Sparks Fly

She stood by the white framed doorway, unsure of what to do. The sky was a ghostly shade of grey and the smell—it smelled like it was going to rain. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined water sweeping from the clouds and falling upon the green grass. She imagined the pure water being swept into the dirt and revitalizing the plants from near death.

But of course that won't happen, she thought. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of the yellow, non-salvageable patch of grass. There were no flowers. And the soil itself was too ruined to even take in any nutrients.

But she had other matters to take care of. The boy in front of her was giving soft whimpers. Whimpers which she had associated with near death. She just stood there staring at the boy lying in the dirt and not knowing what to do. Blood was seeping through his dirty ragged clothing.

She closed her eyes again and imagined what a true noble person would do in the situation. They would run and help him to the nearest healer, she thought. And what am I doing?

The boy on the ground finally noticed her. He lifted his head to look at the raven-haired girl but you could see that this was an arduous task for him. He finally settled with resting his cheek against the dirt and faced the girl, tears streaming down his dirt-streaked face. “H-help me. P-please.”

She stood there, holding her breath. He noticed me, she thought. Now I'll have to help him. I don't want to help him. I don't know how to help him. She didn't voice her thoughts. Instead, she stood and stared at him in what he interpreted as rapt fascination as he bled his life out.

But what she really saw was the film rewinding and playing all over again. She saw the shiny, sleek automobile rushing over the boy and heard the sound of his horrible screams. She saw the automobile continue on its way as if it had not hit a boy.

Without thinking any further, she rushed from the door but not in the direction towards the boy. Instead, she headed the other way—away from him. The ribbon on her white dress around her waist fell loose as she ran. The satiny ribbon fluttered towards the ground, only to be picked up by a small breeze. It drifted along until it reached the ground—in the outstretched hand of the boy.

He gritted his teeth and gripped the white ribbon tightly in a sort of grudging manner. It was the last piece of the girl who could have saved him. He thought, at least if he had her ribbon, the Peacekeepers would be able to punish the girl. If they even would punish her anyways.

He was no longer trying to staunch the blood that flowed from his chest. He did not know what had hit him in the chest but he knew it was part of the automobiles' doing. He wasn't sure if it was on purpose or not, but he couldn't help but feel very deep resentment.

Death was an easy way out of his dreary life.

And life, for him, is not about taking the easy way out.

Breathe, he told himself, breathe!

With each shuddering breath, he was growing weaker. His heart was pumping slower and his body was losing its' feelings and turning numb. But he refused to acknowledge his end. He kept fighting. And fighting. Everything was a fight—especially survival.

Even when his eyelids were forced to drop, he forced his shallow breaths in and out. It was like a mantra. He blocked out everything except for breathing. He needed to survive. He didn't even think once about giving up and letting the oblivion consume him.

He needed to survive.

He was so bent on survival that he didn't even feel the first drops of rain. He was so bent on survival that he didn't even hear the pitter-patter of light footsteps on the muddy ground. He didn't notice as strong and burly arms lifted him up and carried him away.*

In fact, when his green eyes opened to the breaking dawn outside, he believed that he had completely saved himself. He thought it was all his doing. That planted the seeds of solitary in his mind. He didn't need help. Not when he could save himself.

He tossed the white ribbon that was still in his clenched fist onto the ground. Then he kicked dirt over it until it was completely covered and nothing was showing. The time of relying on others was over. It was a new start in his life and even the sky seemed to be brighter.

Never again would he need help from anyone else. He would be deceiving. He would be secretive. He would be cunning. Trust was a silly thing that he didn't need. Especially after the girl.

And he promised himself that he would never risk his life for anyone. He would only return his debts and help if he wanted something from the other. An eye for an eye.

Meanwhile, the girl who saved him looked up at the dim grey sky. She had watched the boy kick dirt over her ribbon and she had a feeling that this marked a symbolic end to something in him. And she promised herself that she would not be selfish. She promised that she would be brave and selfless and helpful. She promised that she would never deceive anyone and be inextricable to anything that would threaten to destroy her resolve. She would be honest. She would never collect debts and would always do things on her free will.

Because an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.