Crossed

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The rest of the evening was dreary and dull, but it was satisfactory. I headed back to my Mother's cottage late, around midnight. I headed straight to bed; I didn't even say hello to her. Practically the second my head hits the cushion, my eyes close and I drift off to sleep.

I dreamt a really weird dream, nothing like I've ever dreamt. I'm throwing rough, misshaped, black pebbles into the stream, cracking and splintering the thin ice as they land hard on the frozen water. I see small navy birds fly around in the light morning sky where snowflakes are slowly starting to drift down. I shiver from my cold and clutch my dark fur jacket tight. Everywhere is coated in thick layers of ice or snow... It looks magical.

The air is crisp and fresh, fucking freezing cold, but nice in an odd way. The snowflakes fall onto my lips and slowly tint them a dark shade of blue. My blood is running cold in my body, I'm slowly dying, yet I don't know it. I look around and I see no life whatsoever under the sheets of ice. It looks thick and sturdy, maybe enough to support my weight, but I wouldn't dare try it.

There's a soft silence lurking in the atmosphere, until a figure bursts through the bushes. His dark, mysterious eyes meet mine and I see the terror in them, even though I have no idea why the terror lies there. I recognise the figure, but I can't work out who it is at the moment.

"Ren! Come on! We've gotta go!" He shouts urgently and I hesitate before following him. It's then when I hear the eardrum-rattling gunshots and I jump up and run beside him. I pump my arms and legs in sync, running the fastest I'll possibly go. It's then when I hear a final gunshot, one so close it knocks me down slightly.

I stumble to the icy ground, my head spinning and I see the man. Shot dead. A bullet taken to the neck. I cry out in grief and anger. I cry out revenge as I clutch him tight, tears streaming down my face. I scream out in pure anger; I wanted to kill whoever did this. I could, I would, I ain't afraid. But I can't leave him... I place one last soft kiss on his lips before I too, get shot down.

I wake up quickly, crying out in a frightened scream, but I doubt anyone has heard me. I know who that man is. I can't quite place the person yet though... Then it snaps. The pieces of his face crash into place and I'm struck with the name of the person hanging on my lips.

"Kalix?" I rub my swearing forehead and sigh. Was it really him? It can't of been him... Only it was. But, that makes no sense... Or does it?

I jump up and climb out of bed, knowing I won't be able to sleep again. I put on some fresh clothes; a dark linen shirt and some baggy dark trousers as well as my tan coloured jacket. I slip on my high trek boots and yank my knotted hair to the right side, before silently heading out the door.

I tread down the lane and I head past the fire where a few grumpy, lonely souls sit. I smile softly at them and pass without hesitation. I job through the sickly sweet apple and pear orchards and past clucking hens that are starting to wake at this early time a few hours before dawn. The air is chilly but it cools and calms my feverish and stressed system.

I head through the clearing, keeping warm by rubbing my hands together and I keep running. It's late-autumn now, it'll be winter soon... The days and nights are getting colder now, the seasons changing. I sliver under my hole in the fence, my clothes gently brushing over the dewy grass.

I look at the wall and sigh. It's then when I see someone sitting in front of the wall, usually where I sit. I take my knife out my jacket, just in case I need it and I approach them. I must of trod on a twig or something because they twist round startled. I recognise them, it's one of the members of the rebels; Maverick Mead.

He looks at me silently and looks at his sword, then back at me. "Hi, Florence," He says chuckling softly. "Funny seeing you here,"

"Yeah right. Don't call me that. I'm Ren," I say as I put the knife back in my pocket and I sit near him. We used to be fairly good friends when we were younger.