Die in Tune

Running. Running slower; running faster. Losing resistance; gaining drive. The road to the dinner seems like a treadmill machine – like you’re running and getting nowhere, staying in the same spot. Getting tired, getting sweaty. My feet are getting heavier; my heart pounding in my chest in a fast rate, nearly popping out; my breathing; getting losing its steady inhales and exhales…

The dinner finally came into view. It was still a bit far, but at least I had a perception of the distance left to run. You should never begin running by sprinting right at the beginning Olympic athlete style, because obviously you don’t have much practice as them, therefore you don’t have as much resistance or speed. But when there are many things crowding your mind, thinking about the perfect rhythm in which to run to maintain a steady pace isn’t the main issue. I didn’t really care if I would collapse at any given moment, because I had never run as fast as I was running at that moment and for such a long distance, because when someone’s life is on the risk, someone who you coincidentally love, you just can’t stop yourself.

The big sign that read “Shinning Maple”, the name of the dinner, was glowing with bright red neon lights. It was just a mere attempt at attracting customers to their mediocre establishment, open twenty four hours a day, with fast meals at affordable prices. I never understood why they called it the “Shinning Maple” and I never did bother to ask. Not many people did go there during the weekends, because most of the customers were workers who went there during lunch break or at night after work.

The sign inched closer and closer, until it as merely above me and my head was tilted at a ninety degree angle. By this point, I was directly in front of the transparent glass door. I could see the different people inside the restaurant.. Every man and woman is sitting and eating; the different waiters and waitresses are taking orders and placing meals on people’s tables. Yet there was no sign of Harriet, and that was all that mattered.

Barging into the establishment, I ignored all the stares from the clients as I caught my breath and walked up to the first waitress I saw. I knew her from the few times I had gone there and she knew Harriet too, so I asked her if she knew of her whereabouts. “Oh she was here a couple of minutes ago. She used the pay phone to call someone and then she left…” I asked her if she caught a glimpse of the direction she had gone to. “Well, I think she headed over there,” she pointed to a street that lead to an old neighborhood where very few people lived; it served as a shelter for some hobos or runaway teens who would return home after a few days there. I thanked her and made my way through that street.

I had no clue exactly where I was going at that precise point.

Someone shook me until I was awake. From the faint light coming from the candle I recognized the silhouette that had interrupted my peaceful sleep: Derek. “It is time,” he spoke. Everything was done in a hurry: the dressing, the breakfast, the gathering, the motivation speech… In just a couple of hours we were in different strategic spot, ready to attack. Revaun was beside Derek, talking to some of the more insecure members of the rebellion, being the father figure he always was. Derek, by my side, was feeling the exact same emotions I was feeling: excitement and nervousness. Actually, every single risk we take is dominated by those two feelings.

He looked at me, at my eyes, asking for permission. Permission to begin. Permission for all hell to break loose. Without a pause, I gave him a confident and firm nod. He nudged Revaun to indicate that it was all about to begin. And together we raised our swords and screamed for the beginning of the end.
Again and again the story and the narrator in me would attack my mind. They wouldn’t leave me alone. Everything was writing itself. I had no control over it. The brick wall I had built between reality and fiction was breaking, shattering, and melding them both into one.

Shut up! I commanded to the narrator in my head as my feet pounded on the ground. The earth was moving underneath me very fast. Yet it all seemed distant as the story in my head continued.

And as we had planned, the first bunch sprinted forwards, roaming the streets of the murderer, screamer and witness territory. Nobody had expected it, yet nobody was repulsed, some even joined in. Everyone in direction of the Supreme Court’s lair. Their lair was situated on the northern limit of the city. It was a huge palace where they all lived. Though it seemed peaceful and harmless on the outside, we all knew the plans of the Supreme Court were the complete opposite.

Derek, Revaun and I were left behind along with some of the strongest. We watched from the hill where they parted from, the people crowding the streets of the city like blood runs along your veins. Some people tried to block the passage, very few though, and those unfortunate ones were slaughtered. To achieve success, some sacrifices had to be made.

