Litwalkers

'Cause I'm Mister Brightside

Suddenly I had this metallic taste in my mouth. I took a small swig from my water jug. It tasted like liquid metal sloshing about between my cheeks. "I'm just nervous," I thought, but deep down I knew the truth. My tastebuds would sometimes flashback to when a Litewalker shoved a gun in my mouth. I was eighteen at the time and had just been caught loitering outside a living section. He was an arrogant young man, maybe two years older than me. He had vicious blue eyes that held no knowledge in them. He had me kneeling before him, and I remember he was laughing at his own words. I don't recall what it was he had said but I just remember him smiling to himself.
"What are you doin' walkin' about a place ya don't belong?" His British accent was thick and off. He sounded like he came from underground, which he probably did.
I didn't answer him. I kept my lips shut tight. This didn't please him. I remember feeling the hot sting of his hand colliding with my cheek. I didn't even wince. My mother always told me to never show signs of weakness. He found slapping me quite amusing and repeated to do it quite a few times.
After a while of me showing no signs of anything he got angry.
"Fine, if that's how you want it to be, that's how it will be," and then he shoved the whole of his power in between my teeth. His handgun lay resting on my tounge. He pushed down and it made my teeth dig into the metal. Laughing he began to move it around my mouth, pushing it side to side, making my cheeks bulge out. He pushed it back, deeper into my mouth causing me to gag. He took it out and began to laugh again. He used his gun to lift up my chin and force me to look him in his dead eyes.
"Go where you belong, you scum." And he violently pushed my face away. I got up an began to walk quickly, holding my knapsack tightly to my chest. I was just thankful he hadn't found the books.

Everybody was packed and ready to go, so I pushed the memory down again, and headed to the front.
"Okay everyone, remember this is important. We need to get underground. This will be difficult but I have faith we can pull it off. Now remember we have to maneuver our way through the houses to get to the down town area. Run as fast as you can to your right once we leave these doors, got it?"
In unison they repeated,
"Got it!"
I nodded my head and took a deep breath counting to three. As soon as I exhaled I opened the doors and we ran. I don't think anyone honestly looked, I think we ran with our eyes shut so we wouldn't be able to see our killer, if we had one.
It was about four seconds when we all found shelter in the shrubbery of the nearby houses, but for course it felt like we just crossed a mile of field.
I opened my eyes again and saw Dean leaning against the house right next to me. He looked over and smiled. I peered around to see everyone else leaning against the house across from mine.
The scariest part was over. From here it would be easier but of course we must never be off our guard.
I signaled for the others to move to forward. Every break in between houses I could see my comrades heads just over the backyard fences. We stole looks at one another to make sure we were okay. After four houses Dean and I moved over to join the rest of our group.
It was at this point that I began to breathe again.
The air smelled like fresh trees and fire. I loved the smell of fire, but I didn't like the idea of what was fueling it. Years ago it was just wood, or coal, or gas that caused the brilliant, hot, orange light to burn, now it was just books. Sometimes I did see the beauty in a Blaze pile. The way the frail pages curled and succumbed to the intense heat. The books didn't melt, they submitted. Their glue would give way and come loose, but the hardcovers of some would try it's damnedest to protect the beauty that lay inside. Eventually though, like all things, it couldn't stand to hold together. At the moment it showed the slightest weakness the fire swooped in and stole it's pages, burning them without a second thought. Yet it wasn't the fire's fault, it was turned into a slave. Once a beautiful and majestic thing, now a brute, forced to destroy in such an ugly manner.
As I walked I imagined these houses on fire. I saw how the foundation would hold steady as everything else crumbled under the weight. The paint would melt away and it would be left bare and unshieled. Naked it would have no more defenses and eventually it would collapse. But the fire wouldn't be through with it. It would continue to rape the house until the very last tinder of wood faded away. It made me sad to think that nothing but water could survive fire. Even man would shrivel up and die.