinking it’s Scottish, maybe? Or perhaps Irish . . . I’m not sure, something like that. Not that matters.
“I asked you to give it to her as gently as possible!” Dennis practically snarls, and I can hear his angry footsteps as he moves towards me. “She’s still in fragile condition. She’s not even in control yet. One millimeter too far and she’ll shatter like glass.”
Needless to say, I don’t like the sound of that.
I swallow hard – at least I’ve retained control of my throat and breathing passages, though I still can’t open my mouth – and wait for more. But there’s only silence, until suddenly the pressure on my limbs lifts. I still can’t really move properly, but I’m able to slowly, painfully pull my arms in towards my sides. I can breathe easier, too. My lungs expand and contract gratefully, miraculously free from the lingering pain of the fire. I suppose that if they can fix my legs – which I really, really hope they have – they can fix my lungs and burns too.
I still can’t open my eyes, but I think Dennis crouches down beside me and then cold fingers prod my forehead. They feel like ice, and that’s when I realize how hot I am. My skin is flaming wherever it meets the air.
“Did you even notice the fever?”
The girl doesn’t answer, and judging from Dennis’ tone of voice and the fact that he seems to be in charge, I guess that’s probably a wise move.
I can almost picture Dennis shaking his head in disgust. “I knew I never should have left you in charge.” I imagine the girl’s face flushing with shame, her hands twisting together in front of her, and that’s when I know that I actually am seeing them, even though my eyes are still closed. I’ve never seen past the girl’s shoulders. And I’ve never seen the rest of the room I’m in, either. I concentrate, and suddenly my vision zooms out and I can see myself, lying prone on the floor, my face chalky white against my dark hair. Dennis looks back down at me, one side of his mouth twisting with an emotion I can’t read, and then he stands, his expression blank again. He nods curtly at the redheaded girl and leaves the room.
Though I remain motionless on the floor, my consciousness follows him out the door. I’m not quite sure how to control my movements in this form, so I “go with the flow,” so to speak, simply drifting along in his wake. I f see him duck inside another room down the hall and follow him in, watching as he stands silently just inside the door. A girl maybe a little older than me is hunched over a control station, her eyes flicking between several screens at once.
“Any news?” Dennis says suddenly, and all the anger is gone from his tone, replaced by a weary sadness, like he knows what the answer is going to be but can’t help asking anyway.
The girl’s shoulders jerk a little in surprise and she turns to look at him, a touch of sympathy in her eyes. “Nothing yet. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, walking over and slumping down in the chair beside her. “I know you’re doing your best.” This statement is so different from his reaction to the redheaded girl that I wonder if maybe she and Dennis have some sort of shared history, a past argument that created a rift between them that hasn’t quite smoothed over yet. But then I take in the expression on this other girl’s face and I realize that that’s not the case. She reaches out and takes his hand and he laces his fingers through hers, closing his eyes wearily. I feel like I’m invading their privacy and want to look away, but I still can’t figure out how to make whatever form I’m in move of my own will, and am forced to keep watching.
“Den, you need to take it easy. You’re not even sixteen yet; you’re too young to be running yourself into the ground like this. Stop trying to do everything yourself and leave some stuff to the rest of us, all right?”
One side of his mouth curves up in a tired half smile, and his eyes are still shut. “You know I can’t, Li. If I don’t run this thing, who will? It’s my fault, after all.”
She shakes her head. “Will you stop saying that? None of this is your fault, all right? Now, is there anything you need me to do?”
His eyes open, and they’re filled with so much sorrow that it almost makes me want to cry. His free hand reaches over to cradle her face and his thumb gently strokes her cheek. I don’t want to see this, I don’t want to spy, but I’m frozen where I am and can’t look away.
“Just stay safe,” he murmurs, gazing at her. “That’s all I can ask. Stay safe.”
She leans towards him, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try.”
They stay like this for a while, simply gazing silently at each other, until suddenly the girl, Li, Dennis called her, breaks away, turning back her to monitors. “You should get some rest,” she murmurs, giving his hand a squeeze before letting go.
He sighs and gets up, turning towards the door, and I have to agree that he looks absolutely exhausted, and I don’t really know him, but to me it looks like a kind of tiredness not fixed by a single night’s sleep, no matter how long. It looks like the weariness that sinks deep into your bones, the kind cultivated by so much sadness that it feels like you can’t go on.
I know because that’s how I feel, too.

