Tourniquet

Dream 14: Tourniquet/Imaginary “My God,

My tourniquet, Return to me salvation.

My God, My tourniquet,

Return to me salvation.”

My left shoulder slams into the brown wall of our upstairs hallway as the ground shakes, and I sink to the floor. Gritting my teeth to ignore the pain, I hold my little sister, Amy, in my arms until our house is once again at a standstill and her screams quiet, but I know that won’t last long. Her long blonde hair has become matted from tossing and turning in my arms all night. Her light white nightgown, intricately patterned with small dark blue flowers, matches the dark blue teddy bear with the white stomach in her hands. His name is Blueberry, and he is the only thing I let Amy take with her out of our room. Her complexion is emptied of its usual pink live- liness and tears of fear stream heavily down her cheeks, making her blue eyes swim. Her nose is running, so I wipe it with the sleeve of my dark green shirt. I never changed out of my green shirt and black jeans after dinner, feeling the undercurrent of hate and impending death in the air, and I had been wise to do so for nothing is right tonight. I haul Amy to her feet and push her down the hall to the stairs as another bomb slams into the earth and explodes somewhere in the distance, knocking us against the stair railing and leav- ing our ears ringing. Now I grit my teeth so as not to scream. There is no time to suppress the screams of my frantic sister as I look over the railing, searching, praying to see my parents. They weren’t in their room. Sickeningly, I knew they wouldn’t be. The front door has been left care- lessly ajar, and the disheveled living room displays only the shattered remains of distant happi- ness. Vases and plants have been knocked to the floor, and the shards of our glass table gleam across the carpet. The dark wooden bookcases have all toppled over and shed their multicolored books of religion and politics, transforming them into nothing but a pile of clutter. Pieces of the our ceiling lay on the dust covered floor, leaving the room looking like the slums my parents complained about. I pull my sister down the wooden stairs while gripping the rail to keep us up- right. My sole happiness lies in the fact that I remembered to put shoes on both of us, for had I not, our feet would already be shredded.

The news casts warned us. It was only a matter of time. The next world war has start- ed, and this time, even fewer will survive. We had all silently waited for the world to collapse beneath the thin ice sheet it has precariously rested upon for so long. “Mom!” Amy screeches now at the top of her lungs, but I know it is no use. No one is here, but I know where they went, and I will not follow them nor will Amy. I won’t let her. My father, mother, and older brother have turned into the monsters they fear in the other societies on this earth. They are, and have been for a long time, of those who seek one train of thought and one way of life. I have watched them slowly descend deeper into their rigid minds filled with the words of a handful of men, the men that helped us on so many occasions, the men who wanted us to live right, the men who silenced those who raise questions. Like most of the adult population of the city, they have gone to do what they think is just. They have gone to fight for the right way to exist. Which means they fight to destroy all other religions, cults, and philosophies until theirs stands alone. They have gone because they have been consumed by their belief that they alone have the right to live. The tension between those of different beliefs is too much. The fragile love that once acted as a barrier has been pulled down and torn to shreds. “Difference now equals death” I heard someone say recently. As massacre of entire populations is commencing.

I don’t dare get near the front door in fear of someone coming for us. I know of a few people who are probably on their way. We trip through the shards towards the back door. I hold Amy upright so she doesn’t fall into the glass. We make it through the doorway and into the kitchen. I pull her into a corner against the red cabinets on the linoleum floor. Then, I stumble to the knife drawer to grab whatever I can find. It is almost empty except for one small knife and one good sized medium one, the one I used to chop vegetables. “Thanks for leaving us some,” I whisper in bitter sarcasm, the only other emotion besides fear I can muster. No doubt the rest went with our family. No doubt that they will no longer be used to chop vegetables. I slip the larger one into my combat boot before sliding across the floor on my knees to slip the smaller one into my little sisters blue boots. I show her what I am doing and in-between the all too near booms and screams I tell her to be brave. Grabbing her arms, I pull her to her feet once again. I jerk open the red backdoor and grip the frame to keep us standing as another ferocious shake rat- tles us. Hand and hand, Amy and I race into the alley behind our apartment. There is no one to run to. There are many to run from. From the sounds between the bombings, that I can now hear more clearly, I can tell everything is in chaos. Air raid sirens scream, lights flash, people scream, choppers and planes shoot and bomb. I run my hands along the dark red brick wall next to me as we run. I pull up short as up ahead in the alley I see two men locked in a knife fight. It doesn’t take long before one falls to the ground. I cover Amy’s mouth and eyes and slam us against the wall, not moving. In the dark, it is hard to see. The only reason I had seen the men was from the light of an emergency lamp hung at the opening of the alley up ahead, but it doesn’t reach us. The man turns our way, so I race us into the opening of another alley.

We have to get out of the city and find a place to hide. We have to get away from all of the people on foot. It’s our only chance. We run out onto the main street to see a few men and women fighting, but otherwise we are clear. The rest of the fights rage inside houses; you can hear people shout from within, and you can watch bullets break the glass of the windows. We run along the sidewalk past apartments that are all similar to ours. I don’t stop for the bombs obliter- ating buildings behind me or else we would be struck down by the shards of the blast. The night smells sickening and you cannot see the stars or moon from the clouds of smog and ash. The only lights are the emergency lights that are alight every block. The smell of death and blood makes Amy throw up on the street. I Bend down and cut the edge off her nightgown to tie around her mouth and nose. I do the same for me. She doesn’t push me away as I tie it around her. She welcomes relief from the ash, smog, and blood. I take us down roads I remember from a long ago memory of our trip out of town. The memories are faint, but my mind is sharpened by adrenaline, allowing me to access these memo- ries. Suddenly, a small person runs out into the street, away from a building with horrendous sounds coming from the inside. I turn to make a wide arc around it, but then I realize who it is. Billy, the little Hindu boy from Amy’s class. Amy was never allowed to play with him, because our mother couldn’t stand his. She always said that they were a diseased family with disgusting principles and they shouldn’t be allowed in the city. He stands alone in the street, crying. The side of his face is bloody from a cut on his forehead. His feet are bare and cut and his astronaut pjs are covered in dirt and blood. He backs away from the door, but his big brown eyes never leave it as his parents fight inside. I can’t just leave him to die. I walk up to him, and he jumps back in fear. I hold out my hand. His face shows no recognition and he jumps back screaming and crying. Releasing my death grip on my sister’s arm, I kneel down about five feet away from him. “Come with us. We will keep you safe,” I call, barely audible over the ruckus around us. He shakes his head hard and backs away more. His body shakes, his eyes widen, and he can barely breathe from crying and from the horrid air. I try to make myself look as safe as possible. I treat him like a wild animal. I don’t look him in the eyes, and I move slowly. He keeps screaming and backing away in terror.

