Post by Camila Reyes on May 11, 2014 19:32:45 GMT -5
(I don't usually write things this dark, but I was just thinking about how Camila would react to everything and this was born. I wouldn't recommend reading this if you're in a particularly good mood, it will probably ruin in. ^^; )
The sound of gunshots echoed loudly, mixed with the sound of commands being screamed by both high-pitched young voices and low-pitched older voices. Students already lay on the ground, bleeding as they tried their hardest to fight the pain and continue on. Several bodies were scattered in the courtyard, not too far from where wounded students battled men with guns. The forest had become overrun with injured students, who were limping or were carried to safety before the healers set to work. Winces and cries of pain could be heard from everywhere on the island, even the beach, which had once been a sanctuary of temporary peace in the war between the prefects and the battle front. The war being waged on the island at the current moment had claimed many more lives than the simple scuffle between the school’s protectors and the school’s rebels. At that moment, the battle front and prefects fought against the agents, giving it their all so that they would survive. While murder was not often the intention, it was the only option if the teens desired their lives.
A few steps outside the entrance to the West Tower of the school, a young woman raised a cupped, pale hand, which held a see-through yellow orb that seemed to increase in size as time passed. After a minute, she pulled her arm back and hurled the sphere with all her might, letting out a noise as she ran as fast as she could to avoid the gun shots aimed in her direction. She ran up the stairs of the tower, finding an empty room with a “window” that she could throw spheres out of. She peeled her damp, chocolate brown bangs from her face, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her racing heart and soothe her burning lungs. She smelled smoke and opened her eyes, sharply turning her head to the left to see the east end of the building engulfed in flames. The thought of students being consumed by the ravenous fire made her stomach turn, but she geared herself up for another attack, feeling a cluster of pain gather in the back of her head. She knew that she would pass out soon; she had been alternating between healing and attacking for a long time. She managed to gather her remaining energy and send a blast of yellow at the people storming the door to where she was hiding. Much to her dismay, though, only several fell backward down the stairs. The two or three remaining approached her, brandishing guns that would surely finish her off. She swallowed thickly before the butt of one was jammed against her throat, sending a jolt of pain signals to her brain. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable ‘boom’ that would end her wretched existence in a world that never wanted her in the first place…
She woke with a loud yelp, suddenly feeling the cold sweat against her skin and the rapid beating of her heart in her chest. She looked around frantically, realizing after a moment that she was in the dark of a room. She squinted her blue eyes, trying to adjust them to the dark so that she could see better. Without realizing it, she had started rocking back and forth, crossing her arms in front of her chest and rubbing her upper arms with her open palms. The sound of footsteps startled her and she snatched up the pocketknife that she kept on the post of her bed, flicking it open and holding out in front of her. The intruder put up his or her hands and let out a surprised noise, gesturing for her to put the object down. She further narrowed her eyes, still trying to make out the form of the other person. All she could tell was that the person was wearing some kind of pink scrubs and, at that moment, she felt like a moron. She pushed the blade back into the pocket knife and let out a sigh, placing the red object back on her bed post.
“You’re gunnin’ to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?”
Her tone was sarcastic as she spoke, though her voice shook, as if she were terrified of something. The person approached her, lightly sitting on the edge of her bed and patting her pale hand. She shook her head, brushing her brown bangs out of her blue eyes, which bore into the eyes of the nurse who had come to check on her. Of course, she was at home, but that did not mean that she was well-adjusted by any means. After all, it had had been mere months ago that she was freed from the ‘prison’ the United States government had trapped her in. The word prison made her shiver and clench her teeth; she had been wrong upon her arrival, the school itself was not a prison, but rather, it was the dungeon that was a prison. The thought made her clench her eyes shut and bite back a small sob. The soft voice of the nurse soothed her, trying to tell her that things would be okay and that she was safe. All she could do was let out a half-hearted snort, nodding to indicate that she understood what the nurse was saying. I’ll never be free of the memories, she thought to herself, sitting back against her headboard as the nurse left the room. She massaged her forehead, feeling the panic in her chest die down. She glanced at the wall that was facing her; the only thing that was hanging on it was a diploma from Ashford, not that it meant much. All of the colleges she wanted to apply to had refused her because she was gifted and ‘a danger to other students’. She let out a heavy sigh and pushed herself out of bed, starting to pace across the hardwood floor. The emptiness of the house seemed to echo her nervous footsteps endlessly, putting her even more on edge and causing her to tremble a little. She simply continued to pace until the sun peeked through the blinds, and she had to get ready to go to her group therapy session.
