Bex
Somebody once told me that you have to kill your past to earn your place in the future. They were wrong. My past just keeps coming back to get me, no matter how hard I try to kill it. So I'm gonna embrace it instead. There were times when I was happy, no matter how hard that is to believe. Ah, those were the days...
The world was almost laid out beneath us. Me and my mother, the cliffs, the city and the sky. I always looked after her, in the uncomfortable times, and since our father is gone, I need to help her every minute. Today would be special. She would feel wanted, and I knew the perfect way to do that! A picnic on the cliffs, to finish a beautiful autumn day on a high note. The sky was a smudgy orange pallette, and we ate under the sunset.
'Bex, you know you didn't have to do this,' she said, looking at me with soft eyes.
'You know that I wanted to do it. For you,' I whispered, 'Try one my cakes. I promise they are really good!'
'Mmmm! I agree!' my mother replied, her mouth crammed full of cake.
'That's gross! Don't talk with your mouth full!' I said jokingly.
'You're fourteen, baby! You can't tell me what to do!'
We laughed until our sides ached, and the darkness fell sooner than expected. The night crept up like a shadow, eating up the glowing embers of day. Purple tendrils streaked the sky, welcoming dark like a friend. We walked together down the hill, leaves crunching under our boots, and then it started to rain. We sheltered under our coats and dashed down the slope. It didn't matter that we were wet it mattered that we were together. And I loved her, my beautiful mother who put her career and her life on the line for me. That was the sort of love that you have to make yourself deserve, By going out of the way to be good.
Because, the fact was I could never deserve that. So all I could do was make her feel loved. We began venturing home, giggling together, and smiling until our cheeks ached. Orange and blush pink was tinting the horizon. It was all going so well.
Until the crash.
Bang! A lorry, with two broken windows and the back splayed open, littering the wet ground with reinforced crates. Black, thick smoke gushed from every tear in the sides of the truck, and a felled tree, lying broken and splintered on the ground after the crash.
Me and my mother lay in the verge, after falling in terror. She picked up a stick, waving it ahead like a sword, trying to protect me, and she edged toward the lorry. I rushed to her side, linking my arm with hers. I could feel her quaking with fear. In the dusky evening, all the crates looked normal, except for one. The lid was ajar, and light was spilling out of the crack. Nervously, we opened it with the tip of our stick, but we weren't prepared for what we saw.
'Whoa.'
Suddenly, we heard footsteps crashing over the hill behind us. Mum stood up, turned around and looked at the sound, head on. Her eyes widened as she saw what it was. A patrol of what looked like soldiers, all carrying guns. And then they let rip a hailstorm of bullets, all of which hit my mother.
'Mum?' I called, tearing my eyes away from the crate. All I saw was her body. I didn't even get to say goodbye. The gun soldiers were still advancing.
I cried rivers of tears over the body, and then I covered it as best I could. But I never let go of her hand.
In my remaining time before the patrol reached me, I dragged the glowy crate over to the body. Sitting there, watching the crate and my mother's unmoving body, I let the tears fall. There was no point stopping them now.
In the dark, the leader of the patrol held up a hand. The crate was open, and the girl wasn't dead yet? Why?
I picked up the cube with one hand. It was what looked like a tiny, pulsating star, black as a starless night in a metal cage. All the air around it seemed to tremble and shimmer, distorted by the energy. Ominous black was eating away the corners of my vision, but I chose to ignore it. I couldn't let go of my mother. She was dead, I knew, but just because she was dead didn't mean I loved her any less.
My head was buzzing. Aching. Burning. Ears, ringing.
Skull pounding.
Blackness. Agony.
Cold.
I wish I could say that was the end of my suffering. Oh, hell no.
I had much worse to come.