Just then, the window above his head shatters, and he is forced to jump next to me to avoid the glass and a black chair with white padding that flies out onto the street. I take the op- portunity to grab him and pull him towards me. He kicks and tries to get away from me, but I hold on tight. If I let him go he could get hurt. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe,” I repeat over and over into his ear until he finally collapses against me in exhausted sobs. I look up through the window to make sure no one comes for us while I try to calm him. What I see disturbs me to the core. I shout at Amy to come, but she stands frozen, gazing through the window. Not wanti- ng her to see. I jump up and bring the boy with me. I tackle her to the ground just as our mother stabs Billy’s mother in the chest. Shaken, I pull them to their feet and get out of view from the window before our mother can spot us. No wonder the boy had not wanted to get near us.

I grip Billy’s darkly tanned little fingers and my sisters little white fingers. I look at Billy, who no longer pulls from me. Instead he stands there rubbing his eyes with his other hand to clear the tears. “Run,” I tell them both, and we are once again fleeing into the night. We turn the corner of the last block and leave behind the nightmarish homes where unbearable crimes are being committed. I didn’t think it could get more horrible out on the main avenue. I had hoped that the fighting was staying mainly inside. After all, at this time of night wouldn’t everyone have been home? But no, we had not even seen close to the worst.

In front of us the Church of Christ, the largest Christian church in neighborhood, the one we visited every Sunday, is up in flames. Searing red and orange flames consume the gothic ar- chitecture of the monstrous ancient church. The archways lead into fiery pits, almost looking like they lead to hell. The angels appear to be in pain as the flames climb up their limps. Flames crawl up the swirling pillars and into the wooden beams of the ceilings. The giant ornate stone cross, stories up into the sky, leans forward and topples as the building caves in. I have to pull us back around the corner, as it slams into the ground with an ear splitting crack, to miss the spears of granite that rocket towards where we stood. Intense heat bursts forth as the entire Church ex- plodes and crashes into the ground. I pull us to the ground and cover our ears as the colossal building of ten stories high and a mile wide is obliterated. The heat is painful even from this far away and when we are protected by a wall. Tears come from my own eyes now as everything sinks in. The Church of my childhood and my parents is gone.

My ears are muffled now from such a close explosion. My head spins, and I stare straight across from me until my vision becomes stable once again. I find myself staring at a young man and a young girl in their teens, close to my age. They crouch around the corner of another building on the other side of the street, avoiding the explosion of the church as well. The girl’s hair falls to her shoulders, seemingly with the rest burned away. The bottom of her pink pajama bottoms around her calf has burned away and left her with a terrible wound. Sweat pours down her face as she cringes from the pain. The older boy leans over her in jeans and a t-shirt, examining her burn, his clothes blackened from soot, but not burned through. They are covered by black ash. They need help.

I look down at Amy and Billy, knowing that I already have much to look after. I should leave them be, but if he has to take care of the girl they can’t run as fast or defend themselves. I make a decision jog across the street with my sister and Billy at my side. We must make an arc to escape the heat of the church. We cannot even look at it. As we loop back around and head towards the pair the girl shouts, causing the boy to whip around, ready to fight. I slow us to a walk, not wanting to be a threat. When the boy sees that we are just kids he relaxes a bit but watches us suspiciously. I stop ten feet away from them when the boy yells at us to get the hell away from them. “Let us help each other,” I call to him. I release Amy and Billy’s hands and give them the sign to stay put. They grasp each other’s hands and huddle in fear as I leave them. I put my hands up to show that I am unarmed.

The boy watches surprised, but once I get closer to his sister he blocks my path. “What do you want?” he barks the question with authority, but I can see fear in his eyes. I hold out my hand in the traditional greeting, not knowing what else to do.

“I want to help, and I want help leaving the city,” I look up into his reddened green eyes. When he doesn’t reach out his hand I lean down and snatch it before he can stop me. I grip it hard and shake it to let him know that I meant what I said. He nods, and lets me move around him to get the girl. I crouch down and sling her arm over my shoulder. I began to stand up, but she screams at me to stop. I look at her panicked pained face staring at me in fear. “You have to get up or you’ll die,” I shout at her and look into her green eyes, like I did the boy. She begins to protest, but her brother, comes up and scoops her up in his arms. She cries out in pain as her leg is moved. He cringes, but he does not stop. He nods at me to lead the way and we jog back to Amy and Billy.

They jump back as the new kids come towards them, but I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder to let them know that they are friends. This seems to relax them a little. I hold out my hands to hold onto theirs once again, and we all move on in the opposite direction of the Christ- ian church. Sadly, we soon discover that we are surrounded by burning churches of all kinds. Crosses, wheels of dharma’s, pranavas, crescent moons with stars, and stars of david have all been obliterated in an attempt to eradicate religions. Not a single symbol of faith has been left in peace. Books stores are on fire, igniting righteous words and stopping them from spreading and igniting hope in people’s souls. We edge our way around fighting mobs that crush windows with symbols and cut down those that wear them or follow them. Everything meaning hope and safe- ty is left to rot. Everything that was supposed to save us lies useless in ashes and rubble. Far ahead in the distance we watch a plane dive down from the sky and crash into a Jewish church, demolishing the church and an entire block of shops in mere seconds.

As we stop again to tie cloth over the mouths and noses that have not been covered, to prevent from inhaling the ash that falls around us, a large mob rages and runs across the street in front of us. A large blonde haired man with an axe breaks away and runs towards us. He is al- most unrecognizable as a human, covered in blood and gore and with eyes of blazing hatred. I scream and move to grab the knife from my boot to try and protect us, but before we are reached, an Asian man with a little girl by his side appears at our left and shoots him, causing him to drop suddenly to the ground where he convulses for a minute before becoming still. The man pushes his sobbing little girl with long black pigtails and a yellow and white dress towards us. “Her name is Tamie. Watch out for her. I will cover you,” He says reloading a large black rifle.

