Run

Chapter 7

The smell of freshly fallen rain wafts into my nose. I close my eyes, savouring the smell of it. The scent of nature. The one thing I haven't had the opportunity to fully enjoy in the many years I have went through. Until now. Rain. Symbolising despair, sorrow, melancholy, desperation. But it also signifies hope, another chance. A new beginning. It all depends on a person's perspective.

A strong gust of wind blows into the room, making the hem of my shirt billow. My dark hair falls all over my face, into my eyes and mouth. I pull my hair back and hold it in place with my hands. My eyes scan the room for any other signs of mess the wind might have caused. Nothing. Hardly surprising, considering there are barely any items in this minute room.

I push myself up and approach the opened window, attempting in vain to pull the glass pane shut with my available hand. Having no other option, I let go of my hair and the wind blows in my face once again. Looking away, I place both hands on the window pane and put my weight on it, forcing it down. It slides into place with a loud thud, making it seem almost as though I had dropped something heavy. My hair falls to my back, several stray locks of hair falling over my shoulders and onto my face. I brush them away with my index finger and tuck the strands of hair behind my ears.

I walk back to the foot of the bed, my footsteps resounding through the room. The soft mattress atop the metal frame of the bed dips as I put my weight on it. I run my fingers through my hair, combing it, attempting to untangle the many knots that the wind might have tied previously. There are none.

The rusted hinges of the door creaks as the door is pushed open. Someone enters the room, closing the door gently behind her.. The sound of her heels clicking against the wooden floorboard echoes through the room as she closes the space between the door and the bed.

"I've brought some food for you," Key says quietly, setting the dull grey stainless steel tray that she is holding in her hands onto my lap. "Sorry it's not much. We're short on supplies."

I shake my head, a gesture to tell her that it's enough. "I'm not hungry," I reply, my voice barely louder than a whisper.

She places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes it, supposedly a sign of reassurance, though I feel anything but. I pull away, not wanting to receive any sort of pity from anyone. All the comfort I want - no, all the comfort I need - is for Wil to be conscious once again.

I chew my bottom lip. "Please wake up, Wil," I breathe, the words not meant for anyone else's ears but my own.

"What?" Key asks.

"Nothing," I reply, turning away from her.

A moment of silence passes between us. "You should eat something, even if you don't want to. What with you being on the run and such. You never know when will be the next time you are able to have a proper meal. You'll need your energy." With that, her swift visit is over. I watch as the door closes - almost soundlessly - behind the girl.

I glance down, surveying the meal that she had brought for me. A piece of bread, a small bowl of lukewarm broth and a cup of water at room temperature. My stomach grumbles at the sight of the food, although I have no appetite at the moment. I realise that I haven't eaten properly in several days.

I pick up the metal spoon beside the ceramic bowl, scooping a spoonful of chicken soup before bringing it to my mouth. I swallow. The moment I do, I can feel the warm liquid go down my oesophagus and into my stomach. To be honest, it makes me feel slightly better, although I can still feel the hollowness inside. I drink the rest of the broth slowly - not quickly enough to seem like a glutton nor slowly to savour every drop - breaking the bread into pieces, dipping it into the savoury liquid, to go with it.