The faces before her were still unfamiliar, despite the fact that she had been with the same group for nearly a month now. The first person to speak told the story of the awful time he was forced to watch as the loyalists of a country beat his friend and fellow soldier to death with stones before shooting him repeatedly to kill him. A woman told the story of the brutal attack that left her more or less agoraphobic. A teenage boy recounted the tale of being in the car attack that killed his parents and left him paralyzed from the waist down. They all described the random, striking moments of terror that she herself knew the feeling of all too well. They described the nightmares that seemed to follow them out of their sleep, much like her own did. At last, it was her turn to describe the horrors that had happened on the island that had simultaneously given her people to care about and then took them away. Hell, she had no idea how many had died or how many had escaped in the nick of time, like she had. Regardless, she finally opened her mouth to recount the horrible events that had led her to the current session she had been sitting in for half an hour.
After the session, the therapist gently grabbed the young woman’s arm, making her flinch. The woman smiled softly at the young woman and said to her, “Visiting the place might help you heal, Camila. You sound so bitter all of the time; I want you to get better, not worse.” The young woman lightly pulled her arm from the older woman’s grip and curtly thanked her before leaving the office and slamming the door behind her. She pulled her brown hair back into a ponytail, feeling suddenly weighed down by emotion. She knew the older woman was right; she had to go back in order to heal properly. But how could she? Her comrades were dead; how could she, a survivor, dare disturb the resting place of her fellow battle front members as well as the resting place of the prefects and neutrals, her fellow students? Who was she to do such a thing? How could she face the destruction of a place that she had come to begrudgingly accept at her home? How could she get to the abandoned island anyway? All of these questions buzzed in her head as she walked out of the complex and down the block, looking around her at the bustling city. What had possessed her to move to Philadelphia of all places, she would never quite understand, but she supposed that a large, crowded city would be a more suitable place to live than a small, uncrowded suburb. She had not changed much since she was sixteen; she still had no desire to make friends with people unless she thought they were worthy of her trust. Of course, she was a lot more humble than she was back then, but that was not the point. She headed back to her house, letting out a soft sigh as she pulled out her cell phone and made a call.
Just as she had guessed, the island was deserted, save for the ones who had given their lives to help the survivors live. The thought of her fellow students perishing made her clutch her chest, her had positioned a little to the left, where her heart was beating. She felt tears sting her eyes as she saw people that she had smacked into in the hallway lying in the dirt and ashes, pale as ghosts that had come back to haunt the old castle-turned-high school. The thought of ghosts made her laugh sadly, feeling the hot tears from her eyes trail down her cheeks. It had been months since she had cried for the fallen. She thought for sure that the well of sadness within her when she thought of those who had perished had run dry in the days after she had managed to escape. But yet, here she was, just months after the fall, and once again, crystalline drops were falling from her eyes as she tread carefully, making sure that the soles of her shoes avoided the bodies of the dead. I wish I would have brought some marigolds, she thought to herself, looking slightly disappointed. Maybe some purple hyacinths too. It would have brought some color to this drab graveyard, she thought, starting to look saddened. Marigold, grief. Purple hyacinth, please forgive me. Grief for the students who had perished and a plea for forgiveness that she had lived and they had not. She should have been dead, but she was not. She was alive and had to live with the fact that some dear friends had either died in battle or died of their injuries. She suddenly paused in her walking, thankfully stopping in a clear path. She dropped to her knees and began to pray softly, wondering in the back of her mind what she was doing. Her faith had been sorely tested since her parents’ slaughter, and yet, she was kneeling in the grass in the courtyard of the school that had basically emotionally and physically scarred her for life. After finishing her prayer, she rose to her feet again and brushed a hand against her side. She felt the bumpy scar and let out a soft sigh, trying not to let another vivid memory consume her. After all, she was likely to wake up to another nightmare; she always did. It was just her burden in life and she had to live with it.
She walked toward the school slowly, letting her eyes close as her feet crossed the familiar cobblestones. She heard phantom voices in her ears, calling out her. Mila! There you are! I haven’t seen you in ages! We need to hang out some time! Camila! How’s your hand? Listen, I’m really sorry about that whole thing… Her eyes snapped open again as she felt her foot bump against something. She avoided what she had walked into and muttered a sincere apology, hoping she had not displaced the soul that was surely floating around, aimless and trying to find peace. She took a deep breath in before speaking softly, looking ashamed.
