• It Begins

    The house is burning. Red, orange, yellow, faint blue, and dirty black were all convulsing uncontrollably within the wooden cottage, the vile, rancid stench of charred wood unfurling itself swiftly commanding total dominance of the air.
    A girl, around seven or eight judging by how small she appeared, with hair as unruly and wavy as the sea, that cascaded across her shoulders and swathed the round edges of her sun-kissed face in dirty blond tresses, half-lidded cerulean irises that were flecked lightly with gray that ringed dilated pools of black making it seem like she was hypnotized by the meshing colors of death that were slowly lacing their flaming ribbon-like fingers around the blackening flowered hem of the girl’s light blue dress. Her fingers were bound around something round at the center of her chest. Why is she just standing there?
    My mind was frantically attempting to grapple the situation, but was over-analyzing it as usual. Finally it began screaming at the nerves wiring my body to move, to get away from the unfolding scene that terrorized my vision.
    The girl didn’t scream when the myriads of colors engulfed her starting from the dress and clamping its fangs around her head, but before that moment, she threw what was in her hand out the nearby melting window, shattering it with a splintering cry. A cry that should’ve been emitted from the girl herself, but no such sound left her lips.
    I didn’t understand. Me, with the most ridiculously over-analytical mind for a young girl anyone in my life had ever known didn’t understand. Of course, I was no fool, nor did I expect myself to be able to understand every little crisis in front of me, even a death didn’t seem much like any real news to me anymore, but there was just something about that girl that was making my real mind spiral. She’s dead now, but where am I? This can't be a dream...it's too real.
    I couldn’t feel anything. I couldn’t see anything except the remnants of the death scene fading away like the very fire that made it up into mere smoldering ashes. I could, however, hear the faint scratchy-hum of crickets, and smell the sweet scent of apricots wafting from wherever I was. The scent was slowly becoming stronger and stronger, until it was just as grossly intoxicating as the smoke from the previous scene.
    A silvery-gray sliver of sky came into view, slightly shrouded by thick black shadows brought about by my own eyelashes. Sunlight suddenly split the silver apart in long rays of soft gold. Feeling was returning slowly to my stiff body, as I attempted to literally uncurl out of the awkward shape my body had taken. My left leg was sandwiched between my body weight and the scratchy blades of grass beneath me while the other was sprawled out to the side, the ankle slightly twisted uncomfortably. I had been lying down since I could feel leaves in my tangled brunet mess of hair. Some fell out, mixing bright shades of reds, browns, and yellows in with the dead colors of the grass they landed in.
    I gagged slightly at the now sickening scent of apricots, my face touching the grass, or what was left of it. From one glance I could tell it was approaching winter time because the grass was an ugly grayish yellow color like frostbitten skin, and it was as brittle as scorched paper, but even more disturbing than the unappealing grasses, were the headstones of all sizes, scattered randomly along the terrain. This must be a cemetery, I thought before blanching at my thinking the obvious. Peering up once again, I could see the sun’s shade was a blend of oranges and pinks that careened over the horizon in heavy currents that broke the walls of cloud while carrying the breath of a final “good night” on its lips. I feel sorry for the sun. It never has a chance to rest, I thought nonchalantly, realizing that I had missed a day of my life completely.
    “This way, men!” a voice suddenly echoed in French. I must not have been as stiff as I thought previously because I leapt up, and dove behind the nearest headstone, curling into my body as tightly as I possibly could. Heavy, crunching footsteps drowned the songs as their performers frantically leapt away into taller grass, one narrowly missing my head where I quickly swatted it away.
    Figures began making their way up and around the stone markers, carefully and respectfully avoiding the few flowers, the only traces of remembrance or care for those beneath the ground, as they briskly marched forward. The first one I could make out was the tallest of them all, around six and a half feet, a man, middle-aged by the looks of it with a scraggly mess of black curls hanging from his chin, a pointed nose, bulging muscles wiring his body, a curled moustache the same color as his beard, small, crescent shaped eyes covered slightly by thick messy eyebrows, and finally a wide, bald head that looked like it would shine brighter than a handful of brand new nickels in the sunlight. He wore a green shirt with red overalls and baggy red pants. He also, judging from how my eyes were burning slightly as he approached, was the source of the noxious scent. A large rifle was strapped snuggly to his back
    Four other boys followed him, all much shorter, and younger, who wore matching expressions of pure exasperation.
    The one keeping pace the most was the tallest of the boys who was maybe a foot shorter than the apricot man. He didn’t have the bulging muscles the apricot man had, but muscles outlined his body nonetheless. He wore a crisp white shirt with beige shorts and old brown boots. He had pale skin, like it was crafted from moonlight itself, with a softly chiseled jaw, and a skinny nose centered on his face that was draped with long black locks stopping just above his shoulders. The carefully shaved stubble covering his chin gave me a longing to touch his face so I could feel it tickle my palms. His irises were purely, untinted pine-tree green wrapped around deep black, velvet pupils, but they were also framed behind oval-lenses bordered in silver, and small frown of displeasure was on his lips. He was shouldering a hunting rifle possessively.
    The second one was very fat, with dark skin. He waddled along behind the glasses guy. I couldn’t make out his facial features because even the skin of his face was so thick that it created lumpy folded shadows over his already dark complexion. All I could really see was a tired grin etched across his lips. He was wearing a navy blue button-up shirt that hung off his shoulders and a pair of beige shorts that were identical to the glasses wearing boy's, save for a few sizes difference. His large meaty fingers were curled proudly around the shaft of a shotgun.
    The third was stocky build, as well as the shortest of the group with shifty hazel eyes, and a nervous twitch to his step that shook his entire form like an electric shock. He had a fat-tipped nose with a wart that looked as though said owner tried to cover it up with makeup. His cheeks were round and red, dappled with fat splotchy freckles. His hair was strawberry blond, and was combed back rather neatly. He chewed his bottom lip constantly and the result left the poor guy with two folds of swollen, wrinkled, chapped red. He stupidly wore a black suit like he was going to a casino. This one had two shotguns strapped on his back in the shape of an X.
    The final one was of medium build with soft, friendly features such as a pair of eager, childish sapphire eyes, a slender nose, tanned skin, and a full healthy head of messy golden curls as though made of the afternoon sunshine itself. He wore a red and blue striped T-shirt with a pair of dark green shorts, but he had no gun. A smile graced his lips despite the nakedness of possessing no weapon, however, the exhaustion shared by his companions made its appearance in the boy's heavy looking limbs and the way his eyelids drooped lower and lower with every crunching step.
    "C’mon Lucas, hurry up now! We only have one more route to go through before we reach target base,” the apricot man bellowed in more slurring French at the child-like boy at the back of the line. How to I even know French? I live in America…don’t I? I gritted my teeth in frustration. I hated reading about cliché amnesia stories, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be the helpless victim in real life.
    The stone felt cold as the evening breezes began setting in. The boys, despite their captain’s hasty behavior, were all nonchalantly peeking at tombstones, and dragging their feet across the decaying grass. I wanted them to move along so I could find the nearest town and get the information I wanted as well as needed. I didn’t trust these guys in the least, especially since almost all of them held guns. It’s always better to be careful, and not too hasty, I thought. My thoughts, as usual, betrayed me instantly when I peeked around the corner of the headstone only to meet two, long, double-mouthed, dirty ebony tubes not even an inch away from my eyes.