NOW PUBLISHED!!
This is the unedited version of The Collected. You can now get the completed version with the link
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The story of a lost boy, a fisherman's daughter, a heartless soul and a lonely mechanic lost in the stars.
The Collectors a...
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One by one they dragged them up. Every time I internally screamed. Just take me already.
While Andrea was crying over a leg wound that was just in her head, they came back again. It was only Estelle and I left, so I sat up straight. Surely they'd take me, I was human. But just my luck, they dragged her up. She fought — unlike the rest of us — unaware how this thing worked. They electrocuted her and I felt myself flinch.
You don't care Nicholas.
I told myself and smiled. But it didn't come as naturally as before. They injected her with the liquid before she knocked someone over with her surprisingly strong wings.
She kept fighting for a moment before screaming out in pain and dropping to the floor. Hands flying to the tip where her wings met her back — she found difficulty in doing so. Her wing, she thinks they did something to it.
I wanted to take her place. I always wanted to take their place because I wanted to feel the pain and the thrill that came with it. But that wasn't the only reason this time. It was because every time I looked at her, crying on the floor, panic, and fear on her face, I saw my little sister. I saw Clara.
A face I'd blocked from my mind a long time ago.
Her hair even darker than mine, cut to her shoulders. Eyes, electric blue unlike my grey ones, glassy. She was small the last time I saw her, but I'd guess she'd have grown by now.
Estelle screamed again and my back went ridged. What is happening to me?
My eyes blurred again, showing my little brother instead. Although he was a few years older than Clara, Milo had always been the baby when it came to pain.
As the middle child, he was the only one who looked like my mom. Brown hair that he always cut close to his head. Green eyes, bright like Clara's.
"Stop." My voice was croaky and low. But I didn't know who I was talking to, the Collectors, or myself.
A Collector said something in its gravely voice and came for me. I almost hit it when it grabbed me, but then remembered what it was giving me. What I really wanted. It dragged me up, shocking me once. The thrill of electricity running through my body was like a walk up call. My eyes widened and I hit the Collector, earning another refreshing shock before they brought over the syringe.
The effects weren't immediate. But it was obvious when they started playing tricks on my brain. A Collector — one created by my mind — cut open my arm with a knife. The injury went deep and veins of pain sprouted from it. But I couldn't smile, I couldn't laugh, I couldn't even watch the imaginary blood ran rivers down my arm.
Another stab, this one in the leg. My body reacted but I did not. I watched Estelle as she sat, rocking on the ground. Wrapped in a ball with her hands over her shoulders.
