Worlds Apart

Chapter 3

I stumbled, my feet aching. I clung to the edge of consciousness as one would clung to the edge of a cliff before falling. Darkness threatened to sweep me into its clutches and wrap it's warm, welcoming arms around me. I almost let it. It seemed comforting, to allow myself to sleep. Perhaps I would not awake, and that is what I feared. Death was the one thing all living had in common-we were afraid of it.

The reason for this was my shoulder. I had torn the bottom of my dark shirt roughly, and had wrapped it around my bullet wound. The blood had already soaked through, leaving a dark stain on the gray cloth. I am going to die. The thought crossed my mind, and I shied away from it. I couldn't die. I wouldn't die. I still had too many questions, too many years to live. Someone needed to live in memory of my brother, and that would be me.

Desolate, blackened land stretched out on either sides of me. I had seen lost signs of lives, such as fire scorched bones lying in a sad pile. There were other things, such as withered plants or stiff, black stalks of grass. Either then these things, nothing had caught my attention. I scuffed my shoe, a cloud of black dust rising around my leg like a hoard of flies, forcing a cough out of my aching body.

I wondered what had happened. The first thing that came to mind had been: fire. But could fire do such a great, terrible thing as this? It would have had to been a strong blaze, very strong indeed, to cover the land for miles around our wall. I was certain, though, that there had to be something out there. And as long as there was, I was determined to find it. To meet the inhabitants and learn the truth, no matter how terrible. The truth of why my brother had been shot for seeing this and I had not, the truth of the wall, and the truth of this land.

But my mind was in no condition to imagine such things. My head was throbbing, and with each pulse, it felt as if a whit-hot knife were being stabbed through my brain. I couldn't focus on anything other then my pain, and it was infuriating. When my mind wandered, every time, I was reminded of my pain. How was I suppose to figure out where I was going, in such a condition as this?

Something rose ahead of me. I squinted. Trees? No, it must have been the heat. Oh, the heat. It was insufferable, it was likely I was hallucinating. I was dehydrated and tired, and I needed shade. The idea of trees was such a great one, I quickened my pace. No, I couldn't-wouldn't-get my hopes up. But there it was, rising to meet me peeking just over the horizon.

As I came closer, my thoughts were declared correct. Trees they were, tall and green and beautiful. I had no idea how long I had been walking-hours?-but I was exhausted. Once my aching and cracked feet met soft grass, I fell to my knees. I had never known I could have been so tired. I wiped my sweaty palms on my knees, staring at the pale, trembling fingers.

I pillowed my head on my arms, closing my eyes. Instantly I fell into the darkness that wrapped me in warm and serene quiet. I faintly heard voices and felt arms wrap around me, lifting me, but I paid no mind, for I could not.

♬ ♬

Cara's attempt to cover her tear covered face with makeup had been futile. Her face was splotchy and red, streaks of mascara running down her face-clearly the outcome of crying. Her blonde hair had been quickly brushed, but not well. It was tangled and damp, as if she had just taken a shower. Her dark brown eyes were distant, wide, and sad.

Mark sat at his desk, strong callused hands clasped in front of him, as guards brought the woman inside. "Mrs. Amii." He greeted simply, giving her a nod. She didn't respond-as she usually did, correcting him to call her Cara-but instead stood still, taking in his office. Mark waved his hand to dismissing the guards, whom left quickly. Their voices drifted in the room from outside, too faint to hear.