I nod in thanks and pull the little girl towards me. I grab Amy’s hand and Tamie’s and clasp them together. I look at each of them in their eyes one at a time and order, “Do not let go,” More people from the mob come towards us with metal pipes and knives. Tamie’s father doesn’t let any one of them get near. His deadly accuracy with a gun stops everyone that tries in their path. The younger kids scream as people die in front of them, but there is nothing I can do. We have to find a way past the mob. There are no side streets we can take. We have to push forward through them. I look at Tamie’s father, waiting for advice. He stops shooting for a moment and meets my gaze. He looks down at his daughter and then kneels down to hug her tightly to him one more time. I am crying now as I realize what is about to happen, but again I can do nothing to stop it. The man talks to her rapidly in a language I do not understand. She cries and tries to keep hold of him as he stands back up to face me. Without a word I walk over and wrap my hands around Tamie’s waist and pull her from her father. I hold on tight as she kicks and hollers. I give him another nod, letting him know that I understand and will do my best.

That is when he steps forwards and begins rapidly shooting at people in the mob, clearing a path for us. I cannot give orders, for it would be lost in the deafening roar of war around us. So, with Amy and Billy holding on to me, Tamie in my arms, and the boy and girl behind, I sprint forward into the small clearing of the dying. I have to force myself to be brutal as I slam people out of my way to get through. I doge and dive weaponry, letting others fall. Beside me Tamie’s father shoots and knocks down most of the people that come at us. All around me peo- ple’s dirty, sweaty, and wounded bodies swarm. Finally, we break through and I continue run- ning with the rest of the kids as Tamie’s father falls back to stop the people coming after us. I do not turn around, even when I hear the gunfire stop. I just keep running.

As we run through our nightmare in hopes of sanctuary, I pray. I pray to anyone that is still listening. I shout into the sky above us my prayers. I pray that we will live. I pray that oth- ers will live. I pray for a tourniquet to stop the bleeding and dying city. I pray for salvation. As I shout my prayers more children join us. Little kids and big kids, Asian, Irish, Jewish, Hindu, black, and white children with nowhere else to go run beside us until we are a mob of our own. Bombs rain down, fires rage, fights break out, and people die all around us, and we all run. We run for our lives. We run and all shout out prayers to the sky. We all ask to be delivered from death in our own ways, until as one voice we could almost be heard. Like an answer rain pours down to cool our burning skin and break through the smog. Washing away our thoughts we con- tinue shouting hopes into the sky and to each other. More and more of us appear, and like a wave we move through the streets. Threats come at us, but we do not stop. We push through, heading towards the roads that lead out of the city. With our powerful words flying upwards my heart believes we can make it until in the distance we see something that stops us cold.

We all stop running as we watch a giant green cloud float quickly through the lessening rain. It is not the same color as the black and grey clouds of ash and smog it is something else. We all watch and wonder what it is until we hear a scream, “Poison Gas!” Everyone bursts out in terror, and the organization we had acquired in our run is lost in wild panic. “We can’t make it out before it hits,” I say aloud in horror as I watch it float our way. I do not move, because I have no more plans. I cannot prevent this. I cannot run from it. I cannot fight it. Kids run around me and Amy, Billy, Tamie, and the boy and girl with the black hair. We managed to stay close together throughout this. They stand still and watch the green cloud with me. Were our prayers not heard? Can prayers not be heard in times of war? Do they disappear with the souls of the dead? Is prayer for times of peace?

Suddenly, something falling from the sky catches my eye. I watch as a bomb falls not too far from us. I let out the loudest scream I could manage before I am knocked to the ground by the bomb hitting home. All around me kids fall to the ground or are slammed into walls by the impact. I use myself to cover my sister and the other younger kids. With that bomb my world turns silent and my ears burn in pain. I cry out, but I can’t hear myself and neither can anyone else. Some of the building collapse around us. When I sit up I find myself covered in dust and ruble surrounds us. Luckily it looks like most of the other kids around made it through. For I see about fifty kids begin to rise and crawl out of the ruble. I also see some crying from injuries or the deaths of friends. Some did not make it. I check to find that our small original group as survived. Tamie, Amy, and Billy sit crying and covering their ears. Their hearing has been dam- aged by the bomb as well. The injured sister and her brother grit their teeth in pain, but they don’t cry. The girl has started walking with the help of her brother so they both rise and help me pull the little ones up.

Even though I cannot hear I watch as kids around me seem to notice something behind me. All around me kids begin to run forward towards something. Excitement shows in their eyes as they make their way through the debris. The young man with the black hair points in the same direction with a smile on his face. I turn and stare in silent shock. In the distance a large church still stands, its cross still standing tall. All around it buildings are destroyed, but besides its plain white exterior being turned black from all of the explosions it is fine. With the green cloud closing in we all run towards it. We run faster and faster, climbing and crawling past our obstacles. My heart is the only thing I hear. It slams against my chest and fills me with hope as the white church comes closer and closer. The first of the kids that reach it manage to chop open the large wooden doors with pipes and weapons they had found. Everyone begins pouring in- side. We are almost carried in by the children behind us, like water we all surge forward into the white entryway. That is where everyone splits ups, running in every direction, trying to find a place to hide. Most of the kids seek their sanctuary in the main service nave, but I direct us to a small room without windows, deep into the church. We are forced to move slowly through the crowd, but we finally make it into the room. It is filled to the upmost capacity with kids. Some- one shuts the door.

The chaos ceases as we all settle down to wait it out. Even though I cannot hear I see people’s lips move and hands sign in prayer. I even see a little boy with black skin writing in another language on the large white board in the room. Another girl with bright red curly hair grabs the bible and begins to read. Others sink to the floor on their knees to pray, while everyone else does their best not to run over them. Kids of all different faiths pray and everyone accepts them. No one tries to stop another from reaching out to their saviors. Children who have only witnessed hatred and anger have learned to accept others for what they are.

