The Lost ( A Sequel To The Forgotten )

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The author's hands shook violently. He was drenched in sweat, his hair was wild. His clothes were filthy, and he looked very unkept.

No, he thought. He stared at the monstrosity on his desk in horror. He couldn't believe it.

So dumb, I'm so dumb! he thought. I should have seen the signs. What use am I to anyone if I can't see the signs? He grabbed the paper on his desk, determined to get rid of it. Rip, rip, rip. He held the shreds in his hands.

Not enough. Get rid of them, get rid of them now! He tossed them frantically into the fireplace, every last scrap. But a thing like that would always exist. He couldn't burn his memories. A particular thing on the paper began to scream itself in his head.

The Hero will die, alone and scared
Death wins in the end
Come now, dear friend, come to me now
What horrors can you lend?

Horrible rhymes that made no sense. Not to most people, anyway. But he understood.

Your only hope is death himself
Evil's evilest form
Friend, you've known it all along
Come sing life's burial song

Hideous. Horrible. Twisted. But everything made sense. He understood now, should have understood earlier.

Life in my world is no life at all
And that's how I want it to be
I owe it all to a dear, dear friend
A friend who greatly helped me

The Hero will die, alone and scared
Thank you, my friend, my friend
We welcome you, death, we welcome you now
Death, death with teeth bared

He understood everything now. He understood these riddles and rhymes. He really should. After all, he had written them.

***

Five days. Only five days. Time has never been an issue for me. At U.T. in a cage, at Odds And Ends roaming the tents... The thought of Odds And Ends makes me wonder. Did the odd "fair" survive the raid? What happened to Axle, my aunt? So many questions that I can't answer. But Odds And Ends is the least of my problems right now.

"Shawn... Shawn, how are you?" I squat next to Shawn's twitching body.

"Not good," he replies. Even speaking seems to drain his energy.

"Shawn, can you tell us what hurts?"

"Everything," he moans. "Wive, you gotta find Fred."

"No," I argue. "We need to focus on you, not some stick."

"But... but..." Shawn begins gasping for air. My heart breaks to see him in so much stress. What did Shawn, sweet little Shawn ever do to deserve this? His gasping calms, and he closes his eyes, still breathing heavily. I stay at his side, not looking up even when I hear someone approaching.

"Wrive?" Tarna's voice asks. "Cass is requesting you for sword practice. She's still having trouble with her transitions. Do you want to help her?"

"Yes, but no," I reply firmly. "I can't leave Shawn's side."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Tarna sighs. "Listen, Wrive. We're all concerned. We want him to get better just as much as you do. But your presence won't heal him. We're five days away from the End Raid, and we've got tons to do. Please help out, to take your mind off Shawn."