Our Demons

Chapter 3: Eve-Chosen Unluckily

The sound of hushed murmurs fills my ears, snaking its way into my mind. I'm so nervous. Today is the day. Today is that fateful, horrible day to get picked, that day to get picked to fight in this ongoing war.

My mouth goes dry with fear.

Please not me, please not me, please not me, I think desperately.

Hoping, wishing praying that I won't get picked.

But I know there will be nothing I can do if I do get picked.

Nothing, nothing, nothing-

I seem to be so worthless.

I can't do anything but cause harm, I can't do any good but inflict pain upon others.

A man comes to the front of the stage, holding a box and a microphone. He sets down the box with a grunt and clears his throat.

"We shall now begin drawing out our brave, courageous warriors", he tells us. Warriors? I look around, but no one looks even close to anything like one.

No one.

No one at all.

We are all pale and stiff, waiting to see if fate will drive us down the path filled with death. The man that spoke sticks his hand into the box. He pulls out a name.

"Oliver", he says. I hear a whimper as a pale, blonde-haired boy stands and shakily walks to the stage.

"Violet."

"William."

"Tina."

"Alexei."

I wait, holding my breath tensely until after three hours of name calling, the man that first spoke says: "Now, this is our final warrior, which is..."

I wait, nervously. He puts his hand into the box and pulls out a piece of paper. My fate will be decided on this very slip of paper.

It's funny how one tiny piece of paper can decide your future. It can be the one thing that decides your death months later, cutting your life short.

That paper is evil.

I lean forward, resting my head on my hands, waiting, not even daring to breathe.

It's life or death. Life or death, life or death, life or death-

"Eve."

_ _ _ _ _ _

Why did I even bother telling myself that it wouldn't be me?

Why did I even bother to have that empty, stupid, dangerous hope?

My legs shake beneath me like the leaves on a strong autumn breeze as I stand, trembling violently, shaking so hard I threaten to b r e a k apart as I force myself to take slow steps towards the stage.

"Eve, wait!" Lynn and Amy both catch my arm, calling my name desperately, pleading at me to wait, but I shake them off, after all, why do they care?

I feel nothing, I am hollow, emotionless, as I walk slowly up the steps. Somewhere in the crowd, someone is calling my name, begging me to come back, but all the sounds are blurred around me and I don't hear properly, don't care, as if all of this is just a dream, or rather, a nightmare.

The man smiles sadly at me.

His smile is empty, brittle, fragile. His eyes are filled with sorrow, sympathy.

I'm stoic.

"Ah, Eve, welcome. Just hop backstage, and you will need to wait for a little bit until we are ready for you. All will be explained later", he says.

I nod and walk to the back of the stage. Nerves weigh me down and I feel as if there are stones in my stomach, slowing me, hurting me, even though I know there are none there. A weight dropped on my soul.

Swallow the tears back often enough and you'll get used to the salty, bitter taste dripping down your throat.

It's just that terrible moment when you're clenching your fists so hard you draw blood-yet can't seem to feel anything because you don't want them to see you cry but your lips don't seem to stop trembling and a river is rushing up behind your eyes, threatening to betray your face and you keep whimpering because you'll know they'll judge, they'll laugh, they'll talk behind your back, and the feeling-just the thought of it makes you want to throw up.

I step behind the curtains, the silky velvet brushing against me and step backstage. Here, the lights are dimmed, and chairs are spread across the room. Many people my age are stiffly sitting on a chair, waiting in icy silence that sends shivers through me.

I'm scared.

That scared little girl who could do nothing more than to murder the ones she loved. I thought I killed that girl a long time ago. I thought I'd snapped her frail body in half and tossed her mangled limbs into the sea.

But sometimes, the past never leaves us alone.

And eventually the truth, my past, the lies I have told, the betrayal and murder I have committed will catch up to me. And it already has. I want nothing more than for someone to comfort me, to tell me everything is going to be alright, but I know that will never happen. Not until the murderer I have buried deep inside me has been killed. And then the fleeting flashes of a memory hit me, like a brick wall.

"Please, don't, you don't understand!" the girl cries.

"Leave me be! I'll be in less danger if you leave me, just go!" she cries.

"No, we have to go now. They're invading our continent, it's not safe, you have to come with me!" I cry. She doesn't understand. And why won't she come with me? Why? The sound of a gunshot sounds near me, and I know that the enemy is close.

"Come on!" I nearly scream, lunging for her but she darts away, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It's not safe, and besides, I promised I would take you to safety!" I cry, lunging for her again but she escapes. I feel a cold breath on the back of my neck. I spin around, and stumble backwards, terror shooting through my whole body. It's one of them. With too long, slender fingers, completely white eyes, and wings connected to its back, I know this is my first sighting of a demon.

"Come on!" I scream, desperately grasping for her. I feel something snap inside me, something powerful and I cry out, grabbing for her arm desperately. That's just it. I am desperate. I am desperate, and I am nothing.

"Don't!" she cries, her eyes flashing with fear. I look into them, those wise, hazel eyes and I can see past her, see she knows something I don't, can see she is wise beyond her years.

She is keeping something from me. A secret that I have yet to know. It seems as if everyone is hiding something from, always talking about me behind my back, always knowing something that I should've, but don't.

I hate it.

"Just go, you need to be trained, leave me be!" she screams, but this time I'm too quick. My scalding hot fingers snatch her arm and there is a horrible cracking sound. She collapses to the ground and I can only watch in horror, and realise I have just killed someone.

I gasp. How...how did I just kill a girl like that? Why? The sudden flashback makes me have the urge to throw up and my knees buckle beneath me. I sit down on a chair. It has been confirmed. I am a murderer.