“Paz, mis amigos. Paz.”
She ran her hand along the blackened walls of the West Tower. She was surprised that this end of the school had been preserved. The fire had been set on the east side of the school, but oddly, it had not reached the tower. Maybe Carter had Mako stop it before it got this far, she thought with a soft chuckle, her face falling a little bit. Where had the young woman she had once called her big sister gone? Were she and Shark Boy living happily ever after? She hoped so. She would rather the people she had once known be at least a little happy than be like her, wandering around a deserted, scorched island with nothing but death all around her. She wondered to herself how the island did not give off an awful stench, considering the tropical location, but she just figured it was another miracle. She descended the stairs that were contained in the western part of the school, running her hand along the wall to remember the feel of the place that had been her prison for several months. The light from the outside became more and more distant as she walked further and further down. The familiar stench of wet soil and stagnant water filled her nose as she stepped off the last step. She stood on her toes and felt for the rings that once held torches to vaguely illuminate the dungeon. She felt a sudden, sharp pain in her abdomen and winced, doubling over a little. She squeezed her eyes shut as the memories flooded back into her consciousness. The long days and nights she had spent in this place alone were nothing compared to the atrocities that were committed elsewhere while she was held captive. God knows what they did to anyone else they had… she thought as a shiver ran up her spine. She muttered something, though she spoke loud enough for her voice to echo off the walls of the dark, empty cavern that had been her prison for several months. After a few more minutes of standing in the dark, she ran up the stairs, toward the sunlight. She had to get out of the dungeon before the sky around the island turned dark; otherwise, she might have a panic attack.
When she reached the level of the courtyard, she barely stopped before climbing all the way up the stairs to the top of the West Tower. She climbed on the window ledge and managed to shimmy her way up to look out over the destroyed island. The forest was beginning to look unkempt; the sands of the beach were still a little pink; the eastern end of the school was nothing but ash with specs of white. She closed her eyes, opened them again and started to sing softly.
“Say it for me, say it to me, and I’ll leave this life behind me. Say it if it’s worth saving me…”
Camila never returned alone to the place that had basically corrupted her. However, she did manage to arrange a project with some other survivors to respectfully bury the fallen that had given their lives for the freedom of all of the gifted students of Ashford.
The sound of gunshots echoed loudly, mixed with the sound of commands being screamed by both high-pitched young voices and low-pitched older voices. Students already lay on the ground, bleeding as they tried their hardest to fight the pain and continue on. Several bodies were scattered in the courtyard, not too far from where wounded students battled men with guns. The forest had become overrun with injured students, who were limping or were carried to safety before the healers set to work. Winces and cries of pain could be heard from everywhere on the island, even the beach, which had once been a sanctuary of temporary peace in the war between the prefects and the battle front. The war being waged on the island at the current moment had claimed many more lives than the simple scuffle between the school’s protectors and the school’s rebels. At that moment, the battle front and prefects fought against the agents, giving it their all so that they would survive. While murder was not often the intention, it was the only option if the teens desired their lives.
A few steps outside the entrance to the West Tower of the school, a young woman raised a cupped, pale hand, which held a see-through yellow orb that seemed to increase in size as time passed. After a minute, she pulled her arm back and hurled the sphere with all her might, letting out a noise as she ran as fast as she could to avoid the gun shots aimed in her direction. She ran up the stairs of the tower, finding an empty room with a “window” that she could throw spheres out of. She peeled her damp, chocolate brown bangs from her face, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her racing heart and soothe her burning lungs. She smelled smoke and opened her eyes, sharply turning her head to the left to see the east end of the building engulfed in flames. The thought of students being consumed by the ravenous fire made her stomach turn, but she geared herself up for another attack, feeling a cluster of pain gather in the back of her head. She knew that she would pass out soon; she had been alternating between healing and attacking for a long time. She managed to gather her remaining energy and send a blast of yellow at the people storming the door to where she was hiding. Much to her dismay, though, only several fell backward down the stairs. The two or three remaining approached her, brandishing guns that would surely finish her off. She swallowed thickly before the butt of one was jammed against her throat, sending a jolt of pain signals to her brain. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable ‘boom’ that would end her wretched existence in a world that never wanted her in the first place…
She woke with a loud yelp, suddenly feeling the cold sweat against her skin and the rapid beating of her heart in her chest. She looked around frantically, realizing after a moment that she was in the dark of a room. She squinted her blue eyes, trying to adjust them to the dark so that she could see better. Without realizing it, she had started rocking back and forth, crossing her arms in front of her chest and rubbing her upper arms with her open palms. The sound of footsteps startled her and she snatched up the pocketknife that she kept on the post of her bed, flicking it open and holding out in front of her. The intruder put up his or her hands and let out a surprised noise, gesturing for her to put the object down. She further narrowed her eyes, still trying to make out the form of the other person. All she could tell was that the person was wearing some kind of pink scrubs and, at that moment, she felt like a moron. She pushed the blade back into the pocket knife and let out a sigh, placing the red object back on her bed post.
