Skye Crying

10 ║ Zahara

~ Fear: Noun ~

A feeling of anxiety concerning the outcome of something or the safety and well-being of someone.

~ Fear: Verb ~

Be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳

Clip Ten - Zahara's POV:

Fear is a curious thing. 

In the Nameless Resistance, we were taught to suppress it in the majority of the risky situations that we were sent into, but also to use it to our advantage when we could see no other option. Fear was a resource, something that could spur us into desperate yet life-saving action, and keep our bodies going even when all of our senses were telling it to shut down. It keeps us alive long enough to find a way out, or to die.

A crushing kind of terror had been swirling around in my stomach ever since the alarm went off in the plane, and I allowed it to seep into every single fiber of my being and keep my legs moving across the dunes. Exhaustion had threatened to devour me for some time now, but I kept moving, keeping my bleary eyes focused on the dark buildings that were getting steadily closer.

Blue had maintained the lead for the past hour, and showed no signs of faltering despite the long trek. Wind tore strands of her long hair away from her braided bun and tugged fiercely at her clothes, but our suits had been made well and the wind was losing the battle.

Med stayed by my side, watching me closely to make sure I didn't collapse out of sheer enervation. Every time I stumbled, he was there, reaching out with a warm hand and steadying me until I could stand on my own. Then he would flash me one of his trademark, heart-melting smiles and shift his gait so he was just that much closer to me.

It was for the small things like this that I loved him.

The sand underneath our feet slowly melted into cracked concrete and the landscape around us changed from miles upon miles of dunes to towering skyscrapers and fallen buildings. It's still black as tar outside, and there don't seem to be any fires in our area. 

The stinging cold slices through the air and burns my face, the rest of my body protected by my suit, which has thankfully seemed to retain my body heat. My teeth begin to chatter against my will and I can feel my cheeks slowly turning into a radiant crimson along with the tip of my nose and ears.

Ahead of us, Blue pauses on a mound of dusty rubble, magnificently silhouetted against the dark horizon. She turned and motioned for us to climb up beside her, her hands flailing excitedly. Med started to climb and he quickly outdistanced me with his longer arms and legs. The debris shifted dangerously underfoot as I scrambled to find my footing, little dislodged pebbles making a waterfall of stone back down to the ground.

I reached up, straining, and my hand latched onto something that was suspiciously sticky and damp. Instinctively I yank my hand back fast as lightning, and even in the darkness, I can see it glistening on my fingers and running down the lines in my palm, dripping sickeningly onto the stones below.

Blood.

The sharp metallic aroma floods my senses, and I pull myself up to see the stone from which it had come from. The red liquid has pooled in the dips and lines of the rock, filling every crack and crevice. There's so much of it it takes me a moment to take it all in in its grotesque glory. My brain automatically reverts to the guidelines that we've been trained to follow.