OBLIVION [Thomesa]

fourteen

She was just a falling star he was
wishing on.

She's dead.
And from the smell,
now tangible,
she had been dead for hours.
Her face was charred, tortured, and gone -
her skin blackened -
but still speckled with her skin.

It was her clothes,
the ones she wore before she disappeared.
"No no no no . . ."
He sighed again,
his lips unmoving.
And his forehead pressed against hers -

It was her clothes
It was her skin -
and her hair -
and his fault - !
"No! Teresa!"
And he raised his head and howled at the sky,
as if he hoped it would crash down at his head,
and kill him too.
He hugged her,
trying to warm the skin,
cooled by death
and rain.

Teresa can't be dead.
She couldn't die.

No.
No - !

Something inside him snapped -
his sanity.

He cradled her hand,
and squeezed his eyes shut.
Turning over her hand,
his eyes caught on her unmarked wrist.

His lips quivered,
He froze.
A tattoo.
A dragon.

Twisting elegantly up her wrist,
the white milky sky of freckled pale stars.

It wasn't her,
She didn't have that tattoo.
It wasn't her,
It wasn't her -
and wildly
like water breaking violently through a dam,
relief washed through him,
powerful and violent and blissfully.

And then,
almost as powerful,
there was a sudden guilt,
making hom nauseated than the smell ever could have,
It wasn't Teresa.
Who was dead in his arms,
and it made him happy that it wasn't her -
that it was this other,
nameless -
literally faceless -
girl.

Another girl,
tortured beyond repair -
he could only hope she was dead already before they did
this to her -
and killed,
only to spite him.
And this girl,
had a home.
A sister.
A family.
A lover.
Someone that would mourn.

And he was glad that she was dead,
and not his own.
And so she hugged the girl,
and kissed her hands,
leaving tears of sorrow and regret and apology on charred flesh,
"I'm sorry."
I'm sorry.
He whispered to her,
Her hand was clenched tightly,
tapped wrapped around her fist.
Subtly,
his heart pounding in his chest,
he peeled the tape away,
and uncurled her fingers.
Nestled in her soft and unblackened palm -
was a flash-drive.
Written on her skin in black sharpie
was a scribbled -
Shh. Our little secret, boy. LOL.
Thomas took the flash drive from her hand,
still leaning over her,
as if kissing her skin,
and slipped it in his pocket.

Thomas stared at the girl again,
before, carefully,
he laid her back on the bag.
"I'm sorry."

"It's not her."
He stared evenly at them.
Guilty relief written all over them.

With the flash drive in his hands,
along with the guilt of another dead girl,
he made his way back.

* * *

Are you insane like me,
been in pain like
me?

Hollowed eyes,
glinted dimly below haunting lights,
There was blood in his eyes,
blood of an innocent girl.
Her fair hand was charred,
blackening his lips as he had kissed her fingers,
blackening his heart as her death fell to rest on his soul.
Why hadn't he saved her?
Why hadn't he saved her?