Lonely Tides

~Chapter One~

Lola May, what have you done? The thought I have right now. I haven't done anything is the answer. That's what's wrong. I have not done anything to help England, I live in Dartmouth. I think I'm standing near the national park but it's to desolate and shrub stricken to tell. Only 15 and already living alone. Dead alone. I'm not dead but others certainly are. I flick one of my ginger locks and before you ask, I'm not Irish. I have other things on my mind though so let's not discus my background now.

The tide swept at my feet, the tiny beach pebbles enclosing my toes and caving in. Limpets stuck to rocks, hermit crabs scuttling around me, pieces of a broken bucket littered in the ocean. All seemed normal. It wasn't...

A few days ago a large tornado had struck, it killed everyone and everything I have known, love; cherished. My mother was choked by flame; father collapsed under rubble, sister was swept away and brother... He's missing. By the grace of God I can only imagine he lives. It was terrible; riots broke out because the news hadn't sent out the usual warning. Not that we needed them. Now the beach was littered with skeletons so I had to look down at the water, the only normal thing left. 

The body of a young girl lay on its front, she wore a dirt covered, buttercup dress, it went to her knees and ended in neat little frills. I turned her over only to regret. She had blood rising heavily from her chest still, she must have been in the after math when people fought for food only to be killed. Her eyes are rolled back and her mouth is open with saliva dripping down her chin. Her golden locks are bobbing up and down in the wind because I forgot to support her small lolling head. Her skin is pale as a vampire. Blood now covers my hands but it won't rub off so they look like I'm red-handed. I lie her down and put a trampled rose on her, a respect- there are no more roses, or pansies, or any kind of flower. Even the trees are dead. Naked. Stricken of their leaves. 

I walk down the old lake, besides it rather. The lake has dried out however and filled with blood. I had to turn away for the disgusting sight of just week old skeletons, possibly the flesh and clothing gone for cloth and meat. The rotting, fly covered guts inside stink and I start crying the stench was so bad. If ever this was a film, it would have a high rating.  This wasn't one of those stories that where made up. It was now. It was real. It was un-dreamable. 

All to be done now was to curl up on a pile of old springs from the mattress store and try to sleep. I build a den from scraps and pieces of the public bins, maybe no one will me. I start to drift off and...

 I wake up screaming only to find it was just a dream. No! No it wasn't a dream. It was a vision. It was a recap of the day! It all comes back, the beach, tornado, watching my mother suffer. That shouldn't have happened. I could have saved her and be sitting here in the cold only smothered by her arms, more alive because of our combined body heat. Sister couldn't have been helped, or could she? Maybe if I had sheltered her I would be the one, not her, for the best. Fathers was a tragic death too, maybe if I had not been so startled I could have shouted that the house was cracking. Brother, brother was a question never uncovered, a mystery. Something happened to him and I had to find out. 

Just as my thought of brother finished a large shadow towers over me. He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. I wander if this was the feeling the buttercup dressed girl felt. Or would feel if I lifted her up again, if she where alive. He emerged, or I think it was a he. Yes, he shook and he shook and then he dumped me in a pile on the floor. He had only a few strands of hair, no colour but ash grey. His suite, at least should be a suit, had no sleeves but rather ripped short sleeves. The trousers had blood soaked seams and looked more like shorts. If brother where here he'd help.

I will find you Eddie, my brother. I will. Even if it kills me...