GHOST - SHORT STORIES

YOU'RE STUCK BENEATH THE RUBBLE

It hurts to breathe.

A slab of concrete pinning your body to the ground.

A heaviness that you can't help but feel as though you're losing the fight to.

Lungs are filled with dust; the smell of smoke encasing you.

Everything hurts.

A stickiness beneath your head; the coagulated crimson coating the hair that surrounds a particularly bad wound.

Having a building collapse on you is anything but pleasant.

But there's one thing about it that doesn't feel so bad.

Good, even.

The warm, calloused hand that envelops your own. Thumb brushing over your knuckles.

And the gravelly voice that's uttering words of reassurance, ever so comforting.

"You still with me?"

At best you can manage a nod. Trying your hardest not to move too much. Not to allow the cement to sink upon your body any further.

"You're doin' so well. Someone will find us. I promise."

It's hard to tell whether or not he believes it. Not that you have the mental energy to consider that right now.

All you know is that your chance at surviving this is exponentially higher, simply from Ghost's presence beside you.

"Just keep breathin' slowly. Don't move too much, okay?"

Another nod; a thudding pain in the back of your head that sparks down your spine. It forces a soft whimper of pain to escape past your lips.

"I don't want to die here, Ghost."

"You won't."

"Nobody's coming."

"They're comin'."

It washes over you in waves; the optimism and hope. And like the ocean with it's changing tide, when it drags back into the sea, you feel nothing but despair.

The reality sinking in, over and over again.

Even if your lieutenant is trying his damn hardest to steer those thoughts away.

It had all happened so fast. A quiet building to clear; a seemingly easy task.

And then all of a sudden, detonation.

The walls caving in on you before you could even process what had happened.

It's a miracle that Ghost avoided the most of the mess. A few cuts and scrapes, as he put it.

But you've never been all that lucky.

"Hey, YN. Eyes open."

Fuck.

You hadn't even noticed it. His words snapping you out of the darkness.

A tiredness weighing on you, just as heavy as the debris pinning you to the ground.

As your gaze settles upon his features again you see it.

The concern written heavy upon his dust-covered features.

You can't remember exactly when he pulled his mask and balaclava off. Maybe amongst the panic when he first realised you were trapped.

Regardless, you're grateful for it. If his face is the last thing you see before death wraps its arms around you ...