HalfWorlder #Wattys2017

Chapter 2-Origins

Simon was too still.

"Hey. Hey, man! Simon!" I knelt and shook his shoulders. Even at his weirdest moments, he was still my friend – but my friend felt like a limp dish rag at the moment, which worried me after watching him slam his head. I yelled even louder and shook his shoulders again, not sure whether that was actually a good idea. "Hey! Wake up, I said! Wake up!"

His eyes fluttered and he tried to focus.

Oh, thank goodness.

"Oh," he moaned. "Oh man, my head. What happened?" He sat up shaking and reached for his forehead. His hoodie fell back revealing a mop of damp curls that fell forward into his eyes as usual. Bright red blood coated his fingertips and some of his hair and he choked back a strange gurgling sound. I gave him credit for not screaming. His head fell forward between his knees, and he went silent, though his steady breathing showed he was at least okay for now.

Mrs. H. was already up and moving from person to person, though she limped. She caught my eye and I saw a flash of recognition. I nodded back to show her I was fine.

"You okay, Simon?"

"I think so." He wiped again at the blood, but it was slowing. He turned green and swallowed something back. "How are we still alive?"

"I don't know." I lied, gulping for different reasons.

Simon's eyes darted around like the ground might start moving again.

Could it? An aftershock, maybe?

I stuck my hands in my back pockets to hide the bracelet. I had a sneaking suspicion the jewelry I sported suppressed my inner freakishness. I had caused all this somehow, hadn't I? There was blood on Simon's head. I touched my own, but it was clean. No injury to blame this on.

This. All this was real – like Simon's sketches came to life. If he hadn't already imagined this in his notebook, he'd draw it later for sure. Twisted rebar, cracked cinderblocks, chalky ceiling tiles, and splintered stadium seats littered the floor which was scattered with hundreds of bodies in different states of consciousness.

"I can't believe that happened." This time I spoke the truth. It was nearly impossible for me to accept. "It's like a bomb went off." My heart whammed against my chest and my eyes darted around like Simon's – fearful of what might happen. The last time my heart pounded like this, I started the quake.

"Can he walk?" Mrs. H. tapped my shoulder and I jumped. Simon gave a weak thumb's up, but that was answer enough for her. She moved on to another group, continuing on until she was done with her methodical inspection. Then she stopped and stood with her hands on her hips commando-like. "Those who can, follow me. We're getting out of here." She pointed to a broken wall with daylight streaming through. The door mom had left through collapsed after she left. The exit sign now lay on the ground. Mrs. H's low wall was gonna have to do.

She walked toward our escape, but she wasn't limping anymore. She carried her black heels in one hand, one of them missing its tall spike. Mrs. H. noticed me staring. "They're Jimmy Choos. You didn't think I'd leave something that important behind?" The thought seemed to exasperate her. I shrugged my shoulders at her, but it made me remember. I scanned the ground and leaned over to pick up Simon's missing pencil.

He eyed me. "Thanks buddy. Imagine finding that in all this."

"Well, you know?" I gulped and went silent.

Why did I do that? Does he know now? How could he?

I ignored him like it was nothing and made my way around a smashed metal chair. I caused this, I thought, touching the bent frame. My heart tried to break free of my chest again, like my ribcage was its prison.