My stomach twists and turns, making me feel sick. My breath is short. I’m shaking. I am not like all of the brave heroes you read about whom never seem afraid, even when they are at death’s doorstep. I am very afraid. I do not want to die. It is not fair for me to die before I have accomplished what I wanted to in this world. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to help the world with my words. I wanted to donate to charities and change lives. What of the others all around me, those alive and dead? Don’t they deserve to grow up and have a chance to change the world around them? I wrap my right arm around my sister, and pull her to me. She cries softly and clings to me. I kiss the top of her dirty ash covered blonde hair. Amy never even had the chance to truly figure out what she wanted to be. There was the time when she had a really fun science class, and she decided to become a scientist. She had all of these nasty concoctions that she called “experiments,” and she kept them frozen in our freezer for a month. Another time she decided to become a ballerina. Spinning all around the house like a tornado, she knocked down a lamp, a vase, and a stack of dishes. For a minute, I forget about where I am and remem- ber all of the times my little sister made me laugh, and I am actually able to smile. She wasn’t always happy, though. When she was younger she used to scream for me in the middle of the night, because she thought monsters were in her room. She did it for weeks on end, and my fam- ily tried everything they could to stop her from being scared. My mother read her happy bedtime stories about princesses, unicorns, and fairies. My father checked her room from top to bottom. When she started screaming I would go in and sing to her a song about dreams called “Imagi- nary”. It was my brother, Ashton, that finally got her to stop screaming every night. One morn- ing he sat Amy down and together they drew the monsters that Amy thought were in her room. When she looked at the silly things they had drawn on the page, she wasn’t scared anymore. I suck in my breath quickly and try to shut out the thoughts of my family. It has been a long time since I have seen that good in them. They lost their true good selves a long time ago.

I try to focus on my surroundings instead of remembering memories that will cause me more pain and suffering. Billy and Tamie cling to each other while on their knees right in front of us. Tamie’s eyes are shut in fear. Billy’s eyes are wide in fright. The dark haired boy and girl, whose names I never learned, stand next to us. They embrace tightly, like my sister and I, and they whisper back in forth, trying to think of happy things. The girl smiles a little through her tears. “What are your names?” I finally bring myself to ask them both. They look up at me a little startled from the sudden burst of sound from me. “I’m Jason, and this is my sister Samantha,” the young man smiles sadly. “And what are your names?” he has a sweet low voice with an English accent. I’m sure I look quite surprised upon hearing it. All of the different ethnicities and cultures around us are astounding.

“I’m Hannah, this is my sister Amy, that there is Billy, and I think you know Tamie’s name,” I nod my head in the direction of each of the children. Billy and Tamie look up to focus on me and even Amy seems to take a small interest in our conversation. It seems to take their minds off of things a little bit, giving me an idea. So I ask, “Samantha, have you by chance heard the song, ‘Imaginary’? It was on the radio a lot a few years back.”

She looks at me for a moment with her brow furrowed in thought. I can tell it is at the tip of her tongue. “I believe I do remember it. It was a brilliant song. Why do you ask?” she re- sponds in a crisp sweet high English accent that I realize is just perfect. I need to keep her and Jason occupied as well. I do not like to see them cry either.

“Will you sing it with me? It has always calmed Amy down, and it might help Billy and Tamie as well,” I ask her in a soft pleading voice. I would really appreciate her help. It’s easier to sing with someone else than alone. She blushes and bit and seems to curl into herself. She seems a little shy and unsure. Jason looks down and nudges her a bit, his dark hair falling in his eyes. She looks back at me, and then hesitantly nods in approval.

I clear my throat softly, and remember the melody of the song I have listened to and sang so many times before. I let the notes gently and softly flow from me, not yet singing any words. I look down at my sister to give me a little more confidence. The words “paper flowers” rise into the air from my mouth, and after a moment a higher voice matches mine in perfect harmony. Staring into my sister’s beautiful blue eyes, I continue.

“’I linger in the doorway,


Of alarm clock screaming,


Monsters calling my name.


Let me stay,


Where the wind will whisper to me.


Where the raindrops, as they’re falling, tell a story’” (Evanescence)

As we sing our voices become louder and louder, drowning out the unhappy thoughts that pound at the edges of my mind in fury. My soul becomes lighter, and I stop shaking as badly, as I try to forget the world around me and dive into an imaginary world of my own creation. More voices rise to match our voices. The lyrics float out of more and more mouths as others try to free themselves from thought as well. All around me, voices of different accents, voices in key and off, voices loud and soft sing along with us.

The fear seems to leak away from me slowly, and my heart’s rapid beating calms. I relax more and more, falling into the songs melody and lyrics, letting them wrap around me. Like a lullaby, I grow calm and my eye lids flutter shut. I rock my sister back and forth, like the baby she was not so long ago. I faintly hear her hum along. Peacefully we sing on, our voices grow- ing softer. A feeling of safety flows into me, like a comforted child.

“’In my field of paper flowers,
 And candy clouds of lullaby,


I lie inside myself for hours,


And watch my purple sky fly over me.’” .....................................................................................................................

I lie in soft tall silver grass that bends above me, glistening in the light. It sways in gentle breeze. Above me a soft purple sky holds the light pink, blue, and green candy clouds. I reach my hand up, wishing I could taste them. I lick my lips, wondering what they would taste like. The moon and sun gaze down at the clouds simultaneously in a perpetual twilight that soothes the eyes. I sit up to discover that all along the rolling silver hills, intricate paper flowers in every variety of pinks, blues, greens, yellows, reds, oranges, purples, blacks, and whites flutter in the cool, gentle wind. A stronger gust blows through the hills, and a few of the flowers are carried up into the air looking like fairies dancing a ballet. That is when I notice that they aren’t all pa- per flowers, but fairies themselves. Giggling and laughing that sounds like crystalline bells floats down to my ears. The fairies grab hold of the flowers, and I notice that they are all as spe- cial and unique as the flowers around me. I see one with long dark hair, a rose red dress, and bright large red and gold wings. Another has curling hair like sunshine, a light pink dress like a tulip, and slim long pink and green wings. It is almost like watching a rainbow in motion as they take the flowers back to their rightful places. I wave at them as they pass by and they wave back. When they are done positioning the flowers just right, they lift high into the sky again. This time they beckon to me with their small fragile hands of several shades to follow them. I stand, and feeling silk brush against my legs I look down to discover that I am wearing a long silk dress the color of lilac that glittering like the stars. Small straps fall over my shoulder to keep it on. It feels heavenly as I move and chase after the fairies in my bare feet. The silver grass making it feel as if I am walking on the clouds themselves. I spin, skip, and twirl through the hills like a ballerina. I laugh aloud and take delight in the cool calming air on my bare shoulders and arms, surrounded by a fluttering rainbow.

