Sang has always been a little bit different. She was made fun of for being a math-whiz in school up until she was kidnapped. Growing up in the crime world from a young age, she tried to do what she was told and keep her head down...but...that was...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Deep breath in. Slow breath out.
I repeated the actions my mind coached, my body on autopilot. Already I could feel my fist relax, the tendons gradually unclenching their death grip.
Ground yourself.
I blinked back tears of frustration. My eyes never left the boy's face as I very carefully let gravity take hold of his body. His own eyes were open, a garish mockery of my inability to do something. Anything.
There's nothing you can do for him anymore.
His head gently kissed the floor as my trembling fingers tried to ease his eyes shut. It didn't work, and now there were bloody smudges across his face. Grotesquely symmetrical marks. Like a tribal warrior.
Like he is. Like he was.
Hysterical laughter tried to bubble up, but it was beat down by a watery, heart-wrenching sob. We made a lovely pair. He and I. We were a perfect inversion of each other, with my bloody smears on his otherwise clean face and my blood-misted face with the only clear spots from the tears carving tracks down my cheeks. I could feel panic trying to overtake me.
Focus.
It was hard to though. Nothing made sense anymore. He was alive, right there. Just seconds ago. So full of life.
You can't let this consume you. Focus on what does make sense.
I let out another shaky breath that ended in a sob. My eyes caught sight of him again, and it felt like an insurmountable force, swift and ferocious was beating against my soul. I looked away, already feeling the tide of emotions calming.
One. I am a math whiz. Numbers calm me. Numbers make sense. Numbers give strength and power to otherwise powerless people.
Two.
I am a hostage. Sold, raised, stolen. That has been my life.
Three.
I am survivor. Torture, warfare, explosions.
Four...
I had been gradually calming down until I morbidly caught sight of short blond hair out of the corner of my eye, normally so shiny and vibrant but now already dull, gnarled, and matted with blood and bone. I wanted to brush away the dirt from him just to keep one less thing out of it. It had been so beautiful in life.
My vision blurred as I was looking through the unfocused lenses of my eyes, tears ruining my clarity. It was hard to swallow past the clenched fist that felt as if it had lodged its way in my throat. My lungs were burning just as much as my heart, like I was breathing thick, stinging vinegar instead of air.
Four.
I am a killer. Countless people. Some nameless, some not. Veseli. Philippe. Kaz. Poor, little Kaz.
