Wilted

Chapter 1: Alone

Chapter 1: Alone

I am alone.

Memories flashed though Jarmil's head, a movie put on replay. He wished they were the happy memories, not the ones with the blood, screams, and destruction that just wouldn't leave him alone.

Maybe… the whole thing was all just a nightmare. Nothing more. Just a nightmare. But… he doesn't remember nightmares leaving you feeling empty inside. Only leaving a sense of relief as you find out that it wasn't real.

But… maybe the emptiness wasn't empty. Maybe it was just… fear, pain, anger, and regret circling around and around like a Ferris wheel. You know, like when you are up at the top in the night sky, you forget that it was just a ride and won't stay like that forever. But then, once you start moving again, it brings you back to reality.

Why couldn't this Ferris wheel just break down all ready? He's sick of being reminded over and over of what had happened. The pressure it was putting on him was nearly unbearable. It was all he can do just to stay even the slightest bit sane...

I am alone. With nothing but my pain and the numbing agony to tell me who I was before.

But even still… he couldn't seem to break free. It just seemed like he was about to slip through the cracks into some sort of dark eternity where-

"Wake up, Jarmil!"

Hands clapped in front of Jarmil's face, snapping him out of his depressed thoughts. He looked up with teary eyes to see his friend, Renata, standing in front of him. She was leaning on his desk, her red hair brushing her shoulders and her brown eyes glinting with worry and understanding. "School's over," she added, pointing at the clock on the wall. It was 3:35 o'clock; the time the car-riders and walkers were allowed to leave.

Jarmil nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Though, he would have said something if... he could actually speak. But, ever since that accident, he hasn't been able to speak for some odd reason.

He grabbed his thin, triangle shaped shoulder bag and his small white board that he always has to carry around with him. Then he followed his friend out the class door, giving the nice old teacher a wave before leaving.

The memories then thought that was a good time to come back. One flashed across his vision for maybe one second, but it seemed like hours to him:

The… thing… was streaking across the room towards us, letting out a frustrated growl as it ran. There was a silver gun in its hand which flashed upward as the thing skidded to a stop.

A loud bang, a cut off scream, then the thud of a body hitting stone sounded after. Soon there was just silence as the dark room started tinting red, spinning violently. Then there was another growl—though this one sounded more like an animal infected with rabies. After a few seconds of the reverberating growls, the room blurred toward the thing, making it that now the only sounds were of a wind then the frantic tearing of flesh.

His vision turned red and he swear he could feel something warm and sticky on his skin once the memory passed, leaving him back in the school building. Now he was whimpering, the noises being muffled as he put his hands in front of his mouth. The urge to scream gripped him firmly and he collapsed to the ground, curling into a little ball, eyes closing. "N-no. P-please… just leave us alone…"

"Jarmil! Snap out of it it's not real!" He felt his friend shake me rapidly. She repeated that sentence over and over again, trying to get his to calm his mutterings.

It took a while, but he finally got out of that little state and sat up. He was now hugging the white board tightly, shaking like a frightened kid holding a teddy bear. Which, he was a frightened kid in some way, being only 14 years old.