More Than Politics {Book 1}: Editing

~20~

It was midnight. The stars were out, the warm desert breeze whisked sand across our cheeks. I looked down at the girl leaning against me. She smiled up at me.

"I love you." I say to her. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

But she can't hear me, she keeps shaking her head.

"I love you. I love you!"

I hear something...

A horn?

Clattering?

A train?

A train!

I grab her by the wrist, try to pull her away from the track.

She doesn't budge, she's chained to the track.

"I LOVE YOU!! I LOVE YOU!!" I scream. She still can't hear me.

It's closer, the train is closer. I can see it's headlights.

Its here. IT'S HERE!!

Suddenly, she pushes me off the track just as the train is upon us.

I hit my head against the side of the train, I see her get knocked down before I black out.

I wake up thinking about her, she's on the track, in a small decapitated heap.

My head hurts, my chest is about to explode, tears are streaming down my face.

"I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I! LOVE! YOUUU!!!"

~~.~~.~~.~~

Graham shot up from his sleep, drenched in ice cold water. He was unresponsive for a few moments, just staring straight ahead, not really seeing anything. He hadn't dreamed about her in a very long time, he'd pushed the her to the deepest depths of his mind, why was she coming back.

Frank and Chris stood at each side of the bed, looking from their cousin, to each other, to their cousin again.

"Do you think we should have done that?" Chris mumbled.

"It worked before." Frank replied in the same manner, limply holding an empty bucket at his side.

Patters could be heard in the hotel suit as Cynthia-May and Vincent rushed into the room. Her eye's immediately shot to Graham, still sat rigid in his wet sheets.

"Has he responded yet?" Vincent asked. Both cousins shook their heads.

Graham suddenly jolted, blinking rapidly, looking at the people around him.

Christoph, Francisco, his father, his mother.

"Mama." He whispered.

And in that moment, she was broken. In that moment, Cynthia-May didn't see her son as the strong, successful man he'd become. This was not the stubborn headstrong man who couldn't even call his sister.

No, who she saw a boy. Her sad, broken, heart struck little boy. She saw the boy who fell in love. She saw the boy who saw his love die. She saw the boy who'd tried to find justice for his love. She saw her son, the son that had had his soul ripped out, ripped apart. That came back to her battered and broken after what they did to him.

"My baby," She sobbed. "My poor baby."

She rushed to the bed, throwing her arms around him. He hugged back, gripping onto his mother like she was a life force.