Tip, tap. Tip, tap. The sound repeated for five minutes, the noise produced by a constantly moving pen. A female voice interrupted the cycle of sound,
"What are we going to do?"
Her voice broken and fragile, small, rough hands holding a small revolver. The boy that was sat down by the old wreck of a desk frowned, he stopped tapping the pen against the wooden surface.
"There's not much we can do, We can't go back." His voice was comforting, quiet and gentle at the time. He ran a hand through his long ginger hair, His orange fringe immediately falling back into place as he held his hand upon his head. His violet eyes scanned the notebook they took with them, A small leather-back book with scratches here and there. Their only memory of the home they ran from. The other girl; his twin sister; Shivered, shoving her left hand into her pocket, while tightly gripping the gun with her right.
"...I'm so sorry" She whimpered, wiping her smudged eyeliner and mascara, causing her face to be more of a mess. She felt disgusting, choking on her own tears. The brother tried to keep his usual coolness, clutching the silver pen, mentally begging God to fix things.
Silence.
