Short+Stories

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Forever Gone

By Abby Rictor

I've heard some scary sounds in my life- the scream of my sister, the shot of the gun that stole my father's life, The screech of car breaks as I was knocked to the ground- but none as terrifying as that which I heard now. No, you have never felt true fear if you have never heard undisturbed silence. For that is what I heard then. You may think that you've heard silence, but there is always something. The rustle of sheets in the dead of night, or the turning pages of a good book. I heard nothing of the sort. It pressed against my eardrums as if I were at the bottom of the ocean instead of in a small stone celler. I leaned against the wall, letting the darkness engulf me.

Then, the first sound shattered the quiet. Footsteps. I stood, quivering with fear. The celler was bathed with a gentle, flickering light, and my mother stepped inside holding a candle. Her face was matted with dirt, save for the many muddy tracks paved clearly through the grime. There were tears in her eyes.

"Katherine?" I asked in terror more extreme than that had gripped me in the silence.

"Gone," my mother whispered, as if if she spoke quietly enough, she could reverse the inevitable.

Gone. I formed the word with my lips, but did not speak it. Instead I repeated the only word I could.

"Katherine. Katherine. Katherine." I tried to draw comfort from the only word left sparingly to me. But my younger sister's name could give me nothing. Nothing to what the real person could. No one could cheer me up. No one but the small child that could see happiness in any and every situation. The small child who had been forced to leave this world long before her time. Without that beloved child, all was lost. It was pain beyond imagination, what I felt. Almost unbearable, losing that someone whom I knew so well. She would never come back, I forced myself to think. There was a twinge of regret in the pit of my stomach, as I remembered in horrible detail, all the times I had teased her. And how she'd endured it so well.

Neither me or my mother spoke for the longest time. Or possibly just a matter of minutes. I didn't know and I didn't care. My life surely couldn't continue with the absence of Katherine from it. I couldn't stand it any longer. Though I'd sworn to myself that I wouldn't, I cried. My mother saw the salty water streaming slowly down my cheeks and embraced me. I hugged her back and we shared our grief in the tears that we shead together. In each other's arms, we tried to suppress the feeling of loss that consumed our every muscle and bone. She sobbed into my shoulder, and I squeezed her harder, unable to believe that my sister was.... But I could not say it. I could not think it. My mother reacted to the pressure I offered and hugged me tighter.

Though I thought it impossible, eventually, we both drifted into an uneasy sleep.

I have also posted this with the permission of the author, Sarah Faulder:

