• chapter 1 •

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• WEDNESDAY •
*NOV. 25, 1963*

My head was pounding, heart beating loudly against my chest

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My head was pounding, heart beating loudly against my chest. I could almost feel my ribcage vibrating, my ears ringing. But you probably already may have guessed that, by the way I was frantically trying to catch a breath. My mind was fuzzy, sounds muffled for a second.

Where was I when we left off?

Oh, yeah! The theater. A whoosh and a zap later, we poofed away from the theater and into...

an alleyway?

"Five?" I questioned, standing up from the dusty ground. One thing I noticed when I did so was that my ankle was back to normal. All of the injuries I gained during the fight were gone. Glancing down at my outfit, it was no longer dirty and messed up. My converse were squeaky clean, bright pink skirt flowing out at my legs. My white dress shirt was nice and ironed, sticking dutifully on my chest.

"Wednesday," Five said. I turned around, a smile on my face when I noticed him. He looked exactly the same; black hair, scrawny build, dimples. He was glancing around, looking for the rest of his siblings. Speaking of, where the hell are they?

"I need new clothes," I muttered, smoothing down my dress shirt. "I'm getting tired of the misogynistic look of this."

Five sighed, pecking me on the cheek. I smiled gently at the romantic gesture. "We can get you some pants later. Right now we need to—"

Five was promptly cut off by the sound of guns firing in the distance. The two of us turned around, looking from side to side for the source of the crossfire.

"Luther! Diego! Allison!"

"Vanya! Klaus!"

Five grabbed my hand, silently telling me that it was just us. We turned towards the street, walking cautiously. As we poked our heads out, we were met with a tank rolling past, men in army uniforms shooting bullets back and forth. They were speaking in Russian. I observed as one of the soldiers was shot, one of his comrades leaning down to help him. Military planes whooshed above us.

"Wednesday!" Five shouted above the noise. I instinctively ducked down, a bullet just flying over my head. Five turned towards me, holding up a newspaper that read "SOVIETS ATTACK U.S".

My converse were gentle against the pavement as I stumbled over to Five. "This can't be right," I said.

Among us, Russians and Americans were shooting bullets at each other, blood flying this way and that. A few soldiers called for a medic, while another yelled for me and Five to get down.

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢💛              (FIVE HARGREEVES X OC) Where stories live. Discover now