Saviors ; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘥

065. ꕥ A Void In Me

Our parents had always said that John and I were so similar and so yet different at the same time. They always said we shared many physical attributes beyond what the blind eye could see. Our Mother, for example, always said that John and I had the same eyes, despite them being different colors. Mom always said that when she looked into my eyes, she saw John, and she told John the opposite. I never understood how she could see us in each other's eyes even though they were vastly different.

We also had the same smile; at least, that's what we were told. Mom and Dad used to tell us that as babies, we would barely ever smile, if at all, but when we did, they were the same. I wondered if that was still true today, even after we aged. Did we have the same smile still? I never thought so, but our parents thought something different.

John and I looked different in so many ways. That's what I saw, at least. The one thing in my opinion that is the most obvious is our nose. John had a slightly bigger and more crooked nose than me, and he got that from our Dad. I, however, had our Mom's nose with it being smaller.

We're not only similar and different with physical attributes but also our personalities. We were more alike than different. Our Father could see that best; he always told us we had that same aggressive attitude. He definitely wasn't lying about that. John and I could be a bit aggressive regarding certain things. And we both always had something to say; whether that be a joke or just our input, we couldn't sit quietly for too long. I think I've grown out of that since I've been on the ground, but for John, I think it's the complete opposite.

Personality-wise, we were different in the way where I was a bit more compassionate than John. He's going to tell you like it is, whether you like it or not. Except when he's with me, it's like he becomes this different person when he's around me. But usually, I'm a bit softer when it comes to words. It's just always been like that ever since we were little.

One attribute that overshadowed the rest of our similarities and differences was our protectiveness over each other. We've always made sure that the other is okay, no matter what. It was always, the other first, worry about yourself second. The first time I remember something like this happening was when John and I were eight. We were running around our quarters chasing after each other. Somehow we ended up running into each other, and we both busted our heads open. My first thought when that happened was to make sure John was okay, and it was no different with him. At the same time, we both asked if the other was okay. Since we said it simultaneously, it caused us to go into a giggle fit, and suddenly my head didn't hurt anymore.

Bottom line was, we're very different and similar people, but one thing that never changed was how protective we are. We always made sure the other was okay. We always told each other pretty much everything. We always stuck together.

That's why, when I woke up to an empty Dropship, there was a pit in the bottom of my stomach.

I woke up early in the morning, still lying on the Dropship floor. When I rolled over, I expected John to be there, but he wasn't. At first, I didn't think much of it; he could just be out to use the bathroom or something. But when I opened my eyes to see Jaha was gone too, I knew something was wrong. There was this gut feeling that took over me.

It's like the tiredness in my body left all of a sudden. I jumped from my spot and ran out of the Dropship, already assuming the worst. I stopped in the middle of our old camp and spun around, praying to see any sign of John.

I shouldn't be worried. They wouldn't leave me here — John wouldn't. But I just had this feeling, this missing feeling that told me to be worried that my brother was gone.

My breathing was panicked as I stopped spinning. The next thing I knew, I took off and sprinted around camp. I swear, I searched through every crevice in this camp, and John was nowhere to be found.