AUGUST IS A FEVER

23

You ran until your legs felt like they would rip into pieces. Not caring if your hand-made boots were loudly crunching the leaves below, you ran as far as you could in the thick and heavy forest as you dodged trees left and right. You were running forward but part of you felt like you were only going backwards. In the back of your throat you could taste a false blood, the coppery flavor in the back of your throat was strong and almost made you gag.

You missed Clay and George desperately and longingly already but you couldn't help but keep running. For this is the correct thing to do, right? You always seemed to be doubting your decisions these days, but you brushed them off as your selfish side simply wanting them back. You kept running until you couldn't anymore. You ran through your muscle stitch until you developed another. The muscle stitch you got from running so fast for so long was painful enough for you to want to throw up even if your stomach was empty. This all felt so wrong but you kept telling yourself it was right.

You finally weaved your way out of the woods and on the edge of another road. You let out an exhale as you fell to the ground, the wooden chips mixed within the dirt of the edge of the forest scratched and scraped your bare legs but you didn't care. You couldn't. There was not room left in the flow of your mind. It was all just filled with images of Clay.

Memories replayed as you tried to remember him as fondly as you had thought of him while you were around. You'd left him and no matter how much you to yourself it was for the best, you couldn't help but long for him. Long for his hold, long for the music of his laugh, long for the melody of his voice, long for the dance of his every move, and long for the rhythm that was heart beat. You missed him, oh, so desperately. The feelings toward him you felt was exciting and felt unending. And it was. Even if you were gone now, you always would have him in mind in one form or another.

You sat up as these confusing feelings overflowed your mind, them wandering forever far. As you sat, you rested your head on your knees, hugging them tight against your heaving chest. Your eyes fluttered close. Exhaustion made you think irrationally. Luckily something woke you up. Unluckily it was the feeling of the cold muzzle of a rifle rested unnervingly comfortably on the back of your neck like it was the piece of a missing puzzle. It was unfortunate how that feeling was negatively nostalgic for you. How you knew who was behind the weapon was when you heard the familiar yet unhinged giggle ring throughout your ears. A sigh escaped your lips and you slouched forward. One pull of the finger and you were done for.

"Don't move, love, or I'll shoot." Said Lady Jane's high and whiney voice that gave you the urge to burn her just by how unbothered and pretentious she sounded. "Hands up."

You had been caught. There was no other option for you other than to listen and obey her instructions. So that's what you did, raising your hands to show they were free of any weapons as if you weren't the weapon. They were up and above your head. If she saw your hands glowing with fire and smoke beginning to emit from it, she would shoot you for sure.

"Alright, now stand." Lady Jane ordered you to do. You begrudgingly listened, holding back a groan of annoyance. Part of you wanted her to pull the trigger and put you out of your misery, but the other (miniscule) part of you wanted to live a day where you could see Clay and George again. Especially Clay. The only way to do that was to listen to her.

"Can we get this over with?" You asked the woman behind you as she continued to point her gun at your head as you rose.

"Did I say you could speak, bitch?" She snapped as she pressed the muzzle of her rifle even deeper into your head. Shit. One wrong move and you were gone. "That's what I thought." Lady Jane said smugly as she noticed how your shoulders stiffened. "Turn around."

You did as told. Only glancing up at the woman every now and then. She was wearing a black face mask that hid the injury you gave her. You had to suppress a chuckle. You did that to her. She pulled her mask down as she reached for her walkie talkie. All you could think was "Operation Jamboree, here I come."

You glanced up at her face again. The burn you left on the lower part of her face was gnarly once you saw it exposed. There were blisters scattered and the skin was red and irritated. It seemed painful to even talk. You cracked a smile at the sight.

As she was about to speak into the walkie talkie, you weren't thinking straight and jerked forward as you tried to grab her gun. It wasn't wise, but it was worth a shot in your eyes. And a shot you received.

The loud bang rung throughout the forest as Lady Jane shot you in your left thigh. You let out a shriek of a burning pain as the sharp bullet pierced the soft and fatty flesh there. All you saw was white. It didn't go through, the bullet stayed put in the center of your thigh. Blood spilled and painted horrifying yet beautiful and organic splatters on your already dirty white dress. The warm and red liquid dripped down your leg as tears dripped down your cheeks.

You were losing blood and fast, you fell to the ground and cried into the asphalt of the road. You went numb but the burning in your thigh stung. The pain was too much to bare, your eyesight blurred from tears and sweat rolled down your forehead. Your eyes fluttered closed like before, this time less willingly. Fighting to keep them open was useless. Everything went black either way.

You lost sight and feeling and movement all over your body as you went numb. Your hearing lasted longer than all your other senses however.

You heard footsteps up to you, the sound of Lady Jane's boots. Helpless, you couldn't fight her back.

"Oops." You heard her voice that was filled to the brim with a bitter sarcasm.

You never wanted to die more than in that moment. Yet you managed to survive. Like you always do.