Over the next hill I discover that the glorious silver field ends with a dark green forest. It is not too dark, though. A soft light glistens through the woods, keeping away the darkness with- out letting in too much light. It must be the combination of the moon and sun. The tall dark green trees sway and rustle in their own dance. I run down the hill and towards the trees, won- dering what lies within. The fairies lead me to a path at the front of the forest. Trees part and bend to create a lovely archway above me. I turn and bid farewell to my fairy friends. Bells ring goodbye to me. One fairy breaks from the crowd, her long dark blue dress and black hair sparkle like tear drops, and her wings themselves look like a waterfalls mist. Her small light hands twist a large beautiful deep blue flower into my hair by my face. Its petals cascading like waterfalls all the way to my chin. “Thank you,” I tell her kindly, touched by her breathtaking gift. Then, I turn and gracefully and briskly sprint through the woods feeling like a doe.

I watch in amazement as through the trees I glimpse a glistening white horse with a long white horn that spirals like a seashell from its forehead. It whinnies and prances through the trees at the same pace as me. It gets closer and closer until the large magnificent white beast prances beside me, towering above me. Its off white eyes full of emotion watch me, and I en- tangle my left hand in its silky white mane that falls to its knees. As me move, I glimpse other creatures throughout the forest. A man with brown curling hair and beard and the legs of a goat picks large vibrant blue berries from several bushes. Women with hair as green as the leaves and white, pink, and gold flowers in their hair twirl and spin in their earthen dresses made of leaves, grass, and mud before disappearing by turning into billowing trees. A giant buck, as silver as the grass, sprints across the path in front of us. Giant, agile birds fly from branch to branch and litter feathers of a multitude of colors onto the ground below. I delightfully take in the magic enchant- ed forest.

The path opens up to a small crystal clear lake with a small waterfall. The horse and I make our way over to the water’s edge where I kneel into the silver grass and dip my hand in the cool light blue liquid. I watch in fascination as a large catfish with scales like jewels swims through the water not too far away, not at all afraid of my presence. Wondering what other fish reside in this small pond, I gasp to discover a face rising up from the water under my hand. A hand, similar to mine but feeling smooth like seaweed, takes mine. The hand is almost as white as the moon and soft scales of a light aquamarine run from the hand and down the body of a beautiful woman with long wet brown hair. Her hair falls down her back to the edge of an in- credibly elegant long aquamarine tale that fans out at the bottom in an exquisite display. Her eyes are a deep blue that matches the flower in my hair. She smiles to show pointed teeth, but there is only happiness and friendship in her expression. She reaches up to stroke my cheek and hair. Then, like a mother she pulls me into the water and cradles me against her chest, gently rocking me. As she does so, a soft crack of thunder rumbles in the sky, and large blue raindrops begin to fall from an orange candy cloud way above our heads. As the rain falls and washes over my face, I hear it whisper. It tells me a happy tale of mermaids and sirens that live in an icy sea far away. I close my eyes and let myself be cared for by the rain and this beautiful creature. As the story comes to a close the rain lessons and eventually stops. I open my eyes and gaze into the woman’s beautiful blue eyes, and we both smile. She gently kisses my forehead and careful- ly sets me back on the land around her pond. I watch sleepily as she fads back down into the cool blue water.

I lie here, content to drift in and out on consciousness and listen to the chirping and laughs that come from the forest around me. Before I can fall into slumber, a hand falls upon my shoulder and shakes it softly. I open my eyes to find that I am looking into a pair of blazing green eyes. An incredibly beautiful young man crouches over me. Hair as white as snow falls around his face and onto his shoulders. His skin is a lovely pallor, and his lips are a soft pink, and his small smile instantly amazes me. He reminds me of a painting of a young aristocratic gentleman from long ago. I push myself up onto my right elbow and allow my fingers to run through his hair and trace his face. He closes his eyes in contentment and I discover that even his eyelashes are pure white. He grabs my hands and pulls me to my feet, his touch as soft and delicate as the white snow that now falls from the sky. The snow is not cold, instead it radiates a slight warmth that feels wonderful. With my hand in his, we walk off the path, deeper into the forest. I watch him as he moves. He is tall and graceful, yet I can see a hidden strength to him. He reminds me of something that I just cannot put my finger on. I cannot seem to take my eyes off of him, and I can tell he knows from the small smile of amusement that stays put on his lips. He stops suddenly and walks behind me, pulling me to his chest and wrapping his arms around my waist. I tilt my head back to look at him, but he simply puts a finger to his lips and then points forward. A small stone den lies not too far ahead through the trees. As we watch in si- lence, a magnificent, striking white wolf slinks from her den. Her thick fur glistening as she al- most disappears into the snow. Behind her, she is followed by two small and beautiful wolf pups. They playfully tackle one another. I can barely breathe as I take in the beauty of the wolf family. Now I realize what the beautiful young man reminds me of. He moves from behind me and makes his way towards the mother and pups. When they see him, the mother wolf tilts her head, her eyes shining in adoration, and the two pups run to him and pull him into the snow. I follow behind him, but even when the mother wolf sees me, she does not start. She rises from her sitting position and comes to sniff my hand. Then, she licks it with a pale pink tongue and looks up at me with happy green eyes. I run my hands through her amazing coat as I watch the boys play in the snow. I can’t help but laugh as the puppies tackle him. The pups both look up and then race over to me, jumping up on their hind legs, begging for affection. I joyfully fall to the snow covered ground to join in the fun. We all wrestle for quite some time, when finally, the young man pulls me to my feet and wraps his arms around me as we look upon the wolves one more time. “Thank you for showing me your family,” I tell him as we begin to move away, and he smiles brightly down at me with affection.

