𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄.
𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 I've walked, life was never seen as such a sacred thing to me. It was simply a thing— a weird, unpredictable, cruel, and vile thing that everyone was apart of. People live. The limits and boundaries never exceeded more than the basic knowings, that one day, we would all die, and the world would just simply transform into some repetitive cycle, to start all over again, just without the same people walking on it. Hopeless people, subconsciously waiting for an epiphany to change it all— to change this thing we call "life".
Succumbed to the ongoing and monotonous realities of the world, life and death, to me, were never thought of more than just regularities, a depiction of fate. No one knows how they are going to die, or truly, the meaning of dying. So, really, life is simply just a tedious journey, filled with mountains of confusion, oceans of depth, and winds of destruction. The knowingness of it all, the recognition of how the world works, lacks grace and integrity, divided into spectrums really no one can understand, not even some of the smartest people in history.
As a teenager in the middle of it all, I was never taught on how to deal with the tragedies and calamities life brings to certain people— certain people, who can think they have an undivided knowledge of the world. I was never taught how to feel when a person, right in front of my eyes, falls to the ground in a pool of their own blood, immersing into the exact delineation of unexpected. Or when a boy, who stumbles around a corner with a weapon between his fingers, the same weapon he used to create the monstrosity playing before everyone.
And that's when everything clicked in my mind, when I saw Sheriff Peterkin drop to her knees.
Life is not just a thing. It's not just a cycle, a repetition that goes on for centuries, or a dull process, a boring iteration. We meet people, and those people change us, mold us, and shape us into a version, good or bad, of ourselves. And then those people leave us, and the space they used to rest in is left vacant and irreplaceable. Sometimes it's not even our closest beings that cause that empty space, it's the mere realization that someone's journey was abruptly left unfinished, and they didn't get to ever find the true meaning of life— even though there is no true message to it, really, at all.
But to think you've found purpose, and to feel a sense of inner completion, is something so unnoticed and forgotten. To make it to the top of your epiphany, to immerse yourself into a new reality that you, and only you, have found your grounds on earth— is often perceived as incapable. The water-tight vessel that contains all of our emotions, thoughts, and feelings can finally break free, because the sure knowing that life is not just a thing, is consuming, and ever-lasting.
So when Peterkin fell to the paved ground, I felt like my being had shattered into a million different pieces, all over that airport runway. The shards scattered all over the pavement, in front of everything, and I wanted to scream, scream out for them to be careful and not cut themselves, but my voice wouldn't make a noise. The words were caught inside of my throat, scratching to be released.
"Rafe, no," John B's voice came out nothing higher than a simple whisper, disbelief filling through the spaces of his words.
Sarah fell against me, sobbing hard, her eyes shooting fleeting glances between the injured victim, and her very own brother. It was as if her legs were giving out, unable to stand for any longer.
There's not a time in one's life where they get the chance to prepare for the worst, to prepare for the colossally unexpected. There's never a moment where you picture yourself seeing a dead person for the first time, or a dying person, and not just as imagination or a morbid dream, really picture it— nearly as an experience. Submerged into the "cycle" all my life, I never thought that I'd see the day where a life is lost, right in front me. The thought of witnessing such a vastly impactful occurrence was always far gone, not even in my realm of possibilities.
The moment I heard the gunshot rip through the clouds, it was almost as if my whole life had flashed before my eyes, sending my mind way back to the very first time I'd ever heard a gunfire. Back to the downtown streets of New York City. When I had been shopping with Anne. The beat of my chest from that day was pulsing through me now, and I felt the exact same, but now I was just waiting for someone to cover my eyes and ears with gloved hands and take me into a taxi cab, away from everything.
I jumped to when the square-groupers had invaded John's home, and shot the doorknob. It was an easy escape that day, but now, standing there on the runway, there was no window to jump out of.
And like the snapshot of a photograph, I was then standing on the beach at night under the stars, watching Jj pull a gun from his back pocket. The ricochet of the gunshot sounded through the air, loud over the crashing waves, soaring through my ears and causing a ringing in my head to erupt. I felt it all come back to me in a wave of disappearing photos.
And finally, the Crain house, when Mrs. Crain had shot at us repeatedly as we ran from her basement. Now, I wanted nothing more than the Pogues to be sitting in the dirty brown van, yelling for me to run quicker in a chase of survival, Jj nearly driving off, tapping the steering wheel hard and impatiently, ready to zoom away from the runway for our safety. But in reality, John B's van had it's front window shattered to pieces, the door nearly broken, and the Pogues were nowhere in sight.
"Rafe!" Ward said, breathless. "What'd you do,"
Rafe laughed, "I saved you dad," he said, through bubbling tears in his eyes.
He pointed the gun at the three of us.
