So, we didn't escape apparently.
I still barely know what's going on, but I know more now:
W.I.C.K.E.D. is a real pain in the ass, walking through sand dunes should be considered a sport, and searching for a mysterious rebel group is like searchin...
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THE WORLD SEEMED SO endless.
For a long time, I kept my wary eyes on the golden horizon—our symbol of freedom. And as the radiant red sun disappeared from the purpling sky, like words on a chalkboard, the two helicopters—carrying what was left of my world—became submerged in the nightly darkness.
Yet, the choppers continued to trek on, slicing through the black abyss and wandering further into an endless world that I can't remember.
The shadows of the crisp night left no room for silhouettes or shade from any of the apparent "cities" we zipped through, the darkness devouring everything in its hungry wake—like the sun flares from all those years ago.
Though the dirty window merely framed the pitch black scenery, I still kept my gaze on the outside—fearing that if I looked away, it'll all disappear.
And I'll be locked back in Glade, wishing I was out here, once again.
Suddenly, a soft snore tugged me from my wretched thoughts.
Prying my heavy, blue eyes from the sand-pelted windows, I peered down to the sleeping twelve-year-old tucked underneath my arm.
Somewhere during this lengthy trip, Thomas and Chuck switched places—mostly so the big ol' crybaby could stretch his legs and be closer to Teresa.
Dork. I thought.
A soft smile cracked my stony exterior as I studied my first friend.
Huddled into my side, Chuck slept peacefully.
His chestnut curls sat in a matted mess against my chest as his right cheek pressed gently to my heart, rising and falling with each steady inhale. His small, chubby hands laid limp in his lap as his short legs stretched out before him.
He'd fallen asleep about two hours ago, shivering when night crawled in.
So, I threw an arm around him and let the poor boy snuggle in close, soaking in all my warmth as the blazing sun disappeared from the sky's previously blue canvas, leaving a path of frigid destruction in its wintery absence.
Gently, I brush his unruly curls off his resting face.
His skin, like the rest of us, was thick with sweat and grime. Scraps dotted his cheeks and chin like the reddish freckles on his nose, as his eyelashes fluttered to the dreams his subconscious endured.
I really hope he's not having a nightmare.
However, despite my efforts—I couldn't stop eyeing the wide graze stretching across his left cheekbone, a signet of his sacrifice.
