The Maze

Travis

I have to run. Faster. Faster. I can't stop. If I stop, I won't make it. I have to run.

My heart thuds in my chest and my own ragged breathing echoes in my ears. I have tokeep going.

I burst through the darkness and stand in a clearing. I walk to the middle and bend over with my hands on my knees.

She'll be here soon. I have to wait.

I straighten when I hear loud movements and watch the opening for her.

The air fill with the sound of my rushing blood. I can't breathe. Fast footsteps break through the sound of my heartbeat. A couple more seconds and I see her.

Her face is as red as her wild hair and her breathing is coming in quick gasps. Her green eyes are wide and bloodshot. She looks terrified. Why does she look terrified?

A gun fires in the distance. I rush forward as she falls to her knees, only to find myself blocked by an undetectable wall. She places a hand on her stomach in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding.

This isn't supposed to happen. A scream rises to my throat but gets stuck. I bang on the wall until my hands are bloodied.

As I watch, her head lifts and her eyes lock with mine. Her lips form one last word.

"Help"

I bolt upright, a strangled shout flying past my lips. My white shirt is plastered to my chest with a cold sweat and I'm shaking.

My head drops into my hands and a groan softly.

I run my hands though my hair, trying to forget the scene that's now burned onto my eyelids. With a sigh, I get out of bed and walk into the bathroom. I hop in the shower and let the scolding water relax my tense muscles. My eyes drift close, taking deep breaths through my nose and out my mouth. "Help." No. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. When the water because a dull beating against my back, I get out andstand in front of the mirror. I run my hand through my wet hair and I can see the black, cursive SRD tattooed on the inside of my wrist. Somehow that roots me back to reality.

Living alone has its ups and downs. Nobody is there to barge in my personal life and ask questions I don't want to answer. But then again, no one is there to care. Sometimes I miss it. The people living with me. The sounds of feet across the floor; the sounds of doors slamming. I miss the voices all shouting over each other. I can still hear my little sister's sweet laughter as she runs into my room to show me what she did at school. I can still feel her small body curled up into my side as she crawls into my bed in the middle of the night. I can still see her sweet eyes looking up at me like I'm the embodiment of all things good. Sometimes I forget that I killed them.

Sometimes I forget that I'm alone.

-----

"I'm so addicted to, all the things you do, when you-"

The music stops abruptly as my headphones get yanked from my ears. I look up to see my boss looming over me. "Hey, Mr. John. What's up?" I ask

"We're getting ready to open up, Trav. Get to work." He takes my iPod and walks back into the kitchen without another word.

I yawn and get up from the table. I walk over to the counter and jump over. Then I put my name tag on. I check the clock on the cash register. 6:45. I've still got 15 minutes. I should've slept in.

Despite the early hours of the morning, a lot of people are out. I see them all walking through the front window. Most are from the orphanage down the street. As I watch, a few stop to wave and smile at me.