P.O.V: Elizabeth Harmon.
Something was wrong. I knew it the second I saw those buildings rebuild themselves back from having being collapsed. I was running through an unfamiliar street, not knowing why I was running or where I was running to.
This is all wrong, I think to myself, and I halt my running, surprised I could actually do it. It shouldn’t be like this.
These were not the streets of my old neighborhood. No, I didn’t recognize these streets at all. My feet took off again, not knowing where, as if I was a puppet, pulled by strings invisible to my eyes. Unlike the other time I was in this type of trance, there were people walking the streets. The buildings were too different, the weather too hot, to be from my old home. I stopped after feeling like I had been running for twenty minutes, and paused behind of a wall of people, starring at something I couldn’t see. They looked to bee looking at an ally that was just off the sidewalk. I tried pushing my way to the front, my curiosity winning out over my hesitation. There was a murmuring going on between the people, and though I couldn’t hear anything specific, I could tell that what they were seeing was nothing good. Once I’d managed to shove the last few remaining people out of my way, my breath caught in my throat. Where there should’ve been just a dead end allyway, now showed the wall that should’ve lead nowhere, blown to pieces. The walls and buildings beside the alleyway showed similar, but nothing close, damages as the wall. Behind the now blown up wall was buildings. Not our buildings at the base, but it was very clear that it had once been a base. I ran toward the hole in the wall, resisting the hands trying to pull me back, and stood in what used to be soft grass. Now the grass was burnt and dead, like the buildings. There were less buildings than my base had, just two, though they were both bigger than ours. Or, used to be. Now the buildings looked like they might collapse, their brick exterior charred and burnt, the buildings had obviously been aflame for a long time before being put out.
Who’s base was this? I thought miserably, feeling tears cascading down my cheeks. Who’s home was this? Because that was what it was, a home. I knew that, even in the daze I’ve been in for the past week, I’ve never felt more at home than in that base. It was oddly comforting. And I’ve never felt more safe, despite it being a war zone. But there were things more horrifying- the bodies. There were bodies layered on the ground, each appearing more horrific than the last. My feet moved slowly toward one of the buildings, my eyes taking in the horrible scene. The door had been ripped from it’s hinges and thrown a few feet away, leaving me free to enter. I couldn’t tell if there had been any writing on the walls like in our base, it was too scorched to have a hope of making anything out if there was. I was careful as I made my way up the rickety burnt stairs, trying to avoid any ones that might break on me. A feeling told me that this is where I needed to go, that there was something up there I needed to see. It became obvious as I headed up the second fight of stairs, that this is where they slept. My feet pulled me toward the end of the hall, to one of the last bedrooms. I just barely layed my hands on the door, and it swung open, parts of it breaking from the contact. The room seemed to have had paint of some color, but all that remained of the wall now was blackened and crispy, making the room look dark and sullen. There was ash where what looked like there should’ve been drawrs, and barely anything left to be called bed frames. Except for one. One was, oddly, perfectly fine. Not a hint of ash or mark of a burn. Even more disturbing? There was someone sitting on the bed, and the someone was no stranger. I ran to him and wrapped my arms around him, the tears coming down my face faster. Brannon was in a ruffled blue t-shirt and blue jeans, like the clothes he wore the last time he visited home. I clung to him, because I knew that at some point, I would be forced to let go. Because I knew that this wasn’t real, that he was gone, and that this was all fake. A fragment of my imagination, but still, I clung to him- terrified of what would happen if I let go.
“It’s alright Liz,” Brannon murmered against my shoulder, hugging me.
I shook my head, my hair was surely wacking him in the face, but he said nothing about it. “No, Brannon, nothing is okay!” I found myself shaking against him. I managed to unwrap my arms from around him and sit across from him, still crying.
“No, nothing is going to be okay. You’re- you’re” I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t bring myself to finish my sentence, because the hard truth was unbearable.
“I know Liz.” the words that just came off his mouth surprised me. His eyes were sad, but also filled with understanding. And for some weird reason, that made me mad.
“Why would you leave?” I whispered angrily.
I wasn’t even talking about him dying anymore, I was talking about when he first told me he was going to join the Gate Keepers. I had been so mad at him, our mother had just died, and he was going off with Keira to fight a war he had no place in! And look where that got him, a part of my mind told me, but I payed no attention to it.
“You knew you could die, and you left me and dad there!” I was yelling at him now. “Do you know how long I cried when they told me? Or do you even care?” He looked me over and sighed, like I was a child upset over a toy. Like I didn’t understand.
“Of course I care about you guys, of course I do! That’s the main reason I joined this damn war Liz!” he defended himself, his voice raising louder with anger of his own. Even when we were little, we would both get mad when the other one was, an odd thing we’d picked up and have carried on throughout the years.
“Do you remember when you turned thirteen, and you were in your class when the Order dropped that bomb on the school?” his voice had quieted some, but his eyes still held the same hard look about them.
I nodded. The Order had been the one to take the credit for bombing my school all those years ago. A lot of the students and teachers had perished before help could arrive, some of my friends even died in the flame. There were a couple of mutant kids that the Order wanted gone, but they wanted to make a statement to anyone who was thinking of going against them. The kids died, and the tactic worked.
“When you came home that day, I told myself that I needed to protect you, what if you were one of the kids that died? And there was only one way to protect you, Liz.” I started to understand what he was saying. Because it was the same reason I wanted to be a Missionary at first, because I thought I would be helping my brother in a way- protecting him.
“Liz, you knew you could die when you agreed to the job, just like me. Things happen, Elizabeth, not everything goes as plan. I wanted to be there for you, Liz, for you and dad both. This war will continue, with or without us- I can’t fight this war anymore Liz, but you can.” Somehow, I knew what it was that he was really saying: I’m counting on you.
We both looked down at the hallway to see bright red and blue flames start to engulf the building. It carried to the bedrooms and the already burnt building became aflame once more. The room started to sway and I heard voices that didn’t belong. Brannon’s fingers grasped my hand and before I could pass out, I hear him say,
“I love you Elizabeth, never forget that.”
____________________________________________________________________
Renae was standing over me, shaking my shoulders, trying to wake me as Mia’s alarm clock rang loud and clear throughout the room.
“I’m up, I’m up.” I grumble, just as the memory of the dream hit me with full force. Renae could see there was something wrong, could read it on my face.
“Liz, what’s wrong? Another nightmare?” she asked.
“No, it’s fine. It’s okay, everything’s okay.” I found myself repeating my brother’s words, and weirder, I found the truth in them. Though she didn’t seem convinced, she nodded anyway.
Because, I finally understood what they had all been telling me from the beginning. The odd dream of my brother had been somewhat of a slap of reality for me. That being a Missionary was hard- impossible, even- but you have to keep doing it. Not for me, like Thomas had said, but for him. For revenge, a revenge that I had seen in all their eyes, and was now surely, in mine as well. I felt a new sense of determination- a determination to, no matter how depressing or awful it got, to continue. Because someone had to finish what people like Cayla and Brannon started. I knew that now. Or else it had no meaning, no purpose- and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stand that. I had a new meaning, a new strive. I was going to kill every member of the Blood Order that is within my reach. Right up until I have a gun in my hand, a bullet in it’s chamber, aimed strait at Da Kenshi’s face. Right up until I breathed my last breath, or until this war ends.
Whichever comes first, I suppose.
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