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She’s running. Through empty hallways, turning corners. Her breath unsteady, a insistent buzz in her ears that replaced the voice, the voice she is following . The white of the walls is also in the doors, in her clothes. Hospital clothes. Someone is following her, she can hear footsteps, hundreds of them. They are catching up, she thinks, they’re getting close. Her legs work faster, and she doesn’t seem to be breathing. Somehting hard gets in her way and she collides with it, a sharp pain spreading on her skull. She steps back, stumbling on her own feet and ending on the floor. The footsteps now followed by voices, so familiar, that it scares her.
The girl struggles into a sitting position, backing against the cold wall she knocked herself on seconds ago. She elevates her shaky hand to her upper lip, frowning when her fingertips came out stained of blood. The sharp stink of her nose still there, she could hear her heartbeating, resounding in her ears. The voices getting louder, closer, she couldn’t help but wonder. A pair of feet appeared on her line of sight and her head shoot up.
The boy standing in front of her held a white gun, that looked giant in his tiny hand. His small finger placed on the trigger, a blank expression on his face. He din’t look like he was the same boy who knocked on her door many times before because of bad dreams, even though he had the same light eyes and jet black hair as their mother.
“Do it,” Said another familiar voice, “do it, kid.”
Standing behind him, a tall man, with the same bleak eyes. He had his hair cut short, almost completely shaved. He wore a white, long sleeves shirt underneath a bulletproof vest. He looked down at the bleeding girl on the floor, and, for a split of time she saw recognition on his eyes, but after it, they turned empty again. Like a lost sailor, in the middle of the ocean. An ocean she only knew by the stories told by her mother when she was just a girl, unaware of what the world had become after the war, of all the sand and all the skeletons.
The boy kept staring at her with big eyes and no expression, she mouthed ‘please’, not sure if he’d understand her, or even care that she was begging for her life. The tall man called his name in an angry tune, looking at him with a frown and an urgent look. He let out a groan and put his hand over the kid’s, pointing the gun at the ginger on the floor. He leaned in and threatened:
“Do it or i will.”
Nodding, the kid took a deep breath and turned his head to the opposite wall. She lets a shaky sigh leave her lips and squeezed her eyes shut, like it could make all of that go away. Like the darkness could take her away from it. There was a sharp sound and she woke up with a squirm.
“Thrill?”
Thriller looked down at the kid sleeping in her arms, his hair was a tangle of blackness and his eyes looked so beautiful under the moonlight. They found an old pharmacy and curled up in the shabby piece of cloth they found, holding both their jackets around their shaky bodies, wraping their limbs together, desperate for heat.
“Are you alright?” He asked, in a concerned voice. She couldn’t help but smile, nodding and saying in the most relaxed voice she could.
“Yeah,” She sighed. “I am.”
“Bad dream?”
Thriller looked at the moon’s reflex in the broken glass of the window. She was almost ashamed of having nightmares.
“You were calling his name..”
She looked into her brother’s eyes, expecting pity, but all she found was understanding. He grabbed her hand and squeezed, as an act of comfort. She squeezed back. He tucked his head back into her chest and closed his eyes. Her lips curled into a smile and she rested her chin on top of his head. She looked at the moon once more and wondered what it was thinking about them, thought about the stars gossiping about them.
She wondered if they knew where her brother might be, if they thought his smile was charming, if they looked out for him. She prayed for them to do so.