Phoenix 56 (Dystopian/Fantasy YA Novel +Weekly Updates)

ONELINESS

Oneliness, Let me be one in the crowd. . . I do not want this

"Can you imagine how great it is to be loved fully? To be loved totally? To be loved, you know, beyond your ability to imagine? And imagine if you knew that was a possibility, and then that was taken from you, and you knew that you would never be loved. Well that's hell-to be alone, and know what you've lost."

-Stephen Colbert

I'm going to die alone. God...

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Oh God. Oh. God.

Her heartbeat metronomed with the timer against her chest. Attached to the timer were fringed copper wires thin as a razor's edge that looped around transparent tubes.

On the road, disk-shaped craters impressed into the straight and lumpy road, were fifty-five corrugated and powdery holes. It created humps and bumps in the road, deep, some were shallow. It depended on what vest you received, and the chemical's in the tubes. Dia inspected her vest, filled almost to the brim with foreign chemicals that would splash about even in a slight shift of weight.

She looked and shuddered at the sky. Another firework discharged.

She covered her ears, bracing herself. She first would hear the fireworks explode, then she would hear a scream (this time it was a screeching male's voice) and then she would feel the salvo of heated pressure and human ash fly against her, this time the whole brunt of the explosion. This explosion, loud, earthshaking, foretold one thing: it was coming closer to her.

Dia on her knees, mouthed to the sky: oh God oh God oh God.

The blood red fireworks had rippled in the sky, and descended down slowly, dyeing over her shoulders like a devilish ever rippling halo. The heat of the previous explosion dissipated and the flames that was over the hump of the road she was certain she was next to inherit the chemical-flames. She remained frigid, her hair and goosebumps evidence against her as a gargoyle.

She was going to die. In some sick experiment? In someone's whim of hurt? She tried her best to remember the person. Who did this. If she did make it out, she'd remember who did this. The sick freak who did this to all of us.

She closed her eyes, as her head looked upwards to the sun. Something shot through the side of the sun, causing a quick, but noticeable shadow. Dia opened her eyes, to see a-a crow?. No, an eagle? A hawk, cutting through the sky.

The hawk-dark and gray-had dived from the sky, swirling between the sparks. Dia saw the hawk's features up close up close: Grains of ash, made up the shell of the hawk-reanimated hawk ashes. A biological puppet that formed to the whims of the creator.

The hawk, with prying claws, had picked up the chunks of random materials, wires, glass shards, that laid on Dia's shoulders. It glanced over at her, with hollow eyes, in which she could see a fish eye reflection of herself. The disheveled hair, the dirt plastered against her olive skin and her own worried eyes. It flapped its wings, as if to fan the hair away from her head, and then slingshotted upwards in the sky, in several well timed flaps.

Dia watched it. Following the hawk as it streamlined in the sky.

And she thought she heard someone else's voice, but she thought it was just in her imagination. She hugged her knees, as she quivered.

Oh God. She thought.

Oh God.

I'm going to die alone.