In the distance we could see some people looking from the palace, watching the turmoil that was occurring in the city. I didn’t have binoculars but it wasn’t hard to know that they weren’t happy with the view. That was our objective, making them go to the city to see what was happening and then we would advance and win this conflict once and for all.

When the army came into sight, leaving the small gates in the distance, I knew the time had come for us to advance. Raising our swords a second time, we charged forward, following the others who were already fighting some patriotic murderers. I found myself alone in a crowd of people: enemies and allies, dodging attacks from familiar faces from Aeono and thrusting my sword into their bellies and throats and chests of these very people I used to greet in the hallways in my first year at school.

Shut up, I asked the narrator in my head as I passed by familiar faces on the street on my way to God knows where. I was on the look out for her or some hint or sign of her location. Some would wave to me, but I would ignore them or not acknowledge their presence at all.

Time wouldn’t stop. The seconds were ticking. And the words were writing themselves.

I didn’t know of my exact location: absolute coordinates or even my relative location. The people blocked my view of my surroundings. I couldn’t see the palace either so I had no idea of the progress we were making. All I could see were fear-stricken faces fighting for whatever cause they believed in: whether it was freedom, justice or patriotism. I just knew that men were falling – ours and theirs.

When I finally got rid of everyone who was trying to chance a victory with me, but instead got their heads detached from their bodies, I saw them, many of them: the almighty army. They were better equipped with the latest gadgets technology could offer and dressed in the best protective gear. They had the weapons, but we had the strategy, technique and motivation. I charged forward with some other men to fight the great army.

We were the attack, they were the defense. And this was war.

And that was when I saw her alongside the very army we were going to battle, dressed in her long hooded cloak and looking at me with a nervous, serious stare. She would join us as soon as she could. My attention to her was only diverged when someone was thrusting their sword right at me.

I defended myself at once, blocking the attack with my own sword and then in a fast maneuver, I turned around clockwise and my sword dug deep into my opponent’s leg. His scream filled my ears and I removed my sword before pushing it again deep into the man’s chest. The only images I could see, at that moment, were brutal and bloodstained.

Shut up, I pleaded to the narrator in my head. I wasn’t commanding anymore. I didn’t have the strength to fight it. My energies were being wasted in the longest run of my life.

I could see the neighborhood in the distance, but I couldn’t see her. No sight of her brown locks, or her emerald eyes or her pale, rosy skin. My muscles were straining; my throat was dry, longing for water, yet only managing to swallow air and the little saliva I had left in my thirsty mouth; my feet were burning, kicking away on the fast moving asphalt ground beneath me. Yet I couldn’t feel anything.

I was fighting a war, running against time.

And they say words are simple things. Words can control you: they can write your story, your happy or sad ending. Words could write your lover being saved. Words could write you arriving just a second too late. Why was I too fooled to believe words were that simple?

If Dr. Murphy were here right now assessing my behavior and my attitude, I pictured her notes to be something of this nature:

He is getting slower.
He is getting tired.
He is quickly losing his pace.
He is putting himself in a situation where he requires inhuman resistance.
Every single one of those fictional notes was another stab at my motivation, making me pick up my pace to prove them wrong. By now, I couldn’t even tell the speed in which I was running. My mind was almost completely detached from my body. It was in a faraway thought, a fictional or maybe realistic story.

Yet he doesn’t give up.

And I only stop when I’m in the center of an old neighborhood filled with abandoned and decaying houses. All of them looked pristine and perfect, if you ignored the frailness, emptiness and silence that enveloped them. I could only guess on the quantity of dust that covered the walls, furniture and floor of the houses and the treasures, secrets and memories that hid within those nearly ancient walls.

I turned my head around, observing every house, every window, every front porch, looking for her or anyone who could help me find her. “Harriet!” I shouted, shattering the silence. I heard some birds flying away due to the sudden noise and the silent response I received from the few chilly winds that blew the hair away from my face.

The sudden brush with a cooler temperature made some shivers go up my spine. Only then I noticed that the sun had almost fully set and the sky was tinted with the darkest of blues. And that I wasn’t wearing my jacket.

