Fiona LeBlaunche
I shivered as I found myself back in my apartment, kneeling in between a patch of shattered glass from the window. Tears streamed down my face as I recalled what that was, what, just what was that ? I looked down at my hands, they were shaking and slick with sweat. I felt the tears hit against them as I cradled my head in my hands, sobbing. Just what, those sounds, those awful sounds. As I remembered the screams and the accompanying sounds, I felt my mind pulsate with nausea. A nightmare, please, please let it be a nightmare. I pleaded, begging almost. If, if that was, that was too real, no, it must be a nightmare, it has to be, otherwise. Seconds dragged on as if time itself had stopped, there was no soft flow of wind, no ticking of a clock, just loneliness and dread. My hands were slowly filling up with a pool of tears and soon, it overflowed like a waterfall.
"Fiona!" a familiar voice screamed, breaking me out of my dread as I felt familiar arms embrace me in a cocoon of flesh and love. "Fiona, thank god you're safe." He held me in his arms, ignoring the state that I was in. "Are, are you ok?" he whispered into my ear and I shook my head in response to the question. Louis's arms were warm against my skin, a light brazire of warmth amongst the coldness of the room. As he held me, I could feel a calmness washing over me and sapping the dread. But then I heard them, the screams and I coughed. Louis released his grip, "are you ok?" he repeated in that same beautiful tone of his that I loved.
"What, that nightmare, I can still hear it." I said, though I couldn't hear myself speaking. I looked up and saw Louis's face, lit by the Paris lights and a cold shiver rampaged through my body. No, no no no, it can't be. His face, usually all handsome and cocky, was also damp with tears. I had never seen that expression being worn by him before.
"Fiona, that, was no nightmare," as he said the words, the sounds seemed to amplify in volume. He opened the door and stepped out into the living room. I felt my feet start to follow him, no, with each step, the sound grew louder, please no, this has to be a nightmare, please. But as I entered the living room, my fears were made manifest. The tv showed the room that I was once in, but different people filled it. They were speaking different languages, had different degrees of clothing but one thing remained constant, they were in the same room. I watched as various different groups echoed the choices from the group that I was in. Don't go, don't leave, please, you will die. But no matter how I repeated the words in my head, there was always a group of people who left. I dropped to my knees, the strength in my legs gone. I couldn't close my eyes, couldn't cover my ears as I watched and heard the wailing of pleading and screams emanate from the tv. Children, teenagers, parents, elderly. All ages melding into one unified scream of agony. And then the tv screen exploded with an orange flame, turning the white walls of the room into the same flickering colour. My tears seemed to stop welling as I gazed at the screen with astonishment, guilt hung from me, forcing me to keep watching. It was that simple, I should've just used it. The figure, backlit from the burning wall of flames, seemed to mock my inability to act. Why, it was so simple. The screams and pleading seemed to change then, sneering and mocking my uselessness.