✓ | FLOW ( eddie munson )

twenty-one. for whom the bell tolls

veda henderson

          Lucas is the first to take off running. Given the fact that he's an athlete, he clears the hill in no time. Soon enough, all four of us were running after him. It felt as if my heart was going to burst out of my chest as I slid on my knees next to her, all three boys doing the same.

"Max, wake up!" Steve yells as if his demand had to be obeyed. We all wish that were true.

Her eyes are mostly white, her iris' blue and faces upward as she sits there in front of her brother's grave.

"Veda!" Lucas yelled, looking at me with sorrow heavy in his eyes. He wants me to fix it, just like I said I would.

He wasn't pulling me in this time. My glossy eyes were wide, turning to Dustin as if he held the answers for me. He looks at me with horror, realising I was still here with them and not in the in-between helping Max. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out as if I were a fish on dry land.

"Call Nancy and Robin!" Steve yells once again, distress cutting at his throat as he points Dustin towards the car. Dustin springs into action, almost tumbling back down the hill to get to the walkie-talkie.

"Max!" I yell, gripping her shoulder and shaking her.

All sound seems to drown out except footsteps behind me. I look at Steve and Lucas, their mouths open wide as they yell out to the redhead but their pleas don't make it to my ears. I clench my eyes shut, slowly standing and turning around to where the footsteps are coming from.

"Open your eyes, Darling. It's rude to avoid eye contact," The man says. A stray tear drips down my face. My eyelids fight against me as I slowly separate them, staring at the dark grass before slowly dragging my eyes upwards.

My Father.

"There's my sweet girl," He coos.

"I don't understand. This isn't Max's hallucination," I speak out loud, scanning the graveyard for any sign of the girl.

"You need to let Max go, Veda," My father warns, stepping closer and closer to me. "She cannot be saved. You cannot save her,"

"You don't know that," I protest, shaking my head in defiance before his hand jolts out and grips my jaw, holding my head in place and forcing me to make eye contact. I can't help the small whimper that escapes my throat.

No matter how much time separates our beings, pulling me further and further away from my father, I will never be free of him. Deep down, that's what I struggle with the most. The little girl in me doesn't want to be free of him, she clings to the idea we created and pulls me towards it. The older version of me pushes him and his memory so deep down I begin to forget his face.

How could a daughter think of her father like that? Hate him so much she detests his memory. How could a father push her to that point?

"How can you save her when you couldn't save me?" He asks, his intact face glitching for a second to show me the mutilated mess I remember him by before glitching back into a regular head. I scream, wishing someone, anyone could hear me and help me.

My chest aches at the memory of him, beyond saving. I remember crying for the version of him he never got to be, the version of himself he never was.