Up ahead I notice something strange, and I stop. The forest turns dark, it is not the soft, safe twilight that I am now used to, but a dark intimidating night. The forest looks almost black up ahead. The foliage is denser and I feel a menacing emotion flowing from it. I pull back and look at the boy, letting him know that I want to go back. I want to stay in the lovely wood with his family. He pears back over his shoulder at the blackened forest and then looks at me sadly. He strokes my cheeks again, coaxing a smile from me. Then, he reaches for his belt and pulls out a long silver knife with light green jewels incrusted into its’ handle. He hands it to me. The silver handle swirls together like the white horse’s horn, and the green jewels are set into it like snowflakes, every pattern unique. I examine this silver dagger, only to find that it is frosted, like winter itself, so I cannot see my reflection. On the dagger the word “fight” is written in script. I look up at the handsome young man in puzzlement, only to discover that he is no longer smiling at me, instead his look is cold and harsh. He jerks out his hand and grabs my arms gruffly, pin- ning myself to him and not letting me go. He pulls me towards the dark, deathly forest. I try to jerk away, but he only growls and laughs harshly in my ear. He forces me close to him and re- fuses to let go. Fear flows into me as I struggle against him. Finally, I manage to get my hand free, and I slice the dagger along his cheek. I jump back and watch as a long red gash opens up and leaks red blood so dark that it is almost black. It drips down and taints the snow. A cruel maniacal smile spreads across his face, almost as if the injury pleases him. He jumps forward to grab me again, and the blackness invading the forest seems to reach out itself, spreading and de- stroying this place that had made me feel so safe.

I turn and run, with knife in hand. I move as fast as I am able through the trees, trying to escape my nightmare. I pass the wolves’ den. It is now empty. I run past the lake that is now still. I run along the path through the trees that are now quiet and dead. I dare not turn around as I run. I feel the darkness and the man too close to me. He laughs cruelly and rakes his hand along my back, almost catching my dress. My heart beats fast in horror as I try to escape. I come upon my silver field of paper flowers. As I run through it, the grass and paper all light up in flames, burning away into nothing. The giggling bells of before have turned into screams, the light purple sky turns black as the moon and sun disappear. The heat of the flames burns as they rage around me. My eyes water from the smoke, and I feel as if I can barely breathe. I begin to panic, not knowing where to run to. Suddenly, up ahead I see a white door standing all alone in the field of flames. My body aches as I run towards it in desperation. My skin and dress feel as if they are singed, and my throat aches for water. Tears of terror flow out of my eyes. The door gets closer and closer, until finally I wrap my hand around the silver knob. I jerk my hand back in pain as the metal burns me. I reach forward, and ignoring the pain that pierces through my hand and up my arm I jerk the door open. Inside I see myself asleep on the floor next to me sis- ter, surrounded by sleeping children. I jump through the doorway and turn to close the door be- hind me. Through the doorway I see a world of blackening flames. The man races towards the door his hair turning black in the ash, his vibrant green eyes fading into a smoky grey, and his smile turned into a soul shattering grimace. The door feels heavy as I slowly pull it closed with all my might, watching in terror as he gets closer and closer. The door shuts just as his hands reach the knob. I hear the lock click, but I hear him bang at the door. The door shakes and splin- ters under the weight of his blows. I turn and hurriedly crawl over all of the children until I stand over my body and fall into myself.

.....................................................................................................................

The sound of breaking wood echoes through my ears. I slowly open my eyes, feeling groggy. It feels like I have been encased in molasses. My vision comes in blurred, but finally a black and white wall comes into sight, confusing me. My body slowly regains feeling, and I feel pressure across my lower body. I look down to find my little sister asleep across my legs. She moves slightly, stirred from sleep by my movements and the grating noise penetrating the haze of quiet that has settled across the room. All around me children wake from a slumber. I slowly sit up, and shake Amy until her eyes begin to flutter open. I then move on to shake Billy and Tamie awake, their little arms wrapped around each other, looking like peaceful angels. It kills me that I have to wake them up and return them to this nightmare, but a part of me is also afraid that they are trapped inside their own worlds watching them burn too.

I don’t really remember why there is that breaking sound. Is it that young man, or was that a dream? Why am I here again? I feel like I am in a fog, thoughts go in and out. Slowly they filter into my head, slowly enough to cause me frustration. I have a hard time separating fantasy from reality, but as the first screams pierce the air I am truly awakened once again. The sound of screams makes me remember all of the screams from before, and from my dreams. I pull the kids up quickly as the rest of the room awakens in confused fright. Children rise up frightened, wondering who the screams are coming from. What is happening? What has hap- pened?

Out of nowhere the handle of the door at the front of the room jiggles, causing all of the kids in the room to freeze in place. It stops, and the screams continue, but from farther away it seems. A loud thud comes from the door, and soon the door is cracking and splintering under heavy blows. Everyone moves back in fear, no one able to comprehend what was happening. I am pressed against other kids, barely able to move. I do my best to stay near Billy, Tamie, Jason, and Samantha, but we are separated a little yet still within sight. I cannot worry about that now, though. My eyes are on the door that is being beaten down bit by bit. The hammering pounding into my head and making it ache. I just wish it would stop. Amy whimpers in my arms as she watches and waits. Suddenly, the door is snapped in half and two tall creatures with contorted black faces enter with knives and guns. Some scream, some shudder, and some cry in fear as they intruded upon us. Am I still in a dream? As children jump back I am slammed against a bookcase, and I grit my teeth as shelves dig into my back. I reach behind and pull out a cross shaped candle holder that was stabbing my backside. I don’t move or dare make a sound, though, not wanting to draw the attention of our intruders. I watch them as they speak to each other in strange accents, and I realize that there is something familiar about them. After a moment, I realize that I recognize the words. They are speaking English. I study them and try to focus my gaze. Those aren’t faces, but masks, gas masks. They are human, and they are real. Abruptly, I remember the cloud of green gas that we had hidden from. They must be the ones that released it. Black goggles cover their eyes, and big black tubes jut outward from their mouths, making them look like they walked out of a science fiction novel. Black suits made of plastic encase them, protecting them from the gas. They scream back in forth with voices that are muffled. They cuss in shock. They don’t understand how we could be alive, but I know why we are. “Should.... shoot... yes.... dead,” I barely make out.