Chapter 10
Dennis leaves the room and I’m pulled along after him, but he turns down the hall one way and I’m taken in the other. I drift back into the room that I started in, the one where I can see my body still motionless on the floor. I can see the redheaded girl leaning over me, examining me, and I wish I knew what was going on. I feel an inexplicable pull that draws me in like a magnet and I’m helpless to fight, still not sure how to control my form. I drift closer to my body and then suddenly I’m back in it, thankfully mobile. My eyes pop open and the red haired girl straightens in surprise. I sit up, feeling kind of stiff and sore, but able to move. Cautiously, I tense and then quickly relax a muscle in my right leg. No pain. I try to move it and it still doesn’t hurt. I try the same thing with my left leg, and get the same result. I pull my legs towards me in amazement. They’re totally fine, not a scratch on them. I’m . . . better.
I suddenly feel more alive than I have in weeks. Despite the stiffness in my limbs, I feel as though I could run ten miles without stopping and still have just as much energy at the end of it. I feel like . . . like . . .
. . .Like I want some answers.
I turn to the girl. “Where is this place?”
“Treatment center, miss.”
“But where?”
“Second floor, east wing.”
“Of . . .?” My patience is running thin; why can’t she just tell me what I want to know?
“Headquarters.”
“Headquarters of what?” I can see why Dennis snapped at her. She’s extremely irritating.
“Oh,” she says, finally seeming to realize what I want to know. “We don’t really have a name, miss . . . Never had time to pick one. We just fight.”
“Fight? Fight who?”
Her face turns white. “Them.”
I feel like kicking something – possibly her – in frustration, but just then the door opens, and the girl from before, Li, I think, walks in. “You’re Gabriella, aren’t you?” she says with a kind smile, extending a hand to help me to my feet. I take it, wobbling a bit as I’m unused to standing since the accident, but regaining my balance quickly.
“I’m Lilac,” she continues. “You must be tired. Come on, I’ll take you to the guest quarters.” I follow her obediently out the door, privately wondering who’s watching her monitors, but I don’t want her to know that I saw her and Dennis and I don’t have another way to explain how I know, so I keep quiet.
She leads me down several hallways and I try to keep track, but the bright fluorescents are hurting my head and Lilac’s right, I am tired, and I find it hard to concentrate. Finally she stops outside a door with a small, ornate number six hanging from the knob.
“The six is the key,” she tells me, taking the pocket sized little ornament and pressing it into my palm. I look down at it in confusion, then hesitantly stick the end of the curve into the keyhole. Lilac nods in affirmation and I twist the key. The door clicks and swings open a little.
“It’s all yours,” she tells me. “There’s clothes in the closet and food will be brought by in the morning.”
“Um . . . thanks,” I mumble, not sure what to say. I’m grateful about the clothes, because I just now realize that I’m still in my flimsy white nightgown from the hospital and I’ve been attracting a lot of stares, mainly from the younger men I see rushing up and down the halls. My cheeks feel hot and I duck inside the room. Lilac reaches in to flick on the light switch and then leaves, shutting the door. I drop the six/key onto the closest table and then collapse onto the bed, not even bothering to get under the covers before falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Chapter 11
But is the sleep restful?
Of course not.

