The Brooke

Rosanne {5}

So this is our Rosanne Reynolds and if she seems familiar to you, it's Anna Popplewell from the infamous series of the Chronicles of Narnia!

Enjoy reading XD

I KNEW THE END was coming but I had never anticipated it being like this.

I glanced at my surroundings to see the chaos everywhere.

We should be running for our lives. But I knew it was a vain attempt. Nothing could be done now.

And I was to blame for all the deaths. I was the reason who was dying along with them now.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Might as well start counting them now.

That's it. I'm going to die now.

Even though this realization was shocking enough, it wasn't me who I felt fear for.

It was him.

He didn't deserve this.

He wasn't supposed to be here, dying with me. Because of me.

I looked into his eyes.

Those sky blue eyes that were eclipsed by deep worried grey clouds. I put those clouds in there.

It was because of me that those beautiful eyes held such a heart shattering agony before dying.

He was about to die here with me and I couldn't do anything to prevent it.

I was a pathetic failure.

I thought that when I would win, when I'd finally overcome them, it would be the happiest moment of my life.

Turned out it was the saddest.

Yes, all the defiance, all the pain were worth it. Worth defeating them.

I didn't care about my life. I was prepared to die if I had to make that sacrifice.

But I wasn't prepared to sacrifice him.

He was far more worth than all this mess. Way much more.

If I'd known his life was on the line, I would have immediately sufficed. I would have yielded and handed myself to them.

I wouldn't have cared about the world or the need to protect others.

Because he was my world.

And now I was taking my world along with me to rot in hell.

I was the most selfish person ever.

I didn't know what to say, how any apology in the world could lighten the blow of what I'd done.

How I had endangered his life. How I had killed him.

Yes, I killed him.

For that, I deserved worse than burning in fire of hell for that.

He walked over to me. His eyes all over my face that was filled with remorse.

But he wasn't paying attention to my expressions.

His gaze raked over my forehead, my cheekbones, my eyes, nose and at last my lips.

He was scanning my features, memorizing them for one last time.

I knew he was doing that because I was doing the same.

My own eyes roamed over his impeccable face.

Broad forehead, fascinating eyes, hard structured square jaw yet gentle cheeks and immensely soft, soft lips.

My stare zeroed on those lips.