The Outsiders

The Outsiders: Epilogue

Soum Menjivar

He wasn't dead. He couldn't be.

            I didn't know what happened, but I sure as hell didn't want to know. Though I clung to the Khristopher's subtle warmth, my mind still drifted to the dull picture I woke up to. Blood covered the grassy field that was once a dull green. Soldiers, Wolves, and Rogues alike laid on the plush foliage, with the remanence of war on their hollow faces. Next to me he laid with a dagger deep in his chest. Though his hair glimmered in the dull sunlight, his skin was cold and his eyes were shut, sprawled in the desolate field. The strangest part of it wasn't Khristopher, but his father.

Kneeling next to us, he stared into the space between me and Khristopher. He was a statue. His skin had cracked, leaving behind only a concrete-like statue of himself behind. Though every detail of his face was sculpted to perfection, the expression of his face was indecipherable. I thought Ptomatteo would die because of a stab wound, so staring at his petrified body was jarring.

              His infatuation with his own son was disturbing, teetering on obsessive. Maybe he had already outweighed his obsessive behaviors to his own sanity, leaving himself to die next to his son. Even after it all, his sacrifice was still selfish. Khristopher would have wanted to take the final blow, knowing him Khristopher would have wanted to avenge everyone and everything Ptomatteo had touched. Even then, there was more to the picture than a tragedy.

            Spareaux hasn't looked up to meet anyone's gaze since he saw Khristopher. Even the smallest color of life that decorated his skin was lost, leaving him more lifeless than a corpse itself. He followed the pack numbly, yet even I didn't know what he was going to do. Ocmjai has stuck close to me, never leaving my side even if I was just taking a breath outside. Their little eyes were dull as they looked at Khristopher. No matter how many times I told them not to, the tyke would always disobey me, staring at his dad as he clung to his hand and mine.

Though everyone around me thought he was gone, I knew he wasn't. There was a feeling deep in my soul that knew he was alive. The same feeling I got every time he laid his life, one that simmered under my skin as I caressed his hands: lifeless — never.

"Soum?"

Seem's soft voice rung next to my ear. Carefully meeting her silvery gaze, I could hardly believe my eyes. Shortened with the enemy's swords, her hair hung behind her ears, just below her shoulder. The natural white color had dulled, masking itself in a yellowed veil. Her once straight nose curved to the left as  a large slit covered some of her eyelid and eyebrow bone. Chapped and frail, her lips were crusted and torn, bloodied and red from her own blood.

               Everything about her had changed since we had first met, but nothing could change the soft rasp of her voice. Though I smiled at her, I couldn't help bust ask myself where she was. From the gashes and wounds, to her place in the pack, the answer of why she wasn't there with Ocmjai stood right in front of me.

             "I thought you ditched me for a while there, leaving my kid with Spareaux and all."

"I would never. Spareaux was the one that wanted to anyway, he's good with children," she said.

I could only nod, looking towards the sickly figure. There was more to him that what people saw, but even I couldn't get him to open up even if I wanted to. Kids had something that grown people didn't, and to Spareaux that was the most vital aspect of kids. He raised his brother, so who knows how much caring for kids calmed him.