The Others

The Others: Part 1

"Johnathan!"

It echoed. It repeated itself in his brain. That one small moment that had changed so many things. He could see his face in everybody, in everything. He could feel his tight grasp on his arm and saw his terrified, innocent face as he slipped from Michael's embrace. He still felt the burning, hellish heat baking his soot covered face.

"Johnathan!"

He had tried everything. He hit his head. He even killed himself. But nothing proved useful. Michael had already committed suicide. Thrice. But after every successful death, he awoke in his bed, at his house, in the same world, unharmed and possessing only a vague recollection of the attempt.

"Johnathan!"

Every school day was torture for him. He had been blamed for what happened. They stared at him. They called him a freak. It did nothing good. It reminded Michael of that day. Every time he thought of that fateful moment, he shuddered.

"Johnathan!"

How was he supposed to know he could do that? Johnathan was only five. At just five years old, Johnathan had been consumed by the earth, and sucked into its interior. And it was all because of Michael. He could try and blame it on Julian. After all, if he hadn't pissed him off so much, Johnathan would probably still be laying on his top bunk, watching Minecraft videos on his iPod.

Michael may have been only 10, but he thought like a 20-year-old. He was able to solve complicated problems in his head. Notice the use of was. Johnathan's death had been tragic. It shook Michael to the core. He saw everywhere, every day. It threw him off his game. His grades plummeted, his parents became worried so he was sent to therapy. His friends, or what was left of them after the incident, abandoned him. He was lost and alone. Alone. The word invoked fear in the hearts of many, but he was glad. Glad that he wouldn't have another chance to kill anybody else.