I wanted to scream at him, yell at the top of my lungs that he killed the sheriff, and why he would do that, but words would not brew. So, I stood, trying to keep balance while John B held onto me, tears falling down my cheeks not only at the sight of Peterkin, but at the grin on Rafe's cheeks.
Sarah was speechless as well, barely able to stand. I felt John B's hands let go of me, sliding away from my torso, as he panted. He quickly ran over to the Sheriff.
"Hey— hey, hold still, hold still," he was rushing, falling onto his knees beside her body, "It's okay, it's o— where is it, it's okay," he searched for the wound.
I had my hand interlocked with Sarah's, the fogginess over my eyes making it difficult to see clearly. But I wasn't blind— I could see Rafe pointing the gun towards John B, while he rushed to help Peterkin.
John B hurried to untie the bandana around his neck, mumbling curse words as he placed it on the bleeding wound. Ward stood up on his feet. The sheriff strained to whisper something to John, her voice coming out painful.
Sarah's hand tore away from mine, as she placed both of her hands on her knees, bending to the ground, sobbing, whispering a series of "no's".
"Call for help," Peterkin wheezed between her words, losing breath by the second.
There was an endless amount of tears flowing down my cheeks.
John B reached for the radio strapped to her uniform. Almost, I felt a relief, until Rafe stepped closer to the two, the gun cocking.
"Rafe, no!" Ward demanded.
But Rafe was too busy stepping towards John B, the gun always pointed, saying, "Don't try it asshole." Through staggered breaths.
John B looked up, trembling.
"John B." Ward lowered himself to the floor. "Give me the radio." He calmly ordered.
I felt my stomach turn at the fact that he was being calm, while the Sheriff struggled to breathe.
"No," John denied, with a weak tone.
Ward squeezed the radio out of his hand.
Rafe couldn't stand still, his feet wouldn't stop moving back and forth, taking shifts at pointing the gun between me, Sarah, and John B.
"Rafe. Calm down. Ive got it." Ward said to his son, showing him the radio.
Sarah's sobs got even louder.
"Put the gun down!" He demanded, slowly pushing Rafe to back up.
Meanwhile, John B still leant over Peterkin, his hands trying to stop the bleeding. She stared up at him with fear-stricken eyes, wide, and mouth gasping for air.
"Run," she told, and it sounded like she was on the verge of her last breaths.
Suddenly, I felt my stomach turn, and I clutched both arms around it. I cried and cried, feeling my body close to throwing up, leaning over while still keeping an eye on John B.
"I'm not leaving you," he muttered, his voice cracking.
"Run," she said, again. Something in her voice was fearing, as if she knew something we didn't, something more than dangerous.
Ward was busy calming his sun down, repeatedly showing him the radio.
"Oh— my, god," Was the first thing I could get out, since the beginning of it all.
"I'm sorry," John B cried to Peterkin, his vocal chords breaking.
And then, I watched as he let go of the Sheriff's hand, and slowly stood up.
"You guys need to leave," Sarah said, quickly, looking to me and then to John B. "Now— go! Run!" I'd never seen her cry so hard.
Before I knew it, John B was grabbing my arm with a strong hand, and pulling me with him as Sarah pushed us.
"Hey— where you goin' huh!" Rafe screamed at us from behind, but we were already running.
My heart was racing, and my hair was covering over my teary eyes, but we ran, hand-in-hand, through the tall grass towards the forest.
A strong strike of fear pierced right into my chest when a series of gunshots erupted through the air behind us, followed by loud screams from Sarah and her father, and vile shouts from Rafe. I let out a breaking cry. John B squeezed my hand even tighter, continuing to pull me through the grass.
The screams and hollers didn't cease even when we made it past the tree line. I stopped.
Our hands tore apart from my sudden halt, and he turned around quickly. "Charlie—"
"I have to go— go, I have to go back," I stammered through tears, heavily breathing.
"You can't—" he protested.
"Sarah is—" before I could say anything else, I heard her scream, louder than before. Like she was getting injured. I closed my eyes in a hard blink, from the fear growing in my chest.
There were more gunshots aimed in our direction, causing us to duck our heads, just being at the tree line and still in sight.
"We have to go," John B wrapped his hand around my wrist, not roughly or harshly, rather soft. A print of red stained my arms where he'd grabbed me earlier, from the blood on his hands, and there was a ring of it circled around my wrist.
For only a short second, I looked back, seeing Rafe shove Sarah into his truck aggressively. I let out a sob under my breath, and turned back around. I didn't have to say anything for us to start running again.
The two of us ran and ran, far away, through the trees. I had never ran so fast in all of my life.