Run: A fiery grave and the ultimate escape By Sarah K. Faulder

// Prologue // // "No." I tried to speak but couldn't hear my own voice. No! I stood, watching the flames devour the only place I had ever called home. Thinking about flames and the house reminded me of my parents, trapped inside. Despair consumed me. I knew I had to get away, but my legs would not obey me. I collapsed onto the ground. No. It couldn't be true. It was all a dream, a terrible nightmare; I was in bed, Mom and Dad were fine. NO! But as I thought I knew it wasn't true. It was real. But it couldn't be. Run. What used to make me happy. Run. What used to make sense. What I used to love, understand, even know. It was the only way out, but it wasn't a way out. It didn't make sense now. Nothing did. But despite this I ran. What normally made me feel free now caused me to feel only more imprisoned. Trapped. I knew I had to run. I couldn't be caught. I couldn't be physically trapped too. A five year old boy would be sent __there__. __That place__ was not right for me. Not right for anyone. Nobody __there__ lived past ten. Five years seemed like a long time, but I knew it was horrible __there__. I could see some of went on __there__, and I didn't want to see more. Run. //__ They __// probably already knew. Run. But there __he__ was, waiting for me. I turned; there was __another__. I spun quickly. More and more. Did __they__ send all the adults __there__ after me? Why was I so important? It was impossible that __they__ did this with every one. Questions continued to pop up in my mind, but I pushed them away. Had to concentrate on escape. I knew I was faster than __them__, faster than anyone, the fastest, but __they__ had me surrounded. It was over. I was caught. And as __they__ closed in on me, the despair of the loss of my house and my parents caught up with me. That hopelessness combined with the depression of being caught, captured, trapped, imprisoned. And the sorrow became unbearable. I collapsed. My vision went fuzzy, then steadily darker and darker until my consciousness slowly slipped away. // 4½ years later... I had been living at the work camp for 4½ years, and every day it was worse. At first I didn't think it could get worse; of course I was wrong. And at first I thought that it was just my imagination; they couldn't be separating me. They weren't isolating me; everyone felt this way. But once again, I was wrong. For some reason, I was special to them. For 4½ years I had tried to not let it bother me, and for 4½ years I had failed. And then I started noticing it. "It" was my name for what I could do, as in "There 'it' is again". Of course once I realized I was terrified, seeing how much it had taken from me. I should probably explain. "It" was my ability, my blessing, my curse. "It" was fire. I could cause objects to envelop in flames, or even create fire in my hand. And if I was careful enough, I could even control it. At first I was scared, terrified, even. To think that I could control what had taken all that I loved from me, and brought me to this place, that I might've stopped it, it was too much to bear, so I tried not to think about it. As usual, I failed. As a matter of fact, I didn't seem to be good at much other than controlling fire. But slowly I got used to it, and decided to learn more. I got very good at it. I practiced when no one was looking, which wasn't hard because I was isolated so much. I was afraid to do much more than a small flame, just slightly larger than that of a candle. Though consciously I was no longer afraid of fire, subconsciously I still imagined my house being burned down, my parents trapped inside, and all I loved and understood being destroyed by the same flame that I now had control over. It was true, I still felt the same pain I had so long ago, watching the flames consume what I knew. And yet I continued on the rough and uneven path of life, forever in agony, but still knowing no bounds. My favorite thing to do was run. There wasn't much time for it at the work camp because they always had some task for me to do. Often I would purposely get in trouble (though it wasn't hard to accidentally get in trouble either) just so I could run. I could easily outrun the adults at the work camp; I was faster than anyone, the fastest ever. But still they caught me the same way they had 4½ years ago; by surrounding me. Therefore I spent a lot of time running, which got me into more trouble, which made me want to run more, so I did, and got in more trouble for it. It was an unending cycle in which it seemed like I would always lose. And still I continued, put up with the constant abuse, and ran. After a while running started to make sense again. It was the only thing that did. And as I ran more and practiced "it" more I became more accustomed to the ways of the work camp, and I didn't like them. And I became scared. Nobody at the work camp lived past the age of 10 and I was 9½. Or rather, we assumed that they died, for they simply disappeared and never returned. Whatever happened to them, I didn't want to happen to me. I had to escape. Despite the constant attempts by the adults to keep me as isolated as possible, I made three friends. Three friends wasn't much, especially considering there were hundreds and hundreds of kids in the work camp, but three was enough. I had good friends, named Molly, Cody, and Katie. The best thing about my friends was that when I was about to give up, they encouraged me to go on. When I was about to give in to the adults, do what they wanted, and let them control me, my friends reminded me who I was, that I didn't want to give in, that I would fight them and defy them to the best of my ability right to the end. And my friends gave me hope, and so I stayed with them, and stayed true to them, and they did the same for me. My friends shared in my dream of escape, and we wanted to escape together. We didn't know how we were going to do it, but we knew we were. My friends and I ran and had hope. Eventually I trusted them fully and showed them "it". They were amazed and as surprised as I was when I found out. But unlike me, they were not scared, for they trusted me. And together we formulated a plan for escape. At first I said no, I wouldn't, it was too much, there was no way I would do it, but they talked me into this sensless plan. And so they helped me "train" as we called it; they helped me become better and better with "it". We had a crazy plan, an insane plan, impossible, but it was our only chance. We discovered that if I focused hard enough I could cause stone to catch fire, though wood was easiest. So our crazy plan became a little more possible. Our plan was to spread a rumor that we would escape if we all gathered in the courtyard by the fence on Friday at sunset. Then on Friday we'd go out with the other kids and make sure everyone was there. Then when we were sure everyone was there, Molly, Cody, and Katie would help support me as I attempted to burn down the work camp and the fence with “it”. It would be hard with the adults always watching, especially with how closely they watched me, but it was our only chance. I was scared because I couldn't imagine being the cause of what had hurt me so much. But I decided that because a flame destroyed what did not deserve to be destroyed, what was precious to me, that it was okay to burn down a place that did deserve that same punishment, as long as I never used "it" again afterwards. And so we started spreading the rumor, but were sure to tell everyone not to tell the adults. The rumor spread fast, and soon there wasn't a single kid who didn't know it. A possibility of escape was big news. So it was going as planned and all seemed well, but then the adults started suspecting something, and watched me even more closely. The kids noticed and figured I had something to do with the escape plan, and so started gathering around me. There was never a time when I wasn't surrounded by a group of kids, which made it much harder for the adults and much easier for us. As Friday approached I got more and more nervous and everyone else got more and more excited. Then Friday came. I was so scared I nearly backed out, but Molly, Cody, and Katie helped me. As sunset slowly came upon us, the kids started getting excited. The adults got more and more suspicious. When sunset came we all gathered outside in the courtyard. The adults tried to control us, but there were too many of us. My friends surrounded me and all the other kids surrounded them. The adults couldn't get to me; there were too many people surrounding us. Molly, Cody, and Katie supported me as best as they could, but in the end it came down to me. I focused all my energy. The sounds of the shouting kids slowly faded away and I focused only on the work camp. I could feel the fire burning inside me, and a single stone caught fire. Then another, then another. In seconds the whole place was a blaze, and then so did the fence. The kids realized that I was causing it, and they cheered. I could feel my energy being used up as the flames grew taller, and for the second time after seeing flames my vision went fuzzy. My consciousness slipped away slowly. I had done my job. The kids were free. It didn't matter that I would be captured and severely punished for what I had done, because I had saved the lives of hundreds of kids. My own life meant nothing compared to that. So as my vision went slowly darker, I was content ~ I woke up to see Molly, Cody, and Katie over me with concern in their eyes. They seemed happy that I was up, but I was convinced I was dreaming. But no, I couldn't be dreaming; I hurt too much. Not physically hurt other than the rock stabbing me in the back, but sapped of energy. I tried to remember. The fire. The work camp burning. I remembered. "Why am I here? Wasn't I captured by the adults? What happened?" I asked my friends. Molly, Cody, and Katie all started talking at once. I tried to understand what they were saying. From what I heard, after I lost consciousness Molly, Cody, and Katie had tried to carry me away, but as soon as they touched me their hands caught fire, but as soon as they pulled away, the fire extinguished. They didn't know what to do, but then all the other kids came over and helped carry me. They traded out so none of them had to hold me for long. They showed me the burns on their hands. I tried to say sorry, but they wouldn't listen. They had carried me about a half mile away, then the other kids left me there with Molly, Cody, and Katie. We were on our own now, but we were no longer trapped. But mostly, this was all I got from the story: We had done it. We had escaped. We were finally free. Epilogue After that my friends and I learned to take care of each other. We traveled a lot, finding new places. Occasionally we would find one of the other kids from the work camp, but usually it was just Molly, Cody, Katie, and me. We liked it that way. We loved being free, not having to follow rules. I could run as much as I wanted. But one of the things I liked best was that I never had to use “it” again.