Run. (A DreamSMP character story)

The village

The young boy hid inside of the closet with his mother, he heard yelling, he heard screaming, he smelt smoke, he heard bombs, his mother held him close. Smoke filled his lungs and he had to cough into her chest to not alert anyone they were there.

His clothes ripped and burnt, all his belongings burning around him.

He had a father, he had two brothers and two sisters, god knows where they are now. His mother hugged him tight and he tried his best to suppress his cries.

His mother reassured him from the people who were hybrid hunting in the village, everyone there was a hybrid, he was no older than five.

His wings were too small to get off the ground and his mothers had been damaged too much to fly with.

The people were on the other side of the village for the moment and the smoke was too much, she coughed and held onto her boy, standing and getting out, sprinting out of the closet and out the burning house.

If his mother hid his face from the bodies inside of the house that were once living and breathing called family, he wouldn't know.

She got to the back of the house and put him down, there was a gunshot. It was loud and left a ringing in his ears, his mind was fuzzy but his fear was overwhelming.

His mother's legs buckled and her leg dropped with blood. She couldn't walk.

He looked at her in pure fear with traumatised eyes.

She was on her knees and she cupped her boys face, they both ignored the blood handprints now on his face. Blood dropped down his cheeks and onto his shirt that was already covered in dry blood.

Despite the ringing, and despite his struggle to understand anything, the words that left his mother he would keep forever in his mind.

"You better run. Run fast for your mother, fast for your father, run for my children- your sisters and brothers! Phil. Phil run. Phil. RUN!" She yelled as the footsteps heard, she pushed a hat into his hands, and pushed him slightly, he ran.

His feet had never taken him anywhere faster, he ran as fast as he could, repeating the words in his head.

Run fast for your mother.

Fast for your father.

Run for your sisters and brothers.

He heard his mothers screams from behind him but also running footsteps, he didn't dare look back, he was barefoot and scared. He heard fast breaths behind him and the footsteps were light, but he still didn't look back. He ran with the bucket hat clutched in his hands, that was once his fathers.

He ignored his throat that burned.

He ignored the burn of his lungs.

He ignore the sharp stones that cut his feet.

And he fucking ran.

He was young yes. But with the motivation of being dead if caught and his mothers last words being run?

He fucking bolted.

He ran through a forest, he heard a gunshot from right behind him, a scream then a thud, he didn't stop. He ran as far away as he could get from the burning village he once called home.

He ran through fields and clearings, the once thick air started to thin out from the loss of smoke, he coughed but he kept on running, his legs were sore and his back hurt.

The tears streamed down his face but he paid no attention.

He saw a cottage in the distance, in the middle of no where.

The bird in him screamed at him to run to it. Screamed at him for it being safety, screaming that it was returning to the 'nest'.

He didn't think, it was instinct, he began feeling the burn on his lungs and throat, the deep cuts on his feet that would surely leave scars.

He slowed and ran up the stone stairs, getting to the door and falling to his knees in front of it, accidentally banging against it. No fear.

He held the bucket hat close to his chest as his breath was quick and heavy trying to get air.

The door opened with a creak and a gasp.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"