A/N
I have this essay writing competition at school and entered it. Lol this is actually the story, but they put a maximum of 1,500 words. For me, that's not enough. So I'm just going to publish it here - mainly because it is also one of my ideas for my short stories.
The fourth lightning zips itself across the night sky, lighting the world for one second before the clap of thunder rumbles, upsetting the ground.
Devon finally collapses with a splash, letting out a heavy groan. I would do the same if I let this fatigue wear me out, but I mustn't do that, or else there will be nobody around to help us. I bend down and heave Devon from the ground by his armpits. I can feel his shoulders quavering as I lift him up.
He's crying.
He didn't cry before - not even when his sister died during our evacuation, killed by a legion. Of course, we were in such a haste that we almost didn't feel any emotion. Though, now that we are far from them, in a remote area where neither of us has ever set foot in before, I can just deduce that the sorrow has finally kicked in Devon. So I let him. I let him cry. He can let it all out.
But we have to move on. Even though we are in an area so far for the legions to locate us in the middle of the raining night, I still feel exposed. Looking around the darkness surrounding us using only my flickering torchlight, I can just make out the silhouettes of trees and small houses in the distant. No lights come out from any of the houses. We might as well be in the middle of nowhere.
We are only two eighteen-year-old boys running from hazard caused by the legions, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hopes of succour. The only equipment I brought with me are my quiver of arrows, my bow and my rucksack filled with - no doubt - soaked clothes and food. Devon, however, didn't have a chance to bring anything with him except the small pouch that originally belonged to Eloise. Eloise, who was his sister. Eloise, who took a sword in the gut to save him. Eloise, who was only fifteen years old.
"She's dead," Devon chokes out. This is the first time he has ever spoken of her death. "She's dead, Garrett."
He is about to fall again, but this time I hold him firmly on the shoulders and shove the torchlight into his hands. The light illuminates his face, and I look away at once; his eyes are in much pain I can't bear to look straight into his eyes. I swear I can feel the grief radiating from him.
"We'll search for help," I tell him.
"Eloise is gone."
His face drops, but I instantly pull his face back up so he is facing me. Devon is my only best friend, and I have to do whatever it takes to keep him moving. "She's dead, we both know that," I say, rather sternly. "We never expected it, but it happens, Devon. It can happen to any of us - maybe even to either of us. Eloise would want you to move on. We can't simply get help from here. That's why we have to move on. We need to."
I hand him my own knife for him to defend himself, and on we move.
We walk under the pouring rain for another hour. By the time fatigue finally kicks into me, the rain has ceased. I might as well catch a cold if I keep pressing myself to move, so Devon and I decide to seek refuge near one of the empty houses. There are a dense number of yew trees in the back garden. It is sort of dry here. I instantly fall against the bark of one of the trees, sliding to the ground with my head buried between my knees. I don't realize how completely drained I am.
Moments later, golden lights dance on the ground, casting long shadows, followed by assuaging crackles. Soon, I can feel warmth on my hands and legs. Looking up, I notice Devon has set up a fire for us to warm ourselves. He looks better than earlier. I guess what I said to him worked. Though, I don't think he is completely all right. I know what sorrow feels like; it eats at you until you decide to move on.
Devon sits before the fire, putting his hands near the dancing flames. He then looks up at me.
"Okay, mate?"
"I'm only okay if you are," I say. "Are you?"
He gives a faint smile before shrugging. "There's a lot to sink in."
Like Eloise's death, I think to myself. As well as this madness that is happening to us. "Do you think they'll find us?" I ask him, referring to the legions.
"I can only hope for the better,"
"I shouldn't have let the information slip," I sigh.
"Mistakes can never be taken back, but you can learn from them."
This is what I like about Devon, he always - and I mean always - knows what to say to make anyone feel better, despite what time of the day it is, or what kind of circumstance we are in.
Neither of us have anything to sleep on. I only have my backpack and its soaked contents inside. Nevertheless, I take them all out and lay them on the ground so they can be our sleeping mats. I glance at the empty house in front of us, its silhouette illuminated by the glow from the moon peeking from behind the clouds. For a moment, I consider entering, but I fall into a deep slumber faster than I'd thought.
I am roused by the light that seems to have penetrated right through my eyelids. I rub them with my knuckles before opening them. I can feel Devon's back pressed against mine and the soft snore coming from him. Gradually, I push myself on my palms and look around; the morning certainly looks picturesque.
That is when I spot a young girl in her early teens staring at me. Her auburn hair is pulled into a bun. She has a basket of purple fruits in one hand and a stick in the other. For one perturbed moment, I feel anxious that she might recognize us as one of the legions' foes; our uniforms say it all. How long has she been standing there? Is she real? Is she one of the legions as well?
That strikes me; she might be one of them.
My gear kicks in; I quickly jump on my feet, adjusting an arrow on the notch of my bow. "How do I know you're not them?" I bark.
She seems taken aback by this. "I'm not who?" she says in a Posh accent.
"Don't you dare try to deceive me!"
My actions seem to have stirred Devon up. "Garrett, what's-"
He pauses at my sight aiming an arrow over his head. He then turns around. The sight of the startled girl surprises him as well that he quickly gets up. He brandishes the knife I gave to him the previous night.
Now the girl looks beyond petrified to have two boys aiming weapons at her. "M-mum!" she screams. "Mum!"
She quickly turns around and runs.
She runs into the house; the house at which I thought all night was empty.
Devon looks at me. "What was that all about?"
"I don't know," I say, putting down my arrow. "But we have to be alert."
"Come on, let's leave this place before-"
The sight of an older-looking woman stops him. She is accompanied by the girl earlier, who is now shuffling behind her. Devon and I eye this woman in her long violet robes, who looks really old but has a kind face, her grey hair tied in a bun, just like the girl.
"My daughter has sought to tell me that you have performed a violent stance to kill her," she says calmly.
"You don't happen to be a Legionnaire, do you?" Devon asks.
"Pardon?"
"Don't deceive us," I repeat.
"I am not familiar with that term - are you Roman?"
"No," I answer. "But you seem to have a good idea."
"I have a faint idea," she smiles kindly at us. "I assure you I am not one of them. I understand, of course, why you seem to have trouble grasping this. You are, like anyone else I have heard, on the run."
"We are," Devon says.
"I don't trust you," I state.
"Hey, you might as well be seeking for help. We can provide you with that!" the girl speaks, and she sounds more mature.
"How do we know you're not setting us into a trap?" I narrow my eyes at her. Devon lightly elbows my side, giving me a hard frown.
"You told me last night about getting help," he hisses.
"I also said to be alert," I counter.
"Phoebe, it's up to you to watch them or not, but if they're okay," the woman says to the girl who I'm guessing is called Phoebe, "let them in."