Inhale

Chapter 48 - Bitterness

Unable to deal with the choices given to him, General Kingsworth had shot himself in the heart. Blood was oozing from the wound, yet all he could do was stand and mutter, "I'm sorry" to the crowd. The abandoned people were in shock at the moment, and unable to think realistically. Panicked screams erupted in the room, followed by a multitude of gunshots. People were tripping over others, desperately trying to escape the new threat, and no one was willing to help the fallen.

"We need to get out of here!" Esmae cried, grasping my hand. She turned to Phillip, who was staring at the stage, aghast by the series of events.

"Phillip, let's go!" I exclaimed, gripping his hand in my palm. He woke up, rotated to me, and nodded. We raced off.

The hallways were more chaotic than the room. Around us was mutiny and anarchy as people attacked others viciously, betraying their former colleagues. Flames had formed, filling the halls with a rustic, metallic, pungent stench. Around us, men and women were cacophonously singing for help. Esmae's grip on my hand tightened. and I pressed down on her hand to give her reassurance. However, despite the latter's fear, Phillip wasn't reacting, though it was partially due to his already horrible state. The three of us maneuvered through the area, narrowly escaping a bad end.

Eventually, we reached an area that as blocked by numerous pillars. A cry for help was heard, and I peered down to see a figure caught underneath the blocks.

"Someone, help me, please," it moaned, arms reaching in a failed attempt to struggle against the block.

I kneeled down to see none other than Chris Castro hidden under the trap. The lower part of his body had been caught, and crimson chemicals were sprayed and draining from underneath the pillars. His face had sweat piling on it—proabably due to his exasperation and fear—and tears were beginning to stream from his eyes. He immediately noticed me, and stretched his arm to touch me.

"Alastair... please... please help me!"

"Phillip. Esmae," I called, feeling the two's presence behind me.

I peered back at them and with a determined expression, nodded at them. They nodded in response, and the three of us got into formation. Phillip and I lifted the heavy pillar entrapping the boy, and Esmae swept between us, managing to help him escape before it collapsed once more. Turning, we saw the duo panting for air. Esmae raised her head and gave us thumbs up, relaying that the two were fine. Or, at least, living.

I glanced at the Chris's legs to grimace at its appearance. Both of his legs had become mangled and crushed from the pillar. His lips pursued and nose crinkled, he was struggling to keep the pain within. Poor boy.

"Let's go," I murmured to the three, staring at the pillars that were now inflamed. I stroked my chin, contemplating on the next steps to take, only for Phillip to jump onto the inflamed pillar without a care.

"What the hell are you doing?" I cried, gripping the boy's hand before he could venture further.

He didn't turn back.

He simply threw my grasp off his hand, and proceeded past the obstacle.

"Stay here," I told the two, scoffing at his response. Irritated and annoyed by his actions and lack of words, I trailed behind him. I chased him for what seemed to be miles, until he fled into a nearby room. I followed suit. I cautiously peeked into the room, uncertain of what he was doing.

There Phillip was, standing within the scorching flames in the room. His back was turned to me. Near him, something moved. It was a girl—it was Ella Engleman. Before I could call out to the boy, I noticed something that drastically changed the situation.

He had a gun.

I took a step back, and watched the scene play out before me.

"Phillip, seriously, this isn't funny," the girl murmured as she struggled from underneath the heavy pipe that held her back down. "You can't honestly hate me enough to make me suffer like this, right?"

"Hate is a strong word," the boy stated nonchalantly. His voice was toneless. "Hate: to despise, loathe, detest... a feeling of intense or passionate dislike. Perhaps that does perfectly describe how I feel about you. I despise you. I loathe you—I hate you."

"C'mon, Phillip. Can't we just push all of our problems aside right now?" the girl begged. "I'm sorry if I made you angry.... I was just having fun. You can forgive me, right? It's not like I killed anyone, you know."

"That may be true. However," he said, pointing the gun at the girl's forehead. Her eyes dilated as she stared at the weapon, and fear crept and loomed over her face. Sweat piled on her forehead, and her lips quivered. "I still can't forgive you."

"Phillip! Stop this!" she cried, clutching the fabric of his pants. "I won't do anything else! I won't say anything else! Just, don't do this! Let me live! Phillip, please-"

A gunshot cut her off.

Thud.

Phillip backed away from the girl, revealing the girl's mortified face and gunshot wound. Blood oozed from her forehead, and dripped to the cold, hard ground below her. Red streaks formed in her hair, resulting from the foreign chemicals mixing with dirty hair. He picked up her head and stared into her cold, soulless eyes. Since his back was turned to me, I couldn't see the expression on his face. However, suddenly, the boy began to laugh. He dropped her head casually, and then started to kick it like a soccer ball. Left, right—her head turned with each kick and soon, there were numerous dents in her head.

Unhappy with the results, he started to furiously slam the sole of his shoe on her head. However, this dent as he crushed it. Squish. With every step, the crimson chemicals below molded itself to the sole of his shoe. More blood oozed from her petit head, turning the blonde hairs a red. Eventually, he exerted enough force for it to-

Bitterness.

Eventually, and thankfully, he grew tired of his actions and stopped entirely. However, before he left her remains alone, he picked up her head.

"This is what happens when you mess with me," he muttered into her deformed ear. "You should have never messed with me."

With that, he dropped the head and turned to face my direction. I dropped to a feeble position, and clasped a hand over my mouth. Heavy footsteps were heard behind me, but I didn't dare turn back.

I was too scared to turn back.

Soon, the steps were right next to me, yet despite what I expected, he continued to walk to the right. I looked at the boy. He was strolling through the halls without a care in the world. I didn't dare question it. Instead, I stood back up, glanced at the girl's corpse, and followed suit.

Let's pretend this never happened.