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14. Lost Time

God I have so many ideas-

Glad I got over that slight mental staircase that I was forced to walk up so I could write more.

TW: swearing, main character deaths, a ton of death, gore, blood, angst, crying, swords,

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Roman didn't know how long he had been falling. The void seemed to keep going on and on, with no shape or form to latch on to. There was one thought drifting around, June 21.

The thought had no shape nor a form, much like anything else on the void. It simply existed there, floating around like a cloud. A dark, and ominous cloud, but a cloud nonetheless.

It made little sense to him, since the date hadn't even passed yet, as far as he could remember. He had blacked out when he saw it, but that didn't make sense. One doesn't just black out after seeing a random date on a test. Things weren't adding up.

There were the random memory gaps, and the feeling that something was missing or gone. That something was wrong. Roman couldn't shake the feeling that something wrong was happening, but he didn't know where it came from.

Finally the void seemed to get lighter and lighter, the color became tinted, and the thoughts began to take shape, wrapping around the date of June 21 like fondant on a cake. The world started to take shape around him, and then he was no longer falling.

The ground beneath him was solid and grey, almost devoid of color. It was like he'd been transported into a black and white world, the isle being transported into a dark and colorless landscape. Everything was various shades of grey, some darker, and some lighter.

Roman was standing in the main square on the isle, surrounded by broken and lifeless buildings. Everything was devoid of any color and sound. There was no one around, and everything was a mess. Well, more of a mess than usual.

The houses were broken and crumbling, the doors practically ripped off of their hinges. The intense feeling of wrongness he felt increased until it was almost suffocating, pushing him to look and see what was so wrong. Besides the ruins, nothing looked to be wrong, but if the feeling was to be believed, it would get much worse from here.

He entered the first building, unsure of what to expect. The house was as trashed as the outside looked, with things torn apart and thrown everywhere. Roman almost didn't want to keep looking. Nothing good could come of this, yet he could not stop himself from looking. If he didn't know, he would always wonder.

When he walked into what appeared to be a bedroom, Roman witnessed the first color he had seen on the isle. Red. There was a lot of it, splattered all over the walls and covering the floors. It took him a few moments to adjust to the color and see what the source was.

The body was in the middle of the room, cut apart and bleeding out. They looked almost peaceful and at ease, and without the cuts one could've thought they were asleep. He stumbled back in shock. There was the unmistakable feeling of being watched, and he knew that if he didn't leave now he might meet the same fate.

So he left and continued his walk through the isle, looking in every house like as if he didn't have a choice. Some of the bodies were ripped apart and bleeding like the first, and some looked like they had just fallen asleep and not woken up. The only color anywhere was the blood from the victims.

There were too many he knew, too many he had talked to. So many he hadn't. It hadn't ever hit him just how many people were on the isle until he had to walk through all of the bodies, witnessing every horror and corpse.

He held it together until he found Patton and Logan's bodies, one torn apart and the other peaceful. There didn't seem to be an order for who would be torn apart, but Roman didn't care either way. Seeing both of his friends dead killed him inside. He started crying, his tears as grey as the landscape around him.

Everyone he knew was dead. They were all dead, and he had an overwhelming feeling of guilt and sadness. There was a weight on his chest that said it was his fault. It was all his fault.

He didn't hear the footsteps over his tears. He didn't pay any attention to the rising sense of doom and wrongness, not how cold it had suddenly gotten. Nothing seemed wrong until he looked up to see a blade crashing down towards him.

And so he screamed.

800 words.