Instance #2 (11 Years-Old)

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"You okay, Doug? Is this a good one?" I ask, happily poking at the tiny slug inching across a drooping, sweetly-scented yellow blossom. "I like the yellow ones, too."

Doug, naturally, does not answer me. Or maybe he does, in his own way. His little wriggling body is slimy and cool to the touch, and he makes his way across the flower until he escapes the strong white glare of the sunshine over our heads. Next to us, there is a tall glass jar filled with moss, broken twigs, and other odds and ends that a bug might enjoy. I always bring one with me when I come out here to explore. You never know what you might find, right?

I pluck the yellow bloom and carefully place it, with Doug nestled between the petals, inside the jar. Humming cheerily under my breath, I move to stand up. . . and the nightmare begins in waves. First, the ground starts wobbling beneath my feet. Strange dark patches swarm my vision, like little hazy flies, and a distant crackle of noise fills my ears.

What. . ? What is this? Oh, no. . .

I know what this is. I. . .

Fear douses me in a cloud of thick, clammy heat. I can't move. I can't breathe. My head feels like it's spinning on my neck, and boiling drops of sweat sting my eyes. The jar falls from my hands, my knees smacking painfully against the ground.

Please, no. . . not again. Please, make it stop!

I clamp my hands tight over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. Panic like fireworks bursts through my veins, but it doesn't. . . it gets worse. The noise. . . it's so loud in my head that I want to be sick. Deafening wails of white noise that seem to shatter the very fabric of the woods, itself.

My body drops. It simply. . . gives out. I curl up, shaking and weeping on the hard, leaf-strewn ground. The sunlight is absolutely blinding, cooking my organs from the inside, out. Bubbling my skin and roasting my eyelids through clenched fingers. Burning me alive.

All I remember after that is fire. A tall, faceless column of white fire that destroys the world.

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