Akeldama | lrh

twelve - gone

It's pitch black everywhere, but the area behind the massive building is illuminated by the moonlight. I can see the few trees that must have been growing in the back, twisted and dead. The ground is cracked and covered in ash, bits of concrete and wood. It's still as depressing out here as is it everywhere else. Somehow, it makes the tight knot of darkness in my chest only get more intense.

Luke shuts the door behind him, a dagger shining briefly in his hand as his eyes scan the area for any mutants. When he doesn't find any, he flips the blade over in his palm and holds it out to me hilt first.

"Throw it." He says, his eyes on one of the dead trees in front of us.

I stare at him.

"It will help." Luke continues, his tone soft. "Trust me."

I take the blade from him, my fingers tightening around it's smooth hilt. For a moment I'm unable to move, caught in the middle of my own confusing feelings, before my muscles contract and I hurl the knife at one of the dead trees with strength I didn't even know I had.

It hits it sideways and clangs off to the side.

Frustration boils through me. I wretch the knife from my boot and hurl it at the tree, only for it to do the same thing, the blade not even chipping the bark.

A memory surfaces, of my family and I going bowling at one of the game centers in the sixth grade. I couldn't knock over any pins, and I just kept hitting the gutter every time I tried. I was crying in frustration by the end of the first round, so my dad bought me ice cream and we kept playing until I succeeded.

I blink away the thoughts, swallowing down my tears. My family. My innocent, wonderful family. Mutated and dead. I want to kick something, hit something, do something.

"Tilt your hand up a bit more." Luke murmurs, slipping the handle of another blade between my fingers and holding it. He positions my hand to accommodate his words, but I'm barely paying attention. "Now fix your eyes on a set point and throw it straight."

I do, bringing my hand back and throwing it with every last bit of strength in my body. It sinks into the tree with a loud CRACK, all the way down to the hilt.

"There you go, sweetie." My dad had whispered when I finally managed to hit one measly pin. My siblings had cheered me on from the benches. "You've got it now."

My fists clench at my sides, and my breathing picks up to the point that my chest is heaving. Memories flow through me in a landslide, of my moms smile, my little sisters laugh, my brothers stupid little pranks that never failed to make me grin. My fathers kind eyes and patient heart.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

I can't take it.

"Alexandra?" Luke whispers, eyeing me carefully. He's holding out another knife, but I don't pay it any attention.

My whole body lurches forward on it's own accord, driven by anger and sadness and the horrible grief that's taking over me. I slam my right fist into the tree, feeling the bones in my fingers crack and my arm spasm from the force, but it doesn't slow me down. I grit my teeth and punch it again with my other fist, then again, and again, and again, until a pair of strong arms is wrapping around my waist and dragging me away.