Bloody Hands

My eyes fluttered open at a stormy sky. I heard a crack of lightning. I didn't know for a second--I had forgotten.

Then it snapped back to me. I was captured. By a terrorist. To take down America. I shot up, seeing fire on the crashed jet. I backed away.

The terrorist lay down, blood streaming from his head, unconscious.

I was free.

I knew that; but I had no idea what I should do about the scene? How could I tell anyone that I was captured? How? I don't know anyone's name. I honestly don't even know where I am.

I sat there, hearing thunder crack, and rain falling. The rain made the fire die down.

The terrorist began to stir. My heart raced. Would he keep me hostage? No, he's not in any condition to even walk.

"Sasha...?" he cocked his head up, revealing his eyes. His eyes looked beautiful from where I was sitting.

The thought made me shiver.

Beautiful? This man's a monster!

"I--" I cut myself off. What should I say?

I tried to get up, but I fell back over. The pain in my leg made me wince, and my back wasn't much better.

"Sasha...help." he whimpered.

Since it was dark, he couldn't see the shock on my face. I couldn't believe my ears. He was whimpering and asking for help from his hostage?

"I can't." I said, laying on the grass. "I'm--not strong enough."

"Please Sasha . . ."

I had to bring my courage for this one. "Why the hell are you wanting my help?! YOU'RE HOLDING ME HOSTAGE!"

I felt tears stream down my face thinking of my old life with my friends, family, everyone. Tears were streaming down my face--rapidly.

"Sasha, don't cry..."

Had he hit his head? Really shitting hard?

He had sent people to torture me--and he's giving a shit if I cry?

"What..?" I managed.

"Don't cry. It's...It'll be alright."

My breath came out in short quick gasps. "Why do you care...if I cry? You...you tortured me..."

I dragged myself over to him. "Sasha...you know me...."

What?

I know him?

I was so confused, I couldn't speak I gave him a look that said, What?

"Yes . . . Sasha. You know me. From before."

I stared at his face. His eyes were serious, and blood stained his head. "As...a child?"

He nodded. "Think, Sasha. When you were 13 . . ."

It made a serious flashback.

"Aww look it's the loser," one of the girls said, pointing at the terrorist.

"Is wittle Liam trying to kill the President too?? Like your parents?" another boy said.

I sat there.

The flashback ended.

"You--you're--Liam!" I said quickly with short breathes.

He nodded.

Touching my cheek, he whispered, "Sorry."

His lips met mine.