Dream Simulator {Discontinued}

CHAPTER 27 - Nighmares With Unexpected Visitors

The hot smoke filled my lungs again, sending me into a massive coughing fit. My eyes burn every time I open them, but I can't help it. I can't see where I'm going.

It's as if my legs have minds of their own, and there's nothing I can do to stop them from moving. They just keep walking, deeper and deeper into the burning marketplace.

I try to open my mouth to call for help, but all I do is inhale another mouthful of smoke. Every cough shook my aching body, and I finally collapse to the hard ground.

Hot ashes burn my bare arms. I'm such an idiot for rolling up my cardigan sleeves all the time.

Pain surges through me, but my mouth refuses to open and let me scream. It stays clamped shut, as if afraid that it would let more unforgivable smoke into my body.

I let my head rest against the ground, and I can practically feel my hair turning a shade of black, thanks to the ashes.

This is where I die, and no one would know. No one would ever know unless they hear me.

"Help," I mutter, but the sound of crackling fires drowned out my hoarse voice.

Another cough racks my lungs, and I let it happen. It's so painful, I feel like somebody is beating my lungs to death.

I'm just so tired. I want to let go, but not without somebody knowing. Someone has to know I'm here, even if they can't do anything to save me.

"Help," I call, and my voice is starting to outmatch the loud fires.

There was still no response, but I have the feeling that someone is here. They're just hiding in the shadows, refusing to come out.

"Help!," I shout at the top of my lungs, and that's when I felt my throat burning, as if an actual fire started in me.

I use all of my remaining strength to roll onto my back and start to pant. Even doing something as simple as moving my body into a different position drains me of all of my energy.

Letting go is my only option. Sitting here and dying is all I can do. The presence I feel might not even be there. It might just be another dead or dying person.

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back all the way, defeated. I hate feeling powerless. This is how I feel like whenever I'm with Ray and our friends. Powerless.

The only thing I can do to have some power over them is by telling Arabelle about the rumor they want to spread. Now I won't even get a chance to do that.

Frantic hands shake my shoulders, and a disembodied voice sounds distorted. I desperately want to open my eyes, but my eyelids are so droopy. They feel like they weigh twenty pounds each.

"-cher."

A loud ringing starts to fill my ears, and I groan.

Those hands were consistent, and even slightly annoying. One of them felt as cold as ice, and the other as warm as the sun.

My shoulder droops into the unforgivably cold one, giving it relief from the even more unforgivable hotness.

"Archer," muttered a familiar voice. "Get up."

I would, but I can't. I can't even open my eyes, and you expect me to move?

"Archer, please. I'll get you out of here. Get up. Now!"

The ringing slowly fades out, not even leaving a trace in its wake.

Questions begin to fill my foggy brain, but my mouth just couldn't form the words to say them out loud.

Who's shaking me? Why are they coming for me just now?

Those annoying hands stop shaking my shoulders roughly, and the only thing my mouth managed to release was a tiny sigh of relief.

Something cold presses against my burning cheek, and then my eyes shoot open in surprise.

Why now? Why do they open now, after how hard I forced them to earlier?

Familiar dull grey eyes met mine.

"Archer," Arabelle whispered, looking partly relieved. "Come on, get up. Can you move?"

I don't respond and only stare at her. If she's the last thing I see before I die, then so be it. I just want to remember the way she looks like.

Her honey blonde hair was in its regular messy ponytail, and she was wearing our school uniform. There wasn't a single speck of dust on it. Ashes covered her heart shaped face though, and it almost seemed to suit her in a creepy way.

But seeing Arabelle like this wasn't the thing that made adrenaline literally sprint through my bloodstream. It was the fact that she was cupping my cheek with her silver plated hand.

A cyborg. Touching me.

"Ryder, you'll have time to gawk at me later. Can you move?"

Arabelle is holding me.

"No," I manage to say, barely above a whisper.

Arabelle leaned back on her black knees and said something, but I didn't hear her. It looked like she was just mouthing words.

Did she even hear me?

"What?" I ask.

I didn't hear her the second time.

"I-I can't understand you."

Instead of repeating it a third time, a tear rolled down her cheek as she lifted my heavy head up into her soft lap.

Arabelle is holding m-.

A joyful laugh filled the air, partly shaking the soft surface he rested on. A pair of familiar hands were gently stroking his hair, and voices filled his ears.

There was no sound of crackling fires or the pungent smell of structures burning. The only thing he smelled was disinfectant and Society issued soap.

His lungs were as clear as ever, and he took every breath with great care just to be safe.

Breathing in smoke again was something Archer definitely didn't want to do. He had his fair share that would last him a lifetime.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, he pressed closer against the comforting surface, feeling fatigue wash over him like a wave.

"Arabelle?," he muttered quietly, mostly to himself.

It was a dream. It had to be. But what if it wasn't? What if they had gotten out?

"Hm? What did you say?"

He opened one eye to see Jessica looming above him. Definitely not Arabelle. A small sliver of hope in him deflated.

They were antigravity train back home; it was starting to come back to him now. He must've fallen asleep while they were working on their group assignment.

"Oh," he murmured, taking one of Jessica's hand and lacing her tiny fingers with his. It was the same way he'd held Arabelle's hand in the morning. "Nothing."