“You’re gunnin’ to give me a heart attack, aren’t you?”
Her tone was sarcastic as she spoke, though her voice shook, as if she were terrified of something. The person approached her, lightly sitting on the edge of her bed and patting her pale hand. She shook her head, brushing her brown bangs out of her blue eyes, which bore into the eyes of the nurse who had come to check on her. Of course, she was at home, but that did not mean that she was well-adjusted by any means. After all, it had had been mere months ago that she was freed from the ‘prison’ the United States government had trapped her in. The word prison made her shiver and clench her teeth; she had been wrong upon her arrival, the school itself was not a prison, but rather, it was the dungeon that was a prison. The thought made her clench her eyes shut and bite back a small sob. The soft voice of the nurse soothed her, trying to tell her that things would be okay and that she was safe. All she could do was let out a half-hearted snort, nodding to indicate that she understood what the nurse was saying. I’ll never be free of the memories, she thought to herself, sitting back against her headboard as the nurse left the room. She massaged her forehead, feeling the panic in her chest die down. She glanced at the wall that was facing her; the only thing that was hanging on it was a diploma from Ashford, not that it meant much. All of the colleges she wanted to apply to had refused her because she was gifted and ‘a danger to other students’. She let out a heavy sigh and pushed herself out of bed, starting to pace across the hardwood floor. The emptiness of the house seemed to echo her nervous footsteps endlessly, putting her even more on edge and causing her to tremble a little. She simply continued to pace until the sun peeked through the blinds, and she had to get ready to go to her group therapy session.
***
The faces before her were still unfamiliar, despite the fact that she had been with the same group for nearly a month now. The first person to speak told the story of the awful time he was forced to watch as the loyalists of a country beat his friend and fellow soldier to death with stones before shooting him repeatedly to kill him. A woman told the story of the brutal attack that left her more or less agoraphobic. A teenage boy recounted the tale of being in the car attack that killed his parents and left him paralyzed from the waist down. They all described the random, striking moments of terror that she herself knew the feeling of all too well. They described the nightmares that seemed to follow them out of their sleep, much like her own did. At last, it was her turn to describe the horrors that had happened on the island that had simultaneously given her people to care about and then took them away. Hell, she had no idea how many had died or how many had escaped in the nick of time, like she had. Regardless, she finally opened her mouth to recount the horrible events that had led her to the current session she had been sitting in for half an hour.
After the session, the therapist gently grabbed the young woman’s arm, making her flinch. The woman smiled softly at the young woman and said to her, “Visiting the place might help you heal, Camila. You sound so bitter all of the time; I want you to get better, not worse.” The young woman lightly pulled her arm from the older woman’s grip and curtly thanked her before leaving the office and slamming the door behind her. She pulled her brown hair back into a ponytail, feeling suddenly weighed down by emotion. She knew the older woman was right; she had to go back in order to heal properly. But how could she? Her comrades were dead; how could she, a survivor, dare disturb the resting place of her fellow battle front members as well as the resting place of the prefects and neutrals, her fellow students? Who was she to do such a thing? How could she face the destruction of a place that she had come to begrudgingly accept at her home? How could she get to the abandoned island anyway? All of these questions buzzed in her head as she walked out of the complex and down the block, looking around her at the bustling city. What had possessed her to move to Philadelphia of all places, she would never quite understand, but she supposed that a large, crowded city would be a more suitable place to live than a small, uncrowded suburb. She had not changed much since she was sixteen; she still had no desire to make friends with people unless she thought they were worthy of her trust. Of course, she was a lot more humble than she was back then, but that was not the point. She headed back to her house, letting out a soft sigh as she pulled out her cell phone and made a call.
