Here For You

A Million Stories To Tell (8)

1992
Your POV
•-•-•-•-•

That morning, I was definitely exhausted, but I made sure we all got up and started moving. I don't want us to be caught in that hoard we came across yesterday.

I'm hoping that we can get around it.

This will be a risky move, but I think we should try it.

I'm leading the group again, making a plan of how we're going to make sure we aren't stuck in the hoard. Meanwhile, I take out a piece of wood and put another tally mark on it right as Bill and Stanley come to walk by my sides.

"What's that?" Stan inquires, motioning to my scratched up wood.

I let out a tiny smile as I put it back into my pocket, my other two pieces placed carefully in my bag. "I'm keepin' track of the days as they go by. Ya'll probably didn't notice me doin' this with all of the commotion goin' on."

"Th-That's pretty c-cool," Bill comments. "Smart, t-t-too."

My grin widens a bit at this when I'm reminded of this said moment with Kyle as we trailed behind my parents. My smile drops a little, but some remains as I recall how great of a friend he was.

"Thanks," I respond, so quiet that I barely even caught it.

Stan lightly hits my arm with his hand, "You alright there?"

I nod at him, "Yeah. Just rememberin' an old friend of mine, is all."

"Wh-What w-were they l-l-like?" Bill asks.

"Well...he was real kind ta me. He was always there when nobody else was; my only friend at the time. He was always by my side on anythin' I did, unless I was makin' a dumbass decision," I chuckle, reminiscing of some times that happened. "He was like a brother ta me."

"He s-sounds l-lovely," Bill comforts me, smiling in slight worry.

"I wish we could've met him," Stan interjects.

I grin softly, "He was lovely, and I wish ya'll could'a met 'im too. He would'a loved ya'll."

"Wh-What was h-his n-name?"

"His name was Kyle."

"If you don't mind me asking," Stanley starts, "how...how did he-"

"How did he die?" I offer quietly, and he nods slowly. "Kyle...he saved me. My parents had given themselves up ta protect us, then he did the same for me only minutes later..."

"Ah, I'm sorry," Stan says, saddened.

"Don't worry 'bout it," I wave it off with my hand, making myself go back to my normal, cold self. "There ain't nothin' anyone could'a done ta save 'im."

There are still plenty of stories I haven't told them in full detail. Only bits and pieces.

I let out a tiny sniffle, but ignore the concerned stares from both Bill and Stanley.

As we get closer to the town Mike was killed in, I have us all make a diagonal left. We walk this way for a few hours before walking parallel to the town.

Conversations were smooth, sometimes rocky when topics got sensitive for someone or when nobody knew what to say, but overall decent. It's more entertaining than it would be if I were alone.

The sky begins to darken, and I choose to have us camp outside since it would take a few more hours just to get into the town from our position, let alone finding a place to stay in.

Eddie makes the fire while Ben gathers the stones and I grab sticks to burn.

Once we're all settled, the only noises heard is the fire crackling and the crickets chirping, or even the breeze rustling the leaves of trees or bushes.

That silence is broken by Bev as she starts to sing gently, as if she's singing a lullaby. She's telling a story with her words, and it's soothing. It feels like when your mother pushes your hair back for you and then hugs you, kissing you goodnight and sweet dreams.

Everyone slowly starts to join in, adding their own flare into the fictional story. One after another, we go in a circle to continue it. No matter how terrible our voices may end up being.

It's like one of those never-ending songs.

I slept easy that night.

•-•-•-•-•

-CastrarWolf