Little Things | A Short Story Compilation

Grayson

Everything was on fire.

Spitfires rained down on the surrounding buildings, reducing them to rubble at the feet of civilians. They screamed, leaping out of the way just in time. The world was a mess of dust, the screeching of planes, and an eerie orange glow as the backlight to the scene in front of me.

A woman pushed a shrieking child in front of me, just as the crumbling walls of the Bruxton Hotel collapsed on top of her and dust rose in its wake. As it cleared, the child and I stared at the severed, outstretched arm reaching hopelessly out of the rubble. He clutched the teddy bear in his arms close to his chest as he began wailing for a mother who wouldn't awaken.

I reached my hand towards him, but as my fingers brushed against his tweed blazer, he disappeared into a watercolour smudge against the ruins.

Taking a step back, I snatched my hand away from him, the glint of silver on my wrist catching the corner of my eyes. Every shade of grey and brown of the boy blended with the orange and greys of the surrounding fires and collapsing buildings.

Within a blink of an eye, the scene around me shifted to dusk. The blazing fires became embers, and the screams became fewer. Any sign of human life was quickly silenced by long-legged foot soldiers with a scythe for an arm. Cries, screams, and sobs died along with their owners as the low whistle of the wind snatched them on the back of a gentle breeze that caressed the cheek.

Creeping behind the safety of the taller ruins, I zig-zagged closer to the gathering of goliath, slimy-skinned monsters hovering over the dead body of the little boy. His eyes were glazed over by the ghost of death and his face slackened in a permanent expression of fright. The tears staining his round cheeks were already drying on his cherub-like face.

Innocence was eradicated. There was no room for it in the new world.

"How many dead?" one of the alien-like creatures asked a towering commander.

It gurgled, as though groaning. "Too many. How many survivors?" it commanded in a coarse, distorted voice. It reminded me of the presence of a host blasting through a radio box with some interference.

"There are three nearby camps. Other squadrons are taking out the rest," the same blob of stretched skin answered. It had two gaping, black holes where eyes should have been, faced directly at their commander—and, subsequently, at me.

I inhaled a sharp breath, keeping the thin, silver band always clamped to my wrist within sight. I checked the charge counter. Amber. That wasn't good. I would need to leave this hellscape soon.

"This planet will be ours," the commander—or who I assumed to be their leader—said slowly. It clenched a three-fingered fist, rallying its troops to follow into the night.

I counted each fading step until they were gone and then waited in the shadows as night fell on the small, limp shadow on the ground. Flickers of fire died, leaving the city a desolate wasteland of nothingness. The charge counter remained on amber for the minutes that ticked by. I didn't dare move.

Crouching, I peered out, clutching my wrist with the metal band to my chest. I was greeted with a cold, brutal silence that hung heavily in the air. I stepped over mangled corpses, dismembered body parts, and pools of blood, all while ignoring the crushing weight in my chest as I swallowed the bitter bile lodged in the back of my throat. Finally, I knelt beside the lifeless body of the child.

Gingerly, I reached for him. The world remained the same.

Plucking him from the ground, I cradled the dead body in my arms. My fingers could just fiddle with the controls on the bracelet thanks to his smallness.

The city around us changed. Instead of the bleeding shades of watercolours, I was greeted with the blur of time rushing by. I watched the rise and fall of civilisations, the end of days, and the last scraps of humanity rebuilding the colony that was long ago destroyed by the Buracs. I'd never been unlucky enough to see one in the flesh—apart from a few moments ago.

Then, the images slowed like tape from an old video projector. They became taut, pausing on the institute that stood in the middle of the city on Ravanor. The blue light upon a spire glowed on and off like a beacon of hope against the relentless thunderstorm I'd returned to. As the rain lashed down on me and the lifeless body in my arms, I could feel my hair begin to stick to my face, allowing me to see Doctor Miranda Vallier standing in the doorway.

Miranda's steely eyes glared at the bundle in my arms. She visibly inhaled before shaking her head, pulling out an umbrella that opened to reveal a grey that blended with the charcoal sky. Her heels clicked and clacked as she glided down the steps until she was in front of me.

She bit her lip as she looked down at the boy's face. "This is the last time I stick my neck out for you, Freya. Do you understand?" she asked, a choke in her voice.

"I couldn't leave him there," I sobbed.

She sighed, bowing her head. We both knew she would have done the same.

Placing a hand on my back, she ushered me inside whilst her umbrella worked overtime trying to keep us all dry.

Hurrying into the entrance hall, my sodden clothes and hair dripped onto the pristine floors. My boots fared no better as each step became a muddy imprint of my whereabouts.

"The time maneuverer is not a toy," a voice called from the shadows of one of the halls, deep and commanding.

"I'm sorry Phillip. He was there and... it didn't feel right to leave him," I blurted.

Stepping away from the darkness, Phillip stood tall in his trench coat and lean suit. He had his arms folded as he blew the dark fringe of his long hair out of his eyes. Any signs of humour were lost on him.

"It's a stupid name for a time travel device, anyway," I snapped before he could say anything.

He took a long stride forward. "You know that is not what it is! Anyway, what are you going to do? Go back and save every screaming child from being buried under the Buracs' war? Good luck with that!" he scoffed.

Laying the boy on the ground, I clenched my fist as I swung around on Phillip who stood inches away from me. Miranda caught it before I could clock him in the jaw.

"You're both missing the point. Who is the boy?" she asked.

I shrugged, snatching my hand from her. "I watched his mother die. I don't know."

Miranda knelt at his side, checking in his blazer pockets. She took something out that looked an awful lot like a school planner. She read the name, "Finn Grayson."

It was my surname.