The Days We Remember [Requests Closed]

The City of Lights: Attacked

"Inside! Get off the streets!"

He rushed up the streets, guiding people into buildings and houses. The people scrambled through the streets, panicked and frightened for each other.

He heard the gunshots echo through the air. Each shot fired, each person killed. He felt the phantom pain of every death, as if he himself were dieing, not his people. He guided people inside. Trying to get through their confusion.

"Mom! Mother!" a small boy shouted through the crowds as he ran, dodging the people around him.

He ran to the boy, kneeling in front of him. "Do you need help?"

He nodded, tear trailing from the corners of his eyes. "I can't find my mom."

"You can call me Francis. What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Lucas," he said quietly.

"Come with me." France held out his arms. The child moved forward, wrapping his small arms around France's neck. France put his arms around the boy, lifting him up as he stood to his feet.

He rushed down the street and into a shop. Terrified people crowded the little space there was. Once filled with smiles and small chatter between friends, now a place filled with panic and tears.

He knelt next to a young woman behind a counter, trying to hush a younger girl with her and convince her that she would be alright.

"Mademoiselle, can you take care of him?" France asked, putting the boy down. "His name is Lucas."

"Of course," she said, rushed, holding out her hand to Lucas.

"Thank you." He stood and went to go back outside.

"Wait!" the woman said.

France turned and looked to her, expecting to see something wrong.

"It's not safe out there."

"And there are still more people out there that need help." France gave her a small smile and rushed from the shop. The air was filled sirens and the pounding of feet against the pavement.

France rushed up the street, gunfire echoing through his head. He raced against the waves of people rushing away from the gunmen.

The crowds thinned as he approached the area. That's when he saw them. Men armed with firearms, shooting in every direction. He made his way forward, planning what to do in his head. What could he do?

He didn't expect what happened next. He saw one of the gunmen. Just before he exploded.

France felt his feet leave the ground, his body airborn. He felt heat sear his skin. He felt the the smack of the concrete as he hit ground again. His breath leapt from his lungs and it took him a minute to regain it.

He forced himself up, onto his feet. His head spun, he felt the heat from the explosion, every life taken. He fell to the pavement. He felt the concrete hit his skull, and he didn't remember anything else. Only his thoughts.

Why? Who would do this?