Errant

Resistance

I wonder if this is what death is like— this aching, lost, dizzy feeling. I shift my hand and frown as my fingertips run over a rough, pebbled surface. Death shouldn't have feeling. Death shouldn't have pain. Slowly, I open my eyes, expecting to see a hospital ceiling, or whatever sky the afterlife has, but instead I stare at a gray sky, bordered by buildings.

Wincing, I prop myself on an elbow and try to make sense of the situation. My world spins viciously and I touch a hand to the back of my head, feeling a lump there. Not good.

But still, as my mind flashes back to the squealing of the tires and my body hitting the pavement, I realize that a battered head should be the least of my problems. I should be dead. Rain coats the surfaces around me as I force myself to my feet. My heart hammers in my chest as I stumble out of the alleyway, pulling my hood over my head.

At first I can do little but stare, as a city emerges around my vision. Ramshackle buildings, made from wood, stone, and any material the occupants could find. Cobblestone streets, now slick with rain. Towering above it all, a clock tower glows from the gloom at the top of a hill.

It takes me several seconds to get my feet moving again, because I can't comprehend what's going on. Am I dead? Hallucinating?

But the cool of the rain on my warm skin and the pounding of my heart beg to differ. If this is a hallucination, it is a very realistic one.

No one approaches as I continue down the street. I see only one or two people, always in the process of ducking into shops or houses.

The calm makes me nervous, though only a night ago I was being beaten to a pulp in a ring by a girl ten pounds heavier than me, and more importantly, lying to my brother. I shake my head to divest myself of the thought and keep walking, my feet slapping on the wet cobblestone.

With no other plan, I make my way towards the clock tower. I keep prodding my own arm in an effort to wake myself, because this can't be reality. This old city looming in my vision can't be the truth, and I want to wake up. I want to know if my sacrifice was worthwhile, or if I'm even alive to see its effect at all.

Around another corner. I run my fingers along the building walls, trailing them behind me. As I walk, the surrounding area becomes poorer. The buildings are closer together, unkempt, and falling apart. More people are outside, perhaps because they have nowhere else to go. Hungry eyes stare from alleyways, and my mind jolts back to the weeks and months Oliver and I went hungry— to the weakness and apathy that wrapped around us daily.

I force myself to keep walking. The tower looms ahead, even larger than it looked from several blocks away. I round another corner and an auburn head of hair, dark with rain, catches my eye.

"Oliver?" His head snaps towards me, and without hesitation, he throws himself at me.

"Kess!" My brother smells like safety and warmth, his embrace swallowing me up, but I frown. Oliver shouldn't be here. If he is here, that means I am not dead. And if I am not dead, then why are we here at all?

Oliver pulls away, frowning as he scans our surroundings. "Do you know where we are?" he asks. I shake my head.