Quackitys pov:
I open my eyes, shivering as I wake. That surprises me, its the middle of summer, I shouldn't be cold. I know that global warmings a thing, but I don't think that it works this quickly. I sit up, noticing as I do, that my mattress is surprisingly cold and hard.
I look down, my eyes widening as I see the solid red plastic of a train seat. I begin to take in my surroundings, noticing deep blue poles, stretching from the ceiling to the oddly pristine floor. The lights were bright and glaring, and Im surprised that I ever managed to sleep with them on. I stretch, arching my back, noticing some scratches in the plastic wall next to me. They look like letters, but I can't quite make them out, my eyes still blurry from sleep.
Then I notice the sound of rushing wind, and train tracks rushing beneath me. I pull myself up, using the bar closest to aid me. I push my face close to the window, trying to make out where I am, but the pitch black is like a blanket over my eyes, sending a shiver down my spine. The lights flicker.
A scream makes me jump back, my entire body shaking now, completely freaking out. I spin around, my eyes darting about, looking for the source of the awful noise of pain. When I finally see him, curled up in a corner, I can't believe my eyes.
I stare at the tall boy, with his chin on his knees. His hair is messy, a white section nestled among the brown. His round red glasses are cracked, and he's covered in blood, it stains his white poet shirt. His long brown coat that he never used to take off is next to him, riddled with tears and holes.
His eyes are open, but they don't see me, a distinctive deep red colour, more heart breaking than the blood spatters. His eyes are dead, no emotion remains. His mouth is curled into an insane smile, but there are glimmering tears running down his cheeks. He looks like the demons of hell have used his body as a punching bag.
But the thing that shocks me the most, is how vulnerable he looks. He reminds me of myself, hiding from my parents, when the arguments got so bad they seemed to make the earth shake. I want to to take him in my arms, hold him to me, hide my face in his hair, so he can't see my tears that I feel brimming in my eyes. I want to tell him that I'm here, that everything will be ok.
"Wilbur?" I whispered, my voice breaking. It was all I could manage, unless I wanted him to see me cry. He looks up, and something flickers in his eyes, like a match in a dark room. His smile drops, but he says nothing. His eyes are large in his dark, bloody face. At that moment, the lights go out, and all I can see of him is a faint red outline, from a tiny red bulb on the ceiling. I can still see his eyes clearly though, they seem to need no light to reflect, they shine on their own.
I take a step forward, spooked by the darkness, and he finally speaks. His voice is deeper than I remember, like he's just woken up, but it's breaking, and tearful. It's the voice of a dead man.
"How the fuck are you here quackity." I blink, staring at him in slight disappointment, I thought he would have the answers.
"I don't kn-." I was cut off by will slamming me into the shuddering train wall. Sobs racked his body as he lost it completely, his arms hanging onto me for dear life. I tried to shake him off half heartedly before realising that i didn't actually want him to let go. I wrapped ,y arms around his waist, slightly repelled by the coppery smell that came off him, but drawn in by his beauty, even with tears and blood covering his pale skin. I lowered us both to the ground, holding him in my arms. He was curled up in my lap, his head resting on my shoulder.
"Look at me." I whispered into his hair. He didn't move. "Look at me will." I said a little louder, guiding his chin upwards. I used the sleeve of my blue sweater to rub away some of the mess on his face, my breath hitching as I looked from his eyes to his lips.