***
Just as she had guessed, the island was deserted, save for the ones who had given their lives to help the survivors live. The thought of her fellow students perishing made her clutch her chest, her had positioned a little to the left, where her heart was beating. She felt tears sting her eyes as she saw people that she had smacked into in the hallway lying in the dirt and ashes, pale as ghosts that had come back to haunt the old castle-turned-high school. The thought of ghosts made her laugh sadly, feeling the hot tears from her eyes trail down her cheeks. It had been months since she had cried for the fallen. She thought for sure that the well of sadness within her when she thought of those who had perished had run dry in the days after she had managed to escape. But yet, here she was, just months after the fall, and once again, crystalline drops were falling from her eyes as she tread carefully, making sure that the soles of her shoes avoided the bodies of the dead. I wish I would have brought some marigolds, she thought to herself, looking slightly disappointed. Maybe some purple hyacinths too. It would have brought some color to this drab graveyard, she thought, starting to look saddened. Marigold, grief. Purple hyacinth, please forgive me. Grief for the students who had perished and a plea for forgiveness that she had lived and they had not. She should have been dead, but she was not. She was alive and had to live with the fact that some dear friends had either died in battle or died of their injuries. She suddenly paused in her walking, thankfully stopping in a clear path. She dropped to her knees and began to pray softly, wondering in the back of her mind what she was doing. Her faith had been sorely tested since her parents’ slaughter, and yet, she was kneeling in the grass in the courtyard of the school that had basically emotionally and physically scarred her for life. After finishing her prayer, she rose to her feet again and brushed a hand against her side. She felt the bumpy scar and let out a soft sigh, trying not to let another vivid memory consume her. After all, she was likely to wake up to another nightmare; she always did. It was just her burden in life and she had to live with it.
She walked toward the school slowly, letting her eyes close as her feet crossed the familiar cobblestones. She heard phantom voices in her ears, calling out her. Mila! There you are! I haven’t seen you in ages! We need to hang out some time! Camila! How’s your hand? Listen, I’m really sorry about that whole thing… Her eyes snapped open again as she felt her foot bump against something. She avoided what she had walked into and muttered a sincere apology, hoping she had not displaced the soul that was surely floating around, aimless and trying to find peace. She took a deep breath in before speaking softly, looking ashamed.
“Paz, mis amigos. Paz.”
She ran her hand along the blackened walls of the West Tower. She was surprised that this end of the school had been preserved. The fire had been set on the east side of the school, but oddly, it had not reached the tower. Maybe Carter had Mako stop it before it got this far, she thought with a soft chuckle, her face falling a little bit. Where had the young woman she had once called her big sister gone? Were she and Shark Boy living happily ever after? She hoped so. She would rather the people she had once known be at least a little happy than be like her, wandering around a deserted, scorched island with nothing but death all around her. She wondered to herself how the island did not give off an awful stench, considering the tropical location, but she just figured it was another miracle. She descended the stairs that were contained in the western part of the school, running her hand along the wall to remember the feel of the place that had been her prison for several months. The light from the outside became more and more distant as she walked further and further down. The familiar stench of wet soil and stagnant water filled her nose as she stepped off the last step. She stood on her toes and felt for the rings that once held torches to vaguely illuminate the dungeon. She felt a sudden, sharp pain in her abdomen and winced, doubling over a little. She squeezed her eyes shut as the memories flooded back into her consciousness. The long days and nights she had spent in this place alone were nothing compared to the atrocities that were committed elsewhere while she was held captive. God knows what they did to anyone else they had… she thought as a shiver ran up her spine. She muttered something, though she spoke loud enough for her voice to echo off the walls of the dark, empty cavern that had been her prison for several months. After a few more minutes of standing in the dark, she ran up the stairs, toward the sunlight. She had to get out of the dungeon before the sky around the island turned dark; otherwise, she might have a panic attack.
When she reached the level of the courtyard, she barely stopped before climbing all the way up the stairs to the top of the West Tower. She climbed on the window ledge and managed to shimmy her way up to look out over the destroyed island. The forest was beginning to look unkempt; the sands of the beach were still a little pink; the eastern end of the school was nothing but ash with specs of white. She closed her eyes, opened them again and started to sing softly.
“Say it for me, say it to me, and I’ll leave this life behind me. Say it if it’s worth saving me…”
***
Camila never returned alone to the place that had basically corrupted her. However, she did manage to arrange a project with some other survivors to respectfully bury the fallen that had given their lives for the freedom of all of the gifted students of Ashford.
