Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A Chapter by Viney
"

Nightmares and the past haunt Silver, and these kids are strange...

"

My dreams are hazy and haunted, and I pass through them in a fog of pain and darkness. One stands out above the rest, clear, detailed, realistic, and horrifying.

It starts with me opening my eyes to a dark alleyway in late night rain. I can feel each cool drop on my skin, and for a moment, it feels euphoric. I open my mouth to catch the drops streaming from the sky, and I recoil as a salty, metallic liquid touches my tongue. I try to get out of the rain, and I stand under the awning of a dimly lit shop. The light from inside flares brighter, bringing clarity to the world around me, and I scream as I see the various hues of red in the world around me.

The blood, pouring down in a relentless sheet, sends chills down my spine, and I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me, even though it is just a dream. It pools around my feet, no longer cold, but hot and sticky. I back up against the shop window, but I can't escape the puddle, filling the ground, beginning to rise. The crimson tide rises higher and higher, surrounding me with its burning grip. I scream and squirm,trying to free myself, but my efforts are pointless. Then I spot the shop door.

I drag myself through the blood, sweat beading on my forehead from heat and exhaustion. I reach it as my waist is covered by the rising death. I grip the door handle tightly, get my elbows above the tide, and yank with all my might, relieved by the thought of escape. But panic just presses down on me even stronger than before when the door refuses to budge. I scream and beat at the glass, but nothing breaks.

Something brushes against my thigh, and I gasp. I kick out my leg, but I can't feel anything now. Then I see something surface in the tide. It floats towards me, and I watch with wide eyes and a horrified curiosity as the large object bobs closer. It passes in front of me, about elbow-height now, and my blood turns to ice as I recognize the thing in front of me as a mutilated body. I can see each tear in its back and arms, like deep claws had gouged it. The smell of death fills the air around me, as more and more shapes start appearing. The blood is rising even faster now, covering my shoulders. Just before the liquid rises over my head, the body is rolled over and I give one last scream, cut off by the blood, as I recognize the face.

My own.

My eyes snap open, and I'm calmed, met with nothing but a relieving darkness. I can't see, I can't move, and my head is throbbing. I can feel the wound in my leg screaming for attention, but I can't do a thing about it. I hear other's voices, but everything comes through hazily. I can't focus on it, can't think straight. I feel someone pushing my head up and fumbling with something behind it, but I can't figure out what is until my eyes flood with harsh sunlight.

I squint, and slowly the world around me comes into focus. I'm laying face-up on the hard concrete, with several figures standing over me. The boy, the one who attacked us, is there. A few others are with him. I try to snarl, to look intimidating, but I can't move at all. All that comes out when I try to speak is a quiet moan.

Hope you've been enjoying your first stay here.” the boy says with a vicious shark's grin. I wish I wasn't so helpless. I wish that I could move my limbs, that I could get away from here, from him. “Don't worry,” he continues, “The effect will wear off in a little while.” he motions to another kid, a small girl who had scars all over one side of her face. “Clean up the wound. I can hardly bear seeing it.” he says, and points to my leg.

She kneels down next to me and starts to dab at my flesh with something cold. I take relief in the fact that I can start to feel and think again, but as I do, the pain from yesterday begins to come back, too. I know that I don't have it as bad as some of the kids in Jet's gang have it. I remember the look of pure hatred this kid gave Jet, and I wonder what happened between the two gangs, or those two in particular, that made them despise each other so much.


ROGUE


It's strange that all of us are kids. But I know why we are. Heck, I was in that revolution. I used to be another stupid, naïve little girl. I lived in the crummy little neighborhoods, while my parents worked hard for what little we had. We didn't have a perfect life, but it was content. We always had just enough, just enough food, just enough money, just enough luck.

I can remember the day I decided to go. I was with some of my friends one day, up on the rooftops. We loved it up there, our world consisted of climbing and exploring. One of my friends, a girl named... Kaitlin, or Katherine. I can't remember which now. But one day, she brought her radio, a cheap little dusty thing, with a knob to change channels.

We were goofing around, flipping between one thing to the next, until another kid spoke up. She wanted to listen to the little kid's station. We teased her, we were older, we should listen to older music. But she insisted. She still liked it. She reached for the radio to change it, but a boy lunged for it, and reached it faster than her. He quickly changed it to what the rest of us liked, and the girl started crying, and was very mad at us. She left with tears streaming down her face, but the rest of us didn't care. It seems cruel, but we were eight or nine. We didn't care about anything, really.

Anyways, so the boy gets our favorite station on. We listen for a while, enjoying the thought of knowing that most kids in the nation were listening to this with us. Suddenly, the music stops, and someones voice, deep an serious comes on. It tells us how we, the younger generation, can solve the world's problems. I don't remember everything, but somehow the speaker arrived at the solution that we need to leave our homes, and stand up to our oppressors. I wasn't sure what this meant, in fact, none of us were, but we thought it sounded cool. We packed up our clothes and some toys and began to set out. I don't know what my parents or my friends parents thought when they found that we were gone, but I know that it wasn't good.


ROGUE


The girl finishes with my leg, and wraps it with cloth. I can start to move my fingers again, and my thoughts are clear, but the process is slow, and all I can do is wait. It's a good thing that time seems to be something that I have plenty for in this place. I watch the kids in my field of view. They're all talking, but it doesn't seem to be related to me. They're talking about the disk.

I can't believe that we've nearly finished the collection. It seems like we just started searching yesterday.” someone says with a sigh.

“I know. Even though it has been years of hard work, every time we find a new one, everything seems to fly by.” the boy answers, turned to his comrade. I wonder what they mean by 'collection'. What can they possibly want with these if they're willing to do some serious fighting to get them? I try moving my arm, and have found that I can use it much better now. The effect is wearing off fast. I attempt to sit up, but someone grabs my shoulders and pushes me back down gently.

“You shouldn't be doing that just yet,” a strange voice says. “We don't need you getting hurt anymore than you already have.” whoever is speaking has a nice voice. It's very soft and gentle, and by hearing it you know that someone kind is speaking. I nod and shut my eyes, listening to everyone around me talk. The conversation about the disk just goes in circles, and I can't learn anything from it. I feel drowsy. My thoughts are becoming foggier and more abstract.

I start to doze off when someone yells, “Hey! You can't fall asleep yet!”, but I'm already gone.



© 2013 Viney


Author's Note

Viney
This was actually written today. So while I'm pretty proud, maybe some of you can spot some fault.

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Added on March 20, 2013
Last Updated on March 20, 2013
Tags: rogue, rogues, Silver, gangs, dystopian, science fiction, horror, thieves, outlaws


Author

Viney
Viney

Like I'm giving that out., CA



About
Hello all, I'm a young writer that goes under the pen name of Viney, who is often the name of the main character in my stories. Just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm not good at what I do. Age is.. more..

Writing