I’m six years old. Mom is letting us stay up late tonight, because there’s supposed to be a meteor shower. Mary is lying on her back on the grass in our front yard, gazing expectantly up at the velvety sky, and Mom is sitting beside her, but I’m standing and fidgety.
“Where is it?” I complain, my sneaker scuffing at the grass. “Where’s the falling stars?”
“Where are the falling stars,” Mom corrects, ever the grammar police. “They’re coming, Gabs, just be patient.”
“But I don’t want to be patient!” I complain, scowling at the sky. I stomp away from them, towards the bushes that line our yard. I squeeze through the gap between two of them and emerge on the sidewalk on the other side. Waiting for me is a boy about my age, his pale face gleaming in the moonlight. Two scars trace down his cheek. His sad brown eyes meet mine for just an instant, and then he’s gone. The first meteor streaks across the sky and I scramble back to the yard, forgetting all about him.

Time skips, and it’s our ninth birthday party. We couldn’t agree on where to have it, so Mom intervened and decided that we were going to have it at the park. Neither of us was particularly happy about that, but once Mom makes up her mind there’s really no stopping her. We didn’t really have the money for a big thing anyway, I guess.
Mom lights the candles and everyone starts singing the Happy Birthday song. I make my wish and prepare to blow out the candles, but suddenly I notice someone a few feet behind the parents that stayed with their kids. He’s not singing, and I don’t know him, but he seems familiar. He’s about my age, with brown hair and eyes, a pale face, and two vivid scars on his cheek. The song ends and I look away to blow out the candles with Mary, and by the time I look up again, he’s gone.

I’m eleven now, and about to start my first day of middle school. I swallow hard and step into the classroom, my new knee-length uniform skirt falling stiffly against my narrow hips. I choose a seat near the window and set down my backpack, waiting for class to begin. The teacher enters and tells us all to sit down before introducing herself and starting to take role. I space out, gazing outside at the tree lined sidewalk. A boy who looks like he should be in my grade is walking down the street, but he doesn’t have a bag and he’s not in a uniform. Maybe he’s home schooled. His eyes are on the sidewalk, but as he passes my window he looks up, his brown eyes meeting on mine. I see the scars on his cheek and I know I’ve seen him before, but just then my new teacher calls, “Karamë, Gabriella,” and she pronounces it wrong, so I turn away from the window to announce myself present and then correct her. She gives me detention. Seething at the unfairness, I turn back towards the window, but the boy is nowhere in sight.

High school. I’m fourteen and the star forward on the JV girls’ soccer team. Katey, one of the midfielders, heads the ball in my direction and I bounce it off my knee before letting it fall to the ground and trapping it with my foot. I pivot towards the goal and take a step back, my eyes calculating which way the goalie will go as I prepare to kick, but as I draw my foot back I notice a boy over by the goal, just outside the sidelines but where no one but the ref is supposed to be. From this distance I can just barely see the scars on his cheek and I definitely recognize him from somewhere, but the precious seconds that I waste trying to figure it out are all the opposing team’s defense needs to kick the ball out from under my foot. I rush after it, but it’s too late, and it’s already kicked off to the other side of the field. Mentally cursing my luck, I turn to glare at the boy, but he’s already gone.