“Harriet!” I yelled again. My voice filled with exasperation. I paced around in a circle trying to see some sort of movement, anything other than the dead silence that surrounded me. I felt the blood draining from my face, worry fillings its place in my veins and arteries. The neighborhood started spinning around me, her voice message replaying in my mind as the images around me blurred and sharpened. I sat on the ground, finally giving in to my bodies resting desires, and buried my face in my hands.

Nobody could leave their backs unprotected, for they could be attacked. The blood was surrounding me; its sight in every direction I faced was making me nauseated. The climate was violent, something that would scar us for years to come, something that no child or infant could bear to witness for their innocence would be eternally lost and forgotten.

My sword was getting heavier with the souls it stole, the lives it destroyed; my arms were aching with its weight; my shoulders were giving in to the pressure of guilt that mounted them.

Alas, I finally managed to meet face-to-face with the leader of their army. Harriet had already spoken of him to me and Derek, so we knew what to expect. He was one of the youngest members of the Supreme Court, the only great-grandson of the wisest and highest of the entities in the palace, being older than be by mere years and taller by a couple of inches.

We were clueless about each others strengths and weaknesses, so at that point, it was all a fair fight. Neither of us was playing the role of the attack, both of us held a defense stance. Technically, I was supposed to attack because we were the ones revolting, but the rage, which painted his chocolate eyes with fire, could trigger an attack from him at any moment.

The war continued around us, but it seemed like we had created a magnetic field that wouldn’t let anyone but us inside. Our stares became more intense – his was warm and menacing, mine was icy and patient. Both were fixated, neither would turn away. Someone had to attack for this was one staring competition where no one could possibly win.

I decided to be audacious and aimed my sword at his throat. I had spent some time calculating the exact spot I had to hit and the angle in which I had to strike, to kill with just one blow: what I would’ve done as a murderer applying theories learned at school to a real life situation. Just as the blade was about to establish contact with his skin, his blade met mine. His reactions were too fast and lacked any sort of hesitation, so I couldn’t use spontaneous attacks to my advantage.

He held his tight grip on the sword in the same position, so neither blade would pierce his skin, and then with one kick, he pushed me away. This was the real deal. This wasn’t a duel, this was a real fight, one where brutality could be used and death was unavoidable for one opponent.

Without even giving me an opportunity to recover from the harsh kick, he attacked, by trying to stab me in my chest, but I used all my speed to block it. I needed to find a way to defeat him, since agility wasn’t my strong point. This seemed reminiscent of the duel I had with Derek. Nobody had won, but this time, somebody will be just another body bleeding on the ground painted in red.

Analyzing his every move, trying to find his Achilles heel while blocking every blow he tried to give, I couldn’t find anything to use against him. Then when I pushed him away, from the corner of my eye, I saw her. She had finally joined us and was fighting discreetly against the enemy army. She was great at fighting, didn’t need any help. Her eyes met mine and my opponent noticed that I was distracted and also my distraction.

I didn’t even have time to react. He left our magnetic field and sprung forward to attack Harriet. She had just finished off one guy who didn’t stand a chance at all, when his sword was thrusted forward aiming straight for her stomach. She dodged the attack and tried her best to defend herself. I was making my way through the crowd, but people were attacking me on the way, so they were costing me precious time.

Blood covered my arms, stained my forehead, chin and cheeks and dyed my shirt with red blotches. Sweat coated my forehead mixing with the blood, some drops dropping on the ground beneath me. My arms ached from the weight and from the movement. And people were still in my way, so I kept fighting.

The floor was serving as a morgue, due to the lifeless bodies and body parts from those who were more unfortunate and even more kept on falling joining those already staining the ground. I was struggling to keep her in my view, while slaying as many soldiers of the rival army. I could see her from time to time, whenever someone else would fall to the ground. She was struggling as well. And I could tell he was whispering words to her. I needed to go there and help her. Not many people were in front of me.
I gave up in asking the narrator to stop. It wouldn’t. This was exactly like hearing the story of my life with metaphoric and parallel references. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t find her, but I wouldn’t give up yet. I couldn’t stop the story from writing itself mentally, but I could only wait for what would happen next.

