Where We Were, Where We've Been

#1

He’d been too late.

By the time Mo caught sight of one of the helicopters, it was already climbing higher and higher into the sky.

Why had he moved so slow, hesitated to come out. This might have been it, might have been a way out, but he’d squandered it, he’d been slow in his approach, scared of what awaited within the arriving vehicles. It could have been the military there to bring an early end to the Program as a result of whatever fighting had created the earlier gunshots; and when even when it did seem that this force wasn’t violent toward the other students, he found that he couldn’t move properly, only able to watch from afar.

Even now, as he tried to wave frantically at them, hoping to get their attention, his arms felt as though they were slowed, struggling to cut through the thick air that surrounded him.

“Wait! W-Wait! I’m here! I made it!” He screamed again and again, terrified of being left when hope might have been within his grasp.

It was then that he saw some movement from the helicopter and his eyes widened with anticipation. They’d seen him. He was getting out of here!

Only when he recognized that there was a person hurtling downward towards him, did Mo realize how wrong he’d been.

The young athlete stumbled backward to avoid being flattened by his former classmate, hurtling through the air too fast for him to actually identify.

Mo didn’t want to see the impact, to see the moment where a person’s body shattered upon contact with the ground, but his eyes remained wide open with shock as the body reached the ground and kept going.

The point of impact was sucked downward with the body in an ever-expanding maw that led downward into nothing.

The maw swallowed up everything around it, including Mo and though his throat tightened he was not scared, this was how things had to be for him. How it always would have gone.

And so his body was pulled down, at an ever-increasing velocity.

Down.

Down.

Down into his seat.

December 15th, After

Mo’s whole body jolted forward, eyes open, only to be held back in place by the harness that had been strapped into when he first got on.

He soon knew that he was awake again, from the pain he once again felt in his shoulder. The young athlete’s throat felt dry, his breath unsteady… was he sweating?

But there was nothing happening, nothing dangerous at least, it was just his brain trying to mess with him for… he didn’t even know why? And even knowing that, he couldn’t seem to calm himself down.

Why? Why was this happening? Mo was safe. Well, safer.

He didn’t have to…

The boy’s breath started to shake and he felt his face get hot.

Mo didn’t want to cry here, not with everyone around him, faces known and unknown to him. They’d all look. They’d all see.

As usual, what Mo wanted meant little.

Tears poured forth from his eyes and all he could do was bury his head in his hands. He remained in his hiding place for the rest of the flight.

December 13th, Night

The boy had claimed he’d watch out for Faye, styled himself as some sort of defender. It was all arrogance, in the end. It was delusion.

The stranger was attacking Faye. Mo couldn’t move.

The stranger was killing Faye. Mo couldn’t move.

Faye was dying. Mo couldn’t move.

It was really more that he wouldn’t move, though.

((Muhammad Abbasi continued from Quietus))

No one had stopped him and he still had the hatchet. He could have done something, but he just watched, legs only shaking slightly as he remained there on one knee, looking back and watching as the one friend he’d found out here was killed.

Only when the stranger seemed to get up from Faye’s prone form did Mo’s own legs begin to shift.

“I-I said wait!” He cried, whirling around with his hatchet in hand, gritting his teeth, but they were already gone, darted off into the night and Mo hadn’t seen which direction they’d gone.

Instead of any sort of fight, he’d just been left there alone with Faye… what was left of Faye.

The boy did not want to look. The boy knew he had to look.

Slowly pulling out his own flashlight, he shined a beam onto Faye, cut up, bloody, empty.

It hadn’t been a quick death, and as Mo slowly, gingerly approached there were a number of stab wounds. Any one of them might have been non-fatal if the attack had been stopped, if he had actually stopped it.

Of course, that hadn’t happened.

Mo realized that his knees were trembling, and he was crying.

“What the fuck was it even for?!?” He screamed loudly into the air, sinking to his knees beside Faye, tears streaming down his cheeks.

The stranger hadn’t taken anything, hadn’t attacked him. It was all just senseless random bullshit and he’d let it happen.

“I-I’m sorry Faye… I-I’m an idiot… I’m an asshole and a coward!” He sobbed, pounding the side of his fist against the ground. He’d gotten her to buy into his optimistic bullshit, gotten her to buy into the idea that he’d protect her if she needed it, and he’d let her down.

It turned out that all he could do right was look out for himself.

The boy let out a deep, hollow laugh at the thought. Just like at home, trying to act all acceptable, desperate to be thought of as American as everyone else, always looking out for himself.

Another glance at Faye, there was so much blood, broken skin… he was starting to feel sick being here.

And so he’d have to leave her. The thought twisted up his guts even more.

“I’m so sorry Faye. I really really am… I’ll- I want you to know that I get whoever did this. I swear I’ll find them.” He said slowly.

What he’d do when he found them? That he didn’t really know.

Swallowing back more tears, Mo scooped up his bag and slowly trudged out of the house, hoping he might manage to never return.