“No,” I gasp in horror. How can they shoot a room full of helpless children? How could they look at us and not care about us? How could they shed so much innocent blood? I look down at Amy in fear. I clamp my hand over her mouth, and then I adjust us so she is pressed up against the bookcase behind me. I refuse to let them hurt her. I refuse to let her die. Unexpect- edly, a memory from my dream rises before my eyes and I see the knife once again. I see its in- scription. I did not survive all of this just to die now. I did not save us, only to watch us be sac- rificed in the name of some god. We may have been saved, but we must also fight if we want to stay in this world. This may be my suicide, but if I die, I will go praying, screaming, and fight- ing for what is right. “Stay,” I whisper into Amy’s ear. She doesn’t want to let go of my hand, but I give her hand one last squeeze and then pull free, taking the cross candle holder in my other hand. I push through the frightened children, slowly. I do not want to cause a commotion, not yet. The men still converse, trying to figure out what to do exactly. I force my way past shivering bodies, anger coursing through my veins. Just as I manage to make it to the front of the crowd, on the very right side of the room one of the men steps forward and jerks a little brown haired girl by her hair. She begins screaming as the men examine her, still wondering “What the hell” we are, and “How the hell” we are still alive. The little girl screams louder, and tries to pull away. Tears fall from her eyes as she convulses in fear. The other man pushes a little boy that tries to help her back into the crowd. The man holding the girl reaches for his gun while cussing the girl out horribly. That is when I take one big breath... and fight.

I bolt from the crowd and whip the cross down hard on his arm, causing him to cry out in pain and shock and drop his gun. I raise the cross up again and bring it down on his arm that holds the girl. “Let her go!” I scream at the top of my lungs. He reaches out to grab me, and so I bight his arm and bring the cross down on his head. He pushes the other girl down to the floor in one hard shove. Her head slams against the floor and she whimpers in pain. Both of his arms wrap around me like iron bars. I am jerked to his chest and the cross falls out of my hand. Not able to move away, I reach up my hands to jerk at his mask. He hollers in alarms and I scrap my fingernails across it and manage to pull it a little out of place. “Shoot the b****!” the man growls to his partner in frustration. Out of the corner of my eye I watch his partner raise the gun and point it towards my head. I screech in fear, awaiting the bullet, but it never comes, because the little brown haired girl leaps up and knocks the gun out of the way, sending the bullet into the wall instead of me.

“Fight back! Fight back!” I scream at the top of my lungs as the man tries to wrap his hands around my neck. Jason breaks away from the crowd and slams into the guy’s side. Then, Samantha comes at him from behind to rip at his head. The children surge forward like a wave and begin to attack the two men, that now begin to feel fear. They scream as we descend upon them in range. Dozens of kids rain down blows and kicks. The anger and fear they have been holding in from being hurt, scared, and abused pours out of them and propels them into action. They refuse to lay down their lives because others say so. They slam chairs and knives pulled from their own belts down onto them, until they lay unmoving. As we begin to step back from them, my attention is once again drawn to the screams that pound through the walls. I hear the pop of guns as well. I trip over the men towards the door, and then I turn around and scream, “Fight back and free yourselves,” once again. Everyone screams replies of triumph, and we rapidly race through the doorway.

Once in the hall, I pull myself against the wall and watch the river of kids flow past me into different parts of the church and into battle. I watch closely and pull Billy and Tamie from the crowd. I watch as hand in hand Jason and Samantha nod to me and then disappear down the hall. I wait and watch, and a lump grows in my stomach when I do not see Amy. Even once all of the kids have passed I do not see her. Feeling sick I sprint back into the room, fearing the worst, only to discover my dear sister pressed against the bookcase, staring at me. “Amy!” I call, sudden relief flooding through me. I opened my arms and she hurriedly races into them, staring wide eyed at the men on the floor as she passes them. I pull them into the hall against the wall, and I kneel down and look them in the eyes. “We are going to have to fight our way out of here,” I explain solemnly,

“Like mother?” Amy asks, her bitter words shocking me. She stands there looking sick at the thought of hurting someone. She glances back at the dead men on the ground. She is dis- gusted by the thought of killing, and I could never be more proud of her for that disgust. She knows that it is wrong, and I will never ask her to hurt the innocent, but this is different.

“No Amy, mother and all of those horrible people that ruined our world fought for death, but we are going to for life, our lives. The people that want to kill us, we are not going to let them. We are going to live whether they want us to or not, live so we can see the end of this de- struction, and live so we can change this world. So, I need you to stay with me, and be careful. We will be moving fast, so hang on,” Amy still looks skeptical and Billy and Tamie look afraid, but I put their hands together, and then I hook Amy’s fingers onto the rim of my jeans. “Don’t let go, and watch out. We are going to make it through this,” I tell them as I look them in the eyes. I won’t let them down.

We move together towards the sound of the fight. We run down the long white hallways, heading to the front of the church to confront the rest of the men, praying we are not outnum- bered. I round the corner to find a man fighting against two teen boys and four little kids. His mask has been pulled off to show a pale face with brown eyes. I try not to look him in the eyes, not allowing myself to sympathize. He frantically tries to fling the boys off of him, and he catches one in the chin with his elbow. The boy is flung back hard against the wall, and the man reaches for one of the knives at his belt. He manages to pull the metal knife out of its holder and raises it up high in a black gloved hand. The young black boy raises his dark eyes up to the knife, fright clearly showing in his face. He throws his hands up in the air as a reaction to the threat, trying to stop the knife’s decent. With a burst of fear induced adrenaline I do not hesitate as I fly at the man. I hit his raised arm hard, causing me to stumble and fall, bringing Amy down with me in the process. Luckily, he loses his grip on the knife, and it falls to the ground. Even without the knife he manages to inflict pain by snapping his heavy black boot into my stomach. Pain rips through me. Reflexively, I curl up in a ball as nausea washes over me, and I try not to throw up. I can’t even stand, because of the pain. The man pulls his foot back to kick me again. I flinch, waiting to feel the pain, but it never comes. Instead I glance up with narrowed eyes to see a blank expression on the man’s face as he gasps. Then, his face contorts into pain, and his brown eye roll upward as he falls forward onto the floor, landing on Amy’s legs. She screams in fear and struggles to get out from under the man that no longer moves. I want to help, but I am still unable to uncurl myself from my ball, the pain not quite having left me. Thankfully, a blonde boy with dark tan skin pulls Amy out from underneath him. The other boy, the one who was almost stabbed, leans against the wall with his dreadlocks falling in his face, holding the knife that the man dropped. Blood drips from the blade. When he sees me struggling to stand he drops the knife and immediately comes to my aid, lending me a hand and pulling me up. He leans me against the wall and looks me over to make sure I’m all right. “Thanks,” I manage to rasp out as I breathe steadily in and out.

