Seven | Book 1 (An EXO fiction)

Prologue

~Prologue~

I don't remember much about the night I was forced to run away from home. Hell, I can barely recall what my last meal consisted of, but that's not the point I'm trying to make right now. What matters right now is the fact that I don't remember falling asleep that night. That night that I left my little and obscure village and I don't remember telling my parents goodnight.

But I do clearly remember waking up.

It was hot.

My whole body felt way too hot. I remember sitting up sweaty in bed, trying to gather my senses. Eyes closed and squinted in agitation. No one likes being woken up sweaty and angry. I remember my hand grabbing and tossing soggy covers off my bed to help alleviate some of the body heat that was trapped underneath the thick material.

It didn't help.

I can recall struggling to open my eyes fully, and when I was finally able to widen my eyes, seeing and feeling wrapped in a warm light. A part of my mind told me that it was just the sun struggling to break through the curtains in my room; however, another (smarter) part of my brain was trying to tell me that something was wrong.

My brain was trying to tell me to panic.

To jump up. To leave, but all I could focus on was how weirdly numb and suffocated I felt.

The sun was too hot. The room was too hot. I was too hot. My limbs were tingling, and every breath that I took hurt more than what I knew was acceptable. Every inhalation was accompanied by a dry burning in my throat and quickly followed by a choking cough. Everything was wrong.

I could feel the water sliding from my eyes, down my cheeks, but I wasn't crying. Not intentionally at least.

The next thing I remember is the thin brown door to my room flying. My mom stood there surrounded, if not engulfed, by daunting dark clouds. She was coughing heavily; I started coughing again, and then her lips were moving. She was frantically moving her mouth, but I couldn't hear her.

I couldn't hear anything.

A dim ringing was the only sound in my ears, letting me know that the sense still existed, but for whatever reason was currently impaired and not of any use at the moment. I sat in shock at the loss of my hearing while my mom had already begun pulling me up into her arms and carried me out of my asphyxiating room. The world around me got brighter, hotter, and (as the tears in my eyes intensified) blurrier as she carried me through the living room, through the hallway, out of the house. It was getting even harder to breathe and I was still too stunned to process the messages my brain was desperately trying to send to me.

Get up.

Move.

Do something!

She sat me on the ground a good few meters from the house and then kissed my forehead. Her lips rested against my skin almost somberly, as if it was an apology.

Or maybe it was meant to be a goodbye.

When she looked back in to my eyes I could see traces of sadness, hesitance, and fear. Her hands rested against my cheeks and she rubbed the pads of her thumbs lightly against them. She stared at me, and I stared dumbly back at her.

Her mouth moved as she told me one last thing. Before I could form a thought she was running back in the direction we came, back into the house consumed by flames.

I never figured out what it was that she said to me.

I remember thinking that I was just dreaming. I remember thinking that the fire was probably a figment of my imagination and that I would wake up if I pinched the skin under my arm. I took a bit of skin between my thumb and index finger and squeezed harshly. I closed my eyes from the slight pain and hoped that the fire would disappear when I reopened my eyes.