Suddenly, I hear a shriek, a loud shriek. I followed its source, running and screaming her name with all the energy I had left. It came from one of the alleys I had passed by in the road. Then I heard a gun shot. I froze. It can’t be her, I thought, it just can’t. And screamed louder.

The next time I saw her, I heard a scream, a piercing scream. The pale, sweaty, bloodstained face before me disappeared and I saw her, his sword had penetrated her top abdomen. That’s when everything in my head exploded: every value, all the composure. I didn’t care about those who attacked me; I just pushed them out of my way, dodging swords, getting some minor cuts, when the blades met my skin.

I tried to push my sword through his back, but his agility got the best of me. We were once again with tight grips on our unmoving swords. At that point, I couldn’t even think, I faked an attack to his chest, and when he blocked it, I kicked him just between his legs. He immediately dropped his sword and I started kicking and punching him. He fell to the ground and I sat on top of him, beating his face, until he was unconscious. Then I walked over to the barely conscious body behind me: Harriet.

Gasping for air, I saw her still body lying on the cold concrete floor. Blood soaked her pale blue sweater in the area between her heart and stomach. It looked more like a wine stain, except it was more opaque and dark red. A chill went up my spine, and there was no wind. My face became pale. And I ran towards her, scraping my knees when I fell to the ground next to her. “Harriet,” I whispered “can you hear me?”

I checked her wrist for her pulse and brought my ear close to her lips and nose to see any sign of breathing, any sign of life. She was alive. There was no sign of the guy who did it to her. I had no idea of his identity, but I knew that if I saw him, the urge to beat him into a bloody pulp would be too big to ignore. Her head moved after hearing the sound of my voice. Her eyes opened a bit, but her green irises were only visible for the few seconds they stayed open. Her voice was low and weak, barely audible. “Kaleb, I’m sorry…”

“Harriet, listen to me, everything will be alright. I’m going to get help. Please, hold on.” I tried to sound as calm as I could, but my heart was beating incredibly fast and I was panicking. Her lips opened once again.

“Don’t leave…” I held her hand and promised her I wouldn’t abandon her. I checked my mobile phone for a signal. There wasn’t one. So I ripped some part of my shirt sleeve and put it on top of her wound and applied some pressure, and then I carried her body in my arms. Her head was tilting back, to the ground and her legs and arms were swinging as I ran, fighting exhaustion, to find help.

I was too tired, but I didn’t care. I needed help. The piece of cloth on her wound was already red and soaked, so I ran faster. When we were in a more populated area, I started shouting for help. Some people noticed and started calling for an ambulance. She was losing a lot of blood. I kept checking her pulse and her breath as I waited for the ambulance. Just to make sure that she was still with me and that she didn’t give up.

By the time the ambulance arrived, my arms were soaked in blood and my forehead from when I wiped the sweat off it. They let me in, and I sat next to Harriet watching her closely. She was already connected to some medical things, but I didn’t pay attention, I just looked at her and thought about the risks we took by not telling the police. I was so stupid. So, so stupid. I was too absorbed in a world that didn’t exist and in a love that I care too much about. I forgot about being rational. I forgot about common sense. What do you do when you’re being threatened? Call the police, or at least call anybody!

I buried my face in my bloody hands as everything finally sunk in. Harriet could die. Harriet had to live. She can’t die. I watched her. My Harriet. No, she can’t be gone yet. She’ll live. She’s too full of life to have such a tragic death at a young age. She’ll live. She will. I wrapped my hand around hers to assure myself of that thought. The faint pulse in her veins is letting me know that she’s still there.

The siren blasting loud in my ears and the sound of the paramedics talking about Harriet, but I just maintained my eyes on hers, everything else a blur. Mine wide open, hers closed shut. I wanted to see her eyes. I couldn’t help thinking: what if she doesn’t wake up? Isn’t that a thought you struggle to ignore when someone you love is unconscious and in risk of dying?

The way to the hospital was short, but with me perpetual worry, everything seemed like an eternity. The beeping sounds coming from the machines, the IV on her arm, the speed in which they transported her out of the ambulance and through the hospital doors, and the way she was rushed into the emergency room – everything was surreal, everything was a really horrible nightmare. Unlike a nightmare though, everything was real.

