Hey!
Sorry that it's short! Enjoy! Hope you don't get too confused!
~Lissa
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I despised the color black.
It reminded me of the worst things in life - bruises, nightmares, the darkest hour of the night, and death. Staring out the cracked window, watching the scrawny trees in suspicion, I realized that every inhale and exhale we took was the countdown until we found ourselves completely surrounded by darkness, by the color black itself. The beats of our hearts, the pumping of blood through our veins, the expanding of our lungs, were only temporary. Nothing was permanent - not when life was short. Temporary. Yet, I was wasting days huddled in a cabin, lodged somewhere in the trees of the forest, impatiently waiting for good news. It shouldn't have been taking this long; I should've went with them because -
"No, we already discussed this," a familiar voice came, followed by the groaning of a floorboard behind me. "Stop thinking about it."
I whirled around. "Then, stay out of my head."
Temp was leaning against the nearest wall, his arms folded across his chest. His brown hair was an unwashed, tangled mess and his skin was smudged with dirt. Dark circles rested underneath his light eyes and his clothing, a loose t-shirt and jeans, were raggedy, covered with rips and stains. Underneath the flickering lights, I was capable of seeing his recent wounds, which consisted of bruises and scraps. He exhaled loudly when I turned back around, glaring out the window. The branches of trees shifted with the furious wind while the leaves desperetely clung. The sun was already settling, darkening the forest as the moon powered the endless sky. "Your thoughts are loud - I heard them from the other room, Blue."
'Blue' happened to be the nickname given to me because on my first day, I wore blue nail-polish. It wasn't very creative, but I preferred my nickname over my actual name; at least, I wasn't named 'Temper' for being rambunctious as a baby. Other than 'Temp', there wasn't another nickname for him; multiple times, I had tried creating one that referred to his ability of reading thoughts, though none of them stuck. Without looking at him, I responded, "They're taking too long; something must've gone wrong."
"It's only been a few days," he said, his eyes penetrating my back. "They have a week until we're forced to report - "
"It shouldn't take a week," I interrupted, slowly facing him. His jaw tightened as he looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling, frustrated. "All they're doing is getting information from a coven of witches."
"You're forgetting that they're traveling through a forest," he argued, stepping towards me. His movements were slow and cautious, almost as if he was a predator, prepared to pounce. "Did you forget the dangers? Gypsies? Werewolves? Torments? I believe you're familiar with them."
"You're an ass!" I spat, fury burning inside of me. His eyes flickered towards the mark on my wrist, a black 'x' the size of a button. Several months before, I had fallen victim to a Torment, a creature who created illusions or nightmares inside their victim's head, usually when they were asleep. They retrieved their power from their victim's fear and suffering. Once tired of the particular victim, they easily killed them by raising their heart rate or cutting off their oxygen flow in their sleep - strangely, I wasn't killed. Though, the mark was left behind, representing the torture I had endured. While it proved I was a survivor, it caused panic and hesitation among others at the sight of it; apparently, there were cases where the survivors of Torments had went insane. Thus, few people trusted my intentions or me as an individual. Sometimes, I believed Temp entered my thoughts to see if I was becoming insane.