I manage to blink out the water that comes to my eyes, and I quickly take four shuddering deep breaths. My stomach churns inside of me, threatening to empty itself out right now. I keep breathing in and out and pray that I can get over the pain as quickly as possible. The guy with the dreads looks at me and then down the hall from where more terrible noises float to our ears. I take my right hand from my stomach and wave him off. He needs to help the other kids. His brown eyes meet mine, and without hearing a word, the words “thanks for saving my life” are mutually communicated. His crooked smile lets me know that we are even, a life for a life.

“We have to go,” the short blonde boy reminds us anxiously. He stands hand in hand with Billy and Tamie, their skin going from pale, to tan, to dark, a beautiful sight to behold. My little sister stands behind his arm, staring at me intently with panicked eyes. She had apparently been wor- ried and wanted to come to me. Thank goodness he held her off and watched them.

I push myself off the wall and motion them to come here. The blonde boy with his blue eyes, not unlike my sister’s and my own, stands aside, allowing them to rush forward and enve- lope me with their tiny arms. I give them all one big squeeze, feeling their quickened heartbeats. “Come on,” I order as we let each other out of our embrace and push forward down the hall, the boy with blond hair and the boy with the dreads just a few steps ahead of us. We break into a jog as we continue down the last bit of white hallway and enter into more destruction...

“My wounds cry for the grave. My soul cries for deliverance Will I be denied? Christ, Tourniquet, My suicide.”

As we stare around us when the battle is done, I no longer pray. For you cannot just rely on the heavens to save you from everything. Every waking moment you must strive to survive and prove that you belong in this world. We have been given a second chance at life; it is now our obligation to try save ourselves, and those whom we love. Our world may have been created by some all-powerful force or it may not have, but if so, like a parent it cannot always solve our problems for us. We must grow up and figure out how to live on ourselves. I will prove that we have what it takes to survive and make a new and better world.

All the world crumbles around us in the aftermath, we spread out, hunting for survivors in the rubble. We cannot find any anywhere near. The green gas seems to have done its job, leaving everything dead. I try to avert Billy, Tamie, and Amy’s eyes from the dead as the boys begin to carry them to the bonfire we have made, because we cannot just leave them to rot and spread disease, and we cannot dig enough graves.

Above us the sun begins to peak through the ash filled skies, brightening up the world and letting us see the true results of the catastrophe, the waste of human life. Suddenly Tamie darts out from under my arms towards a pile of rubble. I jolt after her small form, afraid of what she will find if she digs too deeply. She falls to her knees with her tattered yellow and white dress settling around her. In her hands she holds something that captures her undivided attention. I fall to my knees next to her to see what she has found, only to discover a golden Eight-Spoked Dharma Wheel. Intricate red patterns swirl across the gold, and Tamie’s tiny fingers trace the design slowly. She seems to find comfort looking at it, her tears drying and a sad smile grows on her face. “Daddy gave one like this to Mommy,” she tells me softly. I hold back tears at her words. Then, I have an idea.

“Amy, Billy, come here!” I call to them. Amy’s hair and night gown are covered in black soot and has large tares across the seams. Billy has dried blood on his feet and forehead, and his face is covered in ash. Both of their faces are tear stained and weary. I hate to ask any more of them, but it is better they are occupied instead of dwelling on the death and destruction around them. I show them Tamie’s Dharma Wheel and ask, “Do you think you can find any more, and don’t just look for these. Find any little symbols that you recognize from church okay?”

As too young twins with long brown hair and large brown eyes finish bandaging my ribcage with some emergency supplies they found, Tamie, Billy, and Amy return with brighter smiles and dirtier hands as they show me what they found. In their hands they hold numerous symbols of all shapes, sizes, and colors. I stand up, flinching slightly as I disturb my cracked ribs. I gently push them towards the small white church that we had cleaned out to serve as a place to sleep. As we cross the threshold, I see Jason helping the black boy with the beautiful dreads and the boy with blond hair and the tanned face carry out a large mirror that had been shattered in the fight. I wave to them and receive their tired smiles.

We walk farther into the small church and pass by the food storage area that contains all the food we have been able to find so far. Finally, we make our way up to the battered alter where we lay all of the symbols side by side for everyone to see and take comfort in.

“Hannah, will we be okay?” Billy asks softly, startling me with his words. He hasn’t spoken once until now. I get down on my knees and gather them all in my arms where I kiss each of them. I look into their eyes two blue and four brown. They have been through so much, and they will have to go through so much more.

“Of course we will, we have each other now don’t we? As long as we have each other, we will be fine, and I refuse to ever let us be separated,” I tell them softly, coming to the realiza- tion that I am going to have to become an adult and mother even though, at the age of fifteen go- ing on sixteen, I am still a kid myself. The funny thing is, I can’t think of one thing I would rather do than take care of them and everyone else that needs me.

“Mommy and daddy are gone aren’t they?” Billy asks me quietly, crystal tears forming in his eyes. I swallow, more memories of my own family flashing before my eyes, but there is not time to mourn.

“I don’t know, love. I honestly don’t know,” is the only response I can give him as I use my sleeve to wipe his watery eyes, wiping away tears and dirt all at once. My answer is less than reassuring, and I can see that it is not what he wanted to hear, but it is not what he expected to hear either.

“Can I pray for them?” He mumbles through soft sobs.

“Can I pray for mama, daddy, and Ashton too?” Amy asks quietly her wide eyes boring into my soul.

“Do you want to pray, too?” I ask Tamie, and she nods and sniffles. “How about we all pray for them?” I suggest. I watch them warily look around, afraid that they would be hurt for praying. “You’re safe here. You can believe in and pray to whomever you want in this church,” I reassure them. I watch as they pray, each of them praying in a unique and special way that gives them comfort and reminds them of the homes and families they had lost. I add my own voice to the mix, praying not for what I have lost, but for the family I have found and for the world that must be born and start all over again.