I couldn’t go with her, so I had to let go of her hand. I was sent to the waiting room. I had nothing against hospitals, on a normal day, I would actually find it peaceful and not mind it, but at that moment, the white and sterilized environment of the hospital was driving me insane. I wasn’t alone in the waiting room, there were more people, but I didn’t pay attention to them. It wasn’t like me to not observe everything around me, but I was fighting the urge to hit my head on the wall. This could’ve all been prevented. We wouldn’t be here.

Eventually, I sat down on one of the chairs with my hands running through my hair. I had no idea how I looked like at that point. I hadn’t seen my reflection, but from the few things I had managed to notice about the people in the waiting room were the odd glares they gave me. I probably looked like someone who had just been in a fight: blood staining my shirt and pants, some streaks of red in my hands, face and hair and my knees were dirty from when I kneeled on the ground next to Harriet.

I was exhausted, angry, nervous… A mix of emotions ran through my veins. I wasn’t one person who cried, I didn’t normally cry, but I couldn’t take it all, so tears were forming in the corners of my eyes.

Time passed slowly.

The salty water from the tears and sweat were mixing with the blood and when they dropped onto the floor, forming extremely small puddles on the white floor, were slightly pink. Many pink polka dots were forming on the blank floor like pink stars painting a white sky. My eyes were burning as the sweat made contact with my eyelids. The blood on my sleeves had dried, and my left sleeve was shorter, from the part I had ripped off. I used wiped my tears on a clean spot of my shirt, staining it even more.

I looked at my cell phone and it was already night, past dinner time. My parents weren’t at home, they had a dinner party. They would stay until late. I felt hungry. I had wasted too much energy that day, but I couldn’t eat. I was too worried. I needed to know that everything was going to be alright. By that time, I could’ve been with Harriet right now in her bed laughing about pointless things, but I wasn’t.

And the seconds ticked very slowly.

Deciding I couldn’t stay still any longer, I got up and started pacing back and forth around the small room. People were leaving and people were entering, all with the same expression of worry as they entered and relief or grief when they left. I heard the doctors coming in to call them to either see their friends or relatives or to deliver bad news.

I had been there for more than two hours, but it seemed like a day. Impatience was wearing over me. I sat down again and closed my eyes a bit. When I opened again, the waiting room was empty. I was the only person inside. Not much time had passed. I needed to go to the bathroom.

The bathroom was empty when I entered it too, but as I went to see my reflection in the mirror and was my face and hands, someone entered to clean the bathroom, a middle-aged man. He saw my face and started cleaning around before asking “What happened to you?” I shrugged my shoulders, finally seeing my reflection. I was in a worse state than I imagined. Anyone that saw me would think that I had just murdered someone. Talking about murderer, the narrator in my head had suddenly disappeared. And I was having a block in the story, as if it was destined to be unfinished.

I splashed water into my face and washed away the blood. Then washed my hair too, seeing red water go down the drain. When I was done, my hair was dripping and only my shirt was left bloodstained. I still hadn’t answered the man. “Rough day?” He asked again.

“Yeah,” I responded. My voice was a lot calmer than it had been earlier. “Really rough…” I added. The man nodded empathetically, probably used to seeing people with that worried expression. He tossed me a small clean towel and told me to dry my hair so I wouldn’t get constipated. I thanked him. It was still damp when I left the bathroom. I walked into the waiting room. It was still empty. I sat on the chair again and looked at the time on my mobile phone.

I was about to close my eyes, to see if I could calm my mind of all the stressful thoughts with a brief sleep, when I heard someone approaching the room. My body immediately sprung upright as I waited for whoever was going to enter.

A tall figure entered holding a clipboard in his hand. He was wearing a white robe over a pale blue shirt and black pants. His expression was unreadable. A doctor must have incredible emotional strength to be able to deliver news to his patients’ loved ones, especially when it’s bad news. He saw me, checked his clipboard and asked “Kaleb Sturm?” I got up, nodded and shook his hand. “I’m doctor Parlson. You’re here on behalf of Harriet Reid, if I’m not mistaken.” I nodded. “Well…” He started. I was anxious, taking deep breaths, as I awaited the news.