My Dear Laurens (Lams)

J. Laurens

"No one can escape making mistakes in life, but only the strongest can rise above them and realize mistakes are opportunities for learning and growth."

Whoever said that is an idiot.

Mistakes are made by everyone, but the fault in this logic is some mistakes can get you killed. How are you supposed to learn and grow if you're dead?

Laurens knew the second his hands were tied and hooked to the tree once more he was a dead man. Just like Paragraph. Just like Riot, and just like the rest of them. Because of his lack of spatial awareness, he had condemned his friends along with him. If he had just kept his ears open and watched for anyone outside of the grave, he could have saved them from this mess. There was no one else to blame but him. How could he spend his entire life trying to protect others and keep them out of harm and end up leading five innocent people to their deaths along with him?

Laurens didn't hear the voices around him. He didn't pay attention to what people did, or who left, or who arrived. His eyes strayed to what was perched above him. Perched on invisible hands, surrounded by space and twinkling lights. He looked to the moon. A silver eye never within arm's reach. A silver eye or something you might hold in your hand. Almost like a... what was it like? A snowball, maybe. Like the ones he threw with Lafayette after Alexander left. No, not Alexander. Alex.

Whenever I miss you, call me Alex.

What do I call you when I miss you? What do you call me when I miss you? What do you call me when you miss me? The only person since my parents to call me John was Grey. I hated him for that, and I wanted to correct him for what he had done. I wanted someone to help me erase his image from my head. You could have done that, Alex. I should have said something to you. I should have told you what to say. I should have asked you for help. Just that one favor. To call me by a name that had been killed by someone else, and give it new life.

Laurens dropped his head and stared at the ground. He bent his neck to the left and caught a glimpse of who stood next to him. Tied just like him, arms raised above his head, head staring up at the... moon, and eyes narrowed like a hawk, was Paragraph. Paragraph didn't notice Laurens' stare on him, he just kept glaring at the moon as if he was angry it was able to be so far from where they were. From what was about to happen. In Paragraph's sullen, outraged eyes, Laurens saw Alex.

Alex, who would always be out of reach, just like the moon. Laurens turned his gaze back to the moon. Why would it always be a distance away?

Why would this be the place I give up? Why would I choose to never see him again, when I've still got my life in my hands? I'm not dead yet. Laurens glanced at the people he had met in the grave only a week or so earlier. They aren't dead either. Why would I choose to let this mistake take my hope away when I've faced problems worse than this before and come out alive? I've still got legs, don't I? I've got feet, hands, arms, a stomach, a chest, a head, and a heart. That's all I've ever needed before, so it's all I need now. No matter what, I'll find a way out of this. Not just for me, but for all of us. No one left behind. No one lost. No one hopeless. Easy.

Laurens laughed. It started small and caught the attention of the fake General, the real general, and his friends tied next to him. When it built, the odd stares he received were filled with either uneasy judgment or stoic confusion. Both did nothing to calm him.

Laurens locked eyes with the General. There was anger. Anger boiling his blood and filling his head with hot coals. He wasn't pleased. He wanted to hurt Laurens, and hurt him, he did. He held a knife between his stubby fingers and took three strides toward Laurens. Before Laurens knew it, the knife lodged inside the cartilage in the top of his ear. He cried out, gritting his teeth, and closing his eyes in hopes the pain would fade. It didn't. The General decided to not only stab Laurens' ear but the bark of the tree as well. Now Laurens was kept in place by rope, metal, and a blade. He winced as he tried to move to comfort himself, but it only caused more pain. The General kept the knife there for a few moments more, then yanked it out in a single tug. A sharp cry erupted from Laurens' mouth but died in seconds when Laurens clenched his jaw. His breathing was quick, but he slowed it to what felt like a normal pace. The others understood his pain. They understood his resistance to submission, and more so, objection to admit being affected by their handiwork.