When Luck Runs Out

Normal People Only Snore...

I sat up in the tent to find that the spot next to me was empty, John was gone. It was still dark out, and I could feel that daunting feeling that I was completely alone. I unzipped the tent and climbed out, the moonlight shining on the roof innocently, but the other tent was in shreds, pieces of blood splattered fabric remained the only proof that there ever were inhabitants there. I shivered, pulling my jacket around me and looking for a weapon, feeling like someone, or something, was watching me from a distance.
"Oh Sheerrlock." Sang an all too familiar voice from somewhere on the roof. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, and nowhere at the same time.
"Sherlock...." Moaned another voice.
"Sherlock!" screamed a female voice. I turned and turned, no weapons in sight, feeling all too defenseless as I realized who the voices belonged to. They came slowly, their pale, cracked skin shining through the moonlight, their injuries slowing them down but not immobilizing them. They were the ghosts, my ghosts, the ones of the people I could've saved, or couldn't have killed. The most recognizable was the boy from my games, the one that forever haunted my dreams and tainted my happiness, the blood still lodged into his skull, yet somehow he was still slowly advancing on me, groping onto the heater for support, murder in his eyes. There was the man from eleven, the one who had gotten shot right in front of me, his skull hanging in fragments, the blood dried to his punctured skin. The girl that I had found the first day, her throat flapping open with every rocking step she took. And last but not least, the girl from today, her blonde, blood soaked hair sticking to her face as she stumbled along, her severed arm hanging limply by flabs of skin.
"You let us die Sherlock." She said in a voice that seemed to come from above, not from her mouth.
"You let us all die." the girl with the throat agreed.
"You could've saved me, you could've helped me. I was only trying to protect my family, but then again, I wouldn't expect you to understand." The man agreed.
"You're selfish Sherlock. You think all lives are below your precious John's, even your own, but did you ever stop to consider what he thinks? He could betray you just as easily as Greg or Jeanette; he could be the one that ends your life because you're too scared to let him have the peace of death. You're too caught up in your own emotions to stop and consider what it would be like for him to grieve your death. He'll think he's responsible; he'll torture himself just as much as you would. Maybe more. Maybe he'll take things into his own hands...." The boy said, moving closer with every word. I stepped back, but soon there was nowhere to go, only down, plummeting to the sidewalk below.
"You think you're the only one with feeling Sherlock, but imagine what my family would think. They're starving, dying, because you couldn't have simply told the Peacekeeper that shot me to wait, to at least give me a trail before my execution." The man insisted.
"My death is all your fault. You're a monster." The girl insisted.
"And John wouldn't want a monster." The other pointed out.
"He doesn't want you Sherlock. No one wants you." The boy laughed.
"Just give up already. You don't even want yourself." The man agreed.
"Just give up."
"Die."
"Jump."
"We'll be ever so happy to help." The boy agreed.
"In fact, we might just give you a head start." The girl agreed, her broken arm reaching up for me, ready to deliver the fatal push...

"Sherlock!" John yelled. I opened my eyes in horror, stumbling back from where I stood and falling into the side of the tent.
"Sherlock what are you doing?" John insisted. I blinked a couple of times, taking in my surroundings. John was up, looking ready to bolt. Our sleeping bag bed was completely strewn over the floor, as if I had started to freak out.
"Nightmare, I'm sorry." I insisted.
"It's fine." John assured, but he sounded immensely relieved, as if worried I had gone crazy or something.
"Did I hurt you?" I asked worriedly.
"No, no you're fine. Just scared me. A lot." John assured.
"I'm sorry." I muttered, getting shakily to my feet. The tent unzipped in a hurry and I was met with a shining arrow pointed right at my face. I yelped like an injured animal and leapt in front of John in a sad effort to protect him.
"What in the world is going on in here?" Jeanette asked, lowering the weapon and looking worried. Greg was behind her, his blood stained sword ready for battle.
"I had a nightmare, slept walked." I muttered.
"God, we either thought someone was dying or, well..." Greg shrugged, raising his eyebrows and playing fill in the blanks.
"What did I do?" I asked.
"Screamed, kicked, got to your feet and ran into the edge of the tent." John muttered. "Scared me half to death."
"It's normal." I assured.
"I know." John agreed. "Go back to bed, there's nothing wrong. Thanks for checking."
"You sure?" Jeanette asked.
"I'm sure, thank you Jeanette." John insisted.
"Well, we're a tent away. And for god's sakes, keep it down." Greg demanded. With that the two of them disappeared to their own tent, and left us to zip ours back up.
"You alright?" John asked, trying to rearrange our bed.
"I'm fine, it was just a nightmare." I assured.
"Anything you want to talk about?" he asked.
"It's just a nightmare." I insisted, but as I snuggled closer to him I couldn't help but think about the boy's chilling message. Did John truly care about me as much as I cared about him?