Oh and I'm not sure how I feel about it because I just wrote it today, so tomorrow there may have been some changes made, once I've slept on it.
And now we dream:
It always started the same. The morning light poured through the bus windows, bouncing off the metal walls creating a glare in everyone’s eyes.
No one knew what was about to happen.
The stench of hockey gear hung in the air, so they'd cracked all the windows, and blasted the heat trying to counter the winter’s chill as it climbed in through the open spaces.
Darren knew something was wrong, but he couldn't put a finger on what it was. Something was going to happen, he could feel it, but why couldn't he remember?
And then, just like always, it was bright; so very, very bright.
It happened in an instant, flying through the air, spinning being tossed around. Then the movement stopped and he landed hard.
All he could see was red. Blood flowed over his fingers, clinging to his skin and sticking in the cuticles of his nails. An aching pain started to spread through him originating at his knees before reverberating off every bone in his body. He shook from agony, and reached up to wipe the blood from his face, but his hand fell short and he didn’t know why. He glanced down to see why. His left hand was completely gone, his arm cut off at the elbow. Only one of his legs was intact; the other, his right leg, was a bloody mess, his femur had sliced through his skin and was facing away from him, ripping through his shorts. His stomach rolled and the world spun around him, tears of horror filled his eyes- he was going to be sick.
He looked up then, anything to distract him to push the nausea away, his frightened green eyes darting around for the first time. It looked like the bus had been split in half; broken glass lay everywhere and the back of the bus had been completely obliterated the metal torn to shreds. Seats were thrown every which way, strewn across the pavement where he lay; a violent road burn crept across every inch of his exposed skin, scarring his body. He was outside the yellow metal of the bus, but so were row upon row of destroyed seats. Bodies were sticking up across the asphalt field of death at odd angles.
Some were moving, some weren't.
Darren screamed. His voice lost, smothered by the other boys moans. Just as soon as he opened his mouth he closed it, resigning himself to silence, there was no use in screaming. His voice was just one of many blending into wails of agony.
The pain started to dull, a light airy feeling passing over him, and he started to panic. He could feel his own heartbeat escalating feel as it jumped into his throat and caused his breaths to come in shallow gasps. He was fifteen he couldn’t die; not now not yet. He was just fifteen! His body screamed at him to focus, to think of something, anything to stay lucid…
Then he remembered.
It was happening again, how could it be happening again?
Where was Liam? He scrambled forwards, using his intact hand to propel himself across the scattered leather remnants of the bus seats, into the aisle. A piece of bus teetered above him, the leg of an overturned seat. It fell. There was a crack as it landed on his back, spasms of pain spread from the point of impact across his side wrapping themselves around his chest cavity and squeezing. A grunt of pain escaped his lips but it would take too much energy to cry out, energy he didn’t have. He couldn’t even call out to Liam worried he’d pass out from the strain. Everyone else had the energy, somehow; he could hear their shouts for help, screams for their mothers.
He reached out to where his best friend had been, shoving the chair leg away with his good hand before pulling himself around the bend. And there was Liam, lying in a pool of blood, twitching tiny moans escaping his lips. Using what was left of his strength, he propelled himself forwards as best he could, landing next to Liam with a thud, the pain in his chest growing tighter. He couldn't breath.
“Dar-ren…” his name was broken; Liam choked it out struggling to catch his breath. Darren saw it then, the blood pouring from his best friend throat. A cut an inch wide was pulsing in tune with Liam’s pounding heart as it let his life force drain out of him. Immediately Darren reached over, his hand clutching at the gash firmly trying with all his might to hold it closed. But the world was blurring, the numbness spreading, he couldn't feel his chest anymore and he’d almost forgotten his leg was being held in place by a thread, could only remember his hand wasn’t there because he couldn’t use it.
“Darren…” Liam gasped “don’t…let go, please…and tell Leah…” he coughed, blood spotting the corners of his mouth, dyeing his teeth red.
“I’m sorry.” Liam coughed again, blood spattering across Darren’s face. Darren nodded, just once. The world blurred, the screams faded, his grasp loosened and the blood was free to flow.
Darren was standing over his own body now, watching as his hand let go, and Liam's eye rolled back into his head. He just stood there, watching as he let his friend die, as he gave into the numbness, listening to the sirens as they penetrated the dying moans of the other boys. The other voices became faint, and the edges of the world began to dull, Liam inhaled once, and then was gone. And Darren just lay there, unmoving.
“Liam!” Darren awoke screaming, his hands shaking like they had when he’d let go of Liam’s wound. He threw his covers off, glancing down at his legs at the large white scar that stretched up his right thigh, a constant reminder. His left hand shook slightly with the memory of its ultimate failure. His right hand hadn’t been strong enough to hold the wound closed, if his left hand had been there then maybe Liam wouldn’t have died. The scar around his elbow cast off the same ashen glow as the one on his thigh. The scars were composed of thick bumps and dips that wound across his skin in intricate designs, like large pieces of rope holding him together; permanent fixtures on his body. He'd gotten his arm reattached, or replanted as the doctors said. It had been what his step mother called a miracle. Not enough of a miracle though because Liam hadn't been so lucky.
The scars would never let him forget that he’d let his best friend die.