This Isn't Real

Level 8

The room turns to forest and I hear my brother: "Help me!" he screams. What is happening? Where is he? "Ivy!" he howls.

"Luke?" I yell. "Luke!" I run in the direction of the voice with only one thought on my mind: you have to get there Ivy. The trees try to block my path stretching their branches in front of me and I trip, the rocks cutting into my skin. I look up and see him. Lying down on the rocky floor, his hands covered in blood from the large bullet hole in his chest. I crawl over to him.

"Ivy?" he whispers, his little face red and puffy. His tears mix with the blood from the cuts on his cheeks. I look into his eyes and feel my heart stop. "Why didn't you save me?" His breathing slows.

"It will be okay," I say, trying my best to stop the blood oozing from wound. His grip loosens. He's gone. I hold his little face.

"Luke?" I cry, "Luke!" I pull his body into mine and hug him. Patting his hair, I whisper, "I am sorry. I am so sorry." I rock back and forth. "I love you, Luke. I love you." I feel someone grab my arms, pulling them behind my back. Luke's body tumbles out of my arms and falls to the floor like a rag doll. I brace myself, hoping not to hear the sound of his head thudding on the rocky surface. But I do. I open my eyes and see a new gash on his head. Blood trickles into his vacant blue eyes that stare out into the distance.

"Luke!" I squeal. I thrash around, trying to break free. "Luke!"

"We've got another one for your games sir," they say into the radio.

"Good," a man replies. "Bring her in."

There's a sharp pain in the back of my neck and the world turns to black.