The Cinder

Diego {6}

White light exploded behind my eyes, making my vision go blind.

A slicing pain shot between my temples as if someone had hit me with a hammer at my skull.

I doubled over, clutching my head in my hands. Like somehow pressing it would make it all disappear.

My name was called out repeatedly from what seemed like miles away.

It was the voice I'd recognize anywhere. It was the voice that would stop me in middle of anything.

Yet this time it couldn't stop what was coming over.

Dizziness swept through me like tumultuous waves crashing and eroding the shoreline.

With each wave, a harsh memory was thrown at me.

I sucked in a breath and squeezed my eyes shut, wanting the memory to go away.

I had somehow locked it away for almost five years, but being here, seeing these paintings... I couldn't keep it locked away anymore.

They grabbed at me, coiling around me like a snake.

No matter how hard I tried I couldn't break their hold.

My heart thundered in my chest, pounding the blood through my veins so fast that I felt sick.

The bedroom walls seemed to spin crazily, closing around me. Suffocating me.

The Brooke.

Brooke Mountain High School.

Delos and I had gone there.

Our parents had been so happy; they had bought us a set of the newest version of X-Box with all upgraded accessories.

We had tried to sneak our games with our luggage.

Marks had driven us to the school. Caught our gaming gadgets.

First day of BMHS, we were punished.

The time table.

The French Class.

I had known Rosanne. Shit! We had shared a fucking class.

The First Lesson.

The assembly hall.

The gleaning.

Delos had left for Glean Center.

The tortures, the punishments.

Brandon had been with me in the Swimming Club.

The time machine.

Fuuuuucckk! I remembered the time machine.

I couldn't take it anymore.

My pulse pounded in my head. So loud, I thought it would almost burst out of me.

I tried to get myself in control, holding my breath in fear of the sounds that were escalating from deep within my throat.

This... this couldn't be happening to me.

I couldn't have done this. It couldn't be me.

The storm began to lift up, clearing my vision and my hearing as it slowly left me.

Somehow I was sitting in a chair, though I hadn't moved from where I was standing earlier.

The two paintings were still lying on the floor below me.

One of those paintings had changed my entire life.

It had destroyed me.

I couldn't stomach to look at any painting anymore.