Fifteen years old now, and we’re on our way to school. Mary’s in the front, texting like she always is, and I’m in the back, glancing at my watch. We’re only a few minutes late, so I say, “I think this is a new record.”
“What is?” Mary replies absently.
“Never mind,” I say, rolling my eyes and pulling the sleeve of my blouse back down over my wrist.
We stop for a red light. A boy, maybe a little older than me and with two vivid scars on his cheek, is standing on the corner. Despite the green light for his direction, he remains where he is. His sad brown eyes meet mine and I’m positive I know him from somewhere, but I don’t know where. I look away, just in time to see Mom step on the gas as the light turns green. I hear Mary shriek and see a drunk driver swerve out of his lane, crashing into us head on. But now it’s different, now I’m outside, beside the boy, though he doesn’t seem to be looking at me. I can hear three separate pulses pounding in my ears, see three separate lifelines twist and writhe, upsetting the balance of time. One heartbeat ceases; one lifeline contorts and vanishes into death. Another heartbeat stops; the second lifeline also disappears into the abyss. The third heartbeat falters, the last lifeline hovering somewhere between life and death. I look over beside me and the boy is gone. I see him kneeling beside the wreck, leaning over something. His hand brushes gently over a bloody forehead and I swallow hard; the face, though scratched and bruised and twisted with pain, is undoubtedly mine. He murmurs something and she – I? – relaxes slightly. The heartbeat steadies into a somewhat even throb, the lifeline is still too close to death but more stable now, inching back towards the light.
No, I tell her silently. No, it’s not worth it, this life isn’t worth it. Don’t hang on. Just go. But of course she doesn’t listen and
I wake up screaming. Unable to stop, I muffle it in the pillow, sobbing so hard it feels like my chest is about to burst. And I want it to, I want to die, because even though I can walk again this life is just so horrible and I want to die, I want it to end, because it hurts so much, not my legs anymore, but just everything, Mom and Mary and even Dad, and no one will tell me what’s going on, and I can tell that Dennis knew the accident was going to happen, or else why would he have been there, and he could have stopped it but he didn’t, and I want to die.
I crawl under the blanket and bawl my eyes out, smothering my face with the sheets in some fruitless hope that maybe it will suffocate me and I’ll die and this will finally all be over. But of course it doesn’t happen and eventually I have no more tears to shed.
Feeling like crap, I creep out from my little hideout, leaving the blankets soaked with bitter tears, and stumble half blindly to the bathroom, attempting to wash the tears from my face. But no matter how much water I splash onto myself, my eyes remain red and puffy, and though the dried tear tracks are no longer visible I can still feel them on my cheeks. My head aches and my stomach feels hollow, like I haven’t eaten in a week – which I probably haven’t – but I’m not hungry.
I leave the bathroom and look around the room for the first time. It’s nice enough, more like a hotel room than anything else. The walls and doors and window frames and lampshades and carpets are all off-white, and the bedspread is a creamy beige sort of color. A tray of food has been left for me on the table near the door, a glass of orange juice and a bowl of dry cereal with a carton of milk beside it and a small pot of thick stew, still hot, and the smell wafts towards me and I feel sick with hunger, even though I can’t eat a bite. I gingerly lift the hot dish with my fingertips, trying not to breathe in the warm, delicious scent, and bring it to the bathroom, where I dump it into the sink and wash it away with cold water. I then shut the door tightly before replacing the empty bowl on the tray. I slump down on the edge of my bed and try not to think.
Time passes. I don’t know how much, and I don’t care. Eventually I become aware of someone knocking on the other side of the door and calling my name. I wipe my eyes one last time, as if that will hide the evidence of my tears, and open the door a crack, peeking out. Lilac is standing there, her fist raised to knock again.
“Hi,” she says with an awkward smile. “I’m going to show you around today, all right?”
“’Kay,” I mumble. “Just let me get dressed.”
I close the door and turn towards the closet, pushing the double doors open for the first time. Despite myself, my jaw drops a little in amazement. The walk-in closet is absolutely huge, and it’s filled with every type of clothes imaginable, from bikinis to evening gowns to parkas thick enough for Antarctica to casual jeans and t-shirts to sports uniforms. Overwhelmed, I grab the first non-fancy and/or parka-like things I see, which happen to be a pair of cuffed jeans and a soccer shirt, and pull them on. I stuff my feet into a pair of sneakers and step over to the mirror to pull my hair back in a ponytail, partly out of habit and partly to get it out of my face, when I realize that I don’t have a hair band and let the dark tresses fall back around my shoulders again. As I turn away, I notice that the number on the back of my soccer shirt is 23, which just happened to be my number on the high school soccer team. It’s even red and black: our school colors.
Oh, I just love irony.

Great new chapters!

Thanks.

Oh. My. Gosh. This is so good! I love how you ended the chapters.