As the sticks and leaves poked at my feet and legs, I was taken back to the time I'd gone to the lighthouse. When the cops had shown up, and John B had told me to run. Just simply run. And so that's what I did, I ran as fast as I could, through the grass and through the streets, as far as I could get. This was much different.
This time around, I was running for my life.
If someone would've told me back in New York, that in a month's time I'd be running through trees to save myself, I wouldn't have believed them one bit. And that's because fate was never a real thing in my mind. I had never really thought about the day I would die, or how it would happen. Destinies and fate weren't real. They were plainly words that my favourite TV characters would say, or things that my eyes would skim over in a book. Never did I think I'd be calculating my own fate, while running through a thick forest in the middle of the summer.
The funny thing about reality, is that it's facts and deprivations tend to mess with the brain in unexplainable ways. Sometimes people can think they know how they're going to die in the future, or how their loved ones are going to pass, but the realness of everything takes things to a turn. The future is never an open book. And everything we do, every person we meet, every person we lose, changes it bit by bit, until our perception of fate is completely reversed, flipped to it's side, to the complete contrary of what we want and think will come.
If I wouldn't have gone to the corner store on my second day, I wouldn't have met John B, and I wouldn't presently be focused on dodging trees and hanging branches. And sometimes fate is good— rewarding, and brings an endless amount of happiness, but the future is never sealed, and never will be. We trust others, give them our time, mold them, and they mold us, but the tendencies and urges of drastic tragedies are never out of peripheral vision, always there, and will never leave.
After seeing Peterkin's body lying there on the runway, her blood staining the pavement, I realized that, just like her, my life could be taken from me at any moment. A twist of my future.
With his hand locked in mine, John B and I ran through the forest, a road coming into view ahead of us. I couldn't feel a sense of relief flow through me, because relief wasn't something to be feeling in a time like that. I just hoped we wouldn't be running for much longer.
Before we could even make it two steps onto the road, a loud car honk bursted through my thoughts, causing me to halt in place. But John B kept going.
A grey car hit the side of his body, and he rolled over the windshield, landing on the ground on the other side.
"John B!" I screamed.
The man in the car was shouting, asking if we were okay, and why we were bleeding, but I was too busy helping John B to stand, more tears flowing from my eyes. Somehow, he quickly got back up on his feet, and with a few staggered steps, he was up and running again, pulling me with him. I tried to glance back at the man who stepped out of his car, and I wanted to yell an apology for the red handprints on his vehicle, but I couldn't speak.
We made it into town long after, and now we were walking, not speaking anything to one another. I think we were both processing everything, but yet, we knew exactly what had happened. I could barely hold his hand, because mine were trembling too much. The tears on my face were dry and tensed up my cheeks, leaving me with a sad expression, eyes slightly wide.
Somehow, I don't know how, but John B knew where the Pogues were. We walked around the corner, simply stopping there. Neither of us spoke. Kiara, Jj, and Pope were standing in some junk place, huddled around a wooden post. Pope saw us first.
Jj whipped his head around, upon following Pope's wide-eyed gaze.
"Dude!" Jj shouted, "Dude, dude, you good bro—" he was running around the junk, towards us.
"Oh, my god," Kiara exclaimed, breathless.
I didn't know what to do.
"Bro, is this yours," Jj asked, with a much lower tone, grabbing hold of John B's arm, staring down at the blood. "Charlie?" He stepped towards me, looking at the red marks.
I gasped quietly, feeling my throat close up as tears shot to my eyes. I stared forward, feeling paralyzed.
"What the fuck happened to you guys," Pope commented, concerned. I'd never heard him so worried. "We saw Cameron throwing you into the plane Char—"
"Who's blood is that?" Kiara's voice trembled unstably. She was looking at the stains on my arms.
John B looked down to me.
I cried, lowering my head.
Soon, I felt a hand place on my shoulder, and another on the back of my head, pulling me in. I knew it was Jj, by the material of his shirt on the side of my cheek. I sobbed hard.
"What's wrong with her," he whispered to John B quietly.
Pope had his arms wrapped around John B, hugging him tightly. I'd never seen him willingly hug his friends.
I stood, barely hugging Jj back. He pulled away after a moment, and I felt Kiara's hands on my back, hugging me now. I completely broke down at their embraces.
I felt John B grab my hand, squeezing tightly, and Pope reached out. Catching me off guard, he hugged me, tight.
When Ward had shoved me into the plane, I thought that I'd never see the Pogues again. But they were here, now.
Right as he pulled away, cop sirens sounded through the streets, causing all of our breath's to hitch. We ducked behind a tattered couch. And I sat there, surrounded by my friends, completely traumatized by everything that had played out.
✰༄✰
𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭
𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐌𝐅𝐀𝐎
𝐢 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡
𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬
𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠
𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐞.
𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 :)
𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 !!