Courage - By: Jamster

The light of a new day dawned on Asgarnia, lighting up everything in a wonderful golden colour, pushing back the evil of the darkness. The boy rolled over, his bruised body refusing to let him remain comfortable, every way he turned was painful. He sat up. The glare of the Sun, after so long without it forced him to close his eyes. He tried to shield his face with his hands, but only one would move. As the Sun moved behind a cloud, he lowered his arm, and slowly pulled himself up. His arm hung limp by his side, and his whole body ached. With a small smile, the boy turned and glanced at the glowing embers of the previous night's dying fire. The raccoon's small charred body was still pierced on a twig from the night before. Seeing this, the boy wolfed it down, and smiled. A taste of flesh. Long since had he tasted such, even like that, burnt, and dry. It was good to be free again, to feel the wind on his back, but unfortunately, he could not enjoy it for long.

The protective wards around this body were breaking down, and the interference of that slithering scoundrel, Juna, would only make things more difficult. He had had to take over; the boy was in danger, and without the boy, there was no way this could work. He stared at the ground, observing every single piece of the smashed pendant, desperately looking for The Eye. Shattered glass littered the floor, the occasional glint of sapphires, diamonds, but he couldn't see it. Then, as the Sun came out from behind the clouds, he saw it shimmering in the sunlight. He picked up the ruby, and held it close to him, feeling the beat of his heart against jewel stone. This was it, he had found it, at last. He removed the talisman from around his neck with his one good hand, and placed it on the floor. Then he brought The Eye down, onto the pendant. He felt the two meet, but had to look away as a brilliant red light began to glow beneath his hands. When the boy dared to look again, the glow had gone, so he removed his hands. The ivory pendant had become encased within the Ruby, just as the prophecies foretold, and even now the power was clear.

He placed the pendant back round his neck, and felt raw energy rush into his small body. The talisman burnt fiercely as a red glow enveloped the boy's left arm, lifting it upwards and pushing it back into place. The shoulder returned to its original position, and instantly the red glow pushed further around his body, healing broken skin, cuts, bruises and scabs, covering them all in a pulsating red light, before suddenly dissipating, leaving nothing behind. Rejuvenated, refreshed, renewed, the boy felt new power surge into him. He conjured up a small ball of fire in his hands and tossed it at a nearby squirrel, who squeaked in surprise, before being burnt to a cinder in the searing heat. The boy laughed cruelly as he walked over to the sleeping bag. He rummaged through the backpack beside it, and pulled out the short sword. He held it in his fingers, running his hands up and down the rusty blade. It was a weak sword, made of poorly constructed iron or steel, and he could feel it bending in his hands as he flexed it. Slowly, whispering to the metal, and passing his hand across it, it began to heat up, flames licked the rusty hilt and spread up the sword. He held this aloft, and watched as the wind fought to blow out the flames, which continued to burn with an intense brightness. Then, he stopped, and lowered the sword. As much as the power was breathtaking to wield, he had a purpose, and it must be fulfilled. He put the flaming blade beside his hip, and left it there, as a golden hilt formed around it. Walking away from the makeshift campsite, the boy smiled. It was good to be back in the mortal world.

****

Drawing his sword, the boy slipped out from behind the cliff face of Ice Mountain, and gazed up at the fortress in front of him. As he walked towards it, looking for any weak point: an open window; a loose brick; anything that could help him gain access, one of the guards shouted at him, something about it being no place for kids. The boy turned, his dark eyes scanning the scene. Four guards stood outside a sturdy door, and a fifth was walking towards him. Tucking the talisman behind his shirt, he lowered the sword, and greeted the guard with an open hand. The guard ignored it, instead offering the point of his sword to the boy's chest.

"Leave now, child. This isn't a place you want to stay, believe me, I know." The boy stood there, staring, innocently at the guard with his dark, smoky blue eyes. "Are you deaf? Dumb? Don't you get it, kid. Run along. Go. Shoo." The guard waved his free hand in the general direction of Falador, and sighed. Some people just didn't understand. He didn't want to work here, to force people away, but it paid well, and he needed the money. Dejectedly, he turned away, hoping the kid would get the message somehow, but stopped as out of the corner of his eye he saw the child bringing out a hand out from behind his back. He watched, intrigued, as the boy thrust a flaming ball into his chest. For a few seconds, the guard stood, petrified as he felt the heat rush through his armour, scorching his skin, burning the flesh. The child stepped over the smoking body of the guard, the smile wiped from his face, replaced with a scowl of thunder. The other guards scattered, leaving just the solid wooden door between him and justice. He raised his sword, and brought it thwacking down hard on the wooden door, which stood firm. Again, harder. The door buckled under the force, and one more blow brought it down, the flaming sword catching the tiny splinters and igniting them. Gingerly, the boy stepped through the open doorway, brandishing his fiery blade.

A single, solitary Black Knight guarded the room, sword drawn. He was taken aback by the size of the intruder, and the boy used this time to thrust forwards.
"Traitorous fool!" The knight retaliated silently, unsheathing his black longsword and striking against the pitiful leather armour of the boy. The sword bounced off harmlessly, and the two blades locked together, matching each other's strength. After a couple of seconds, the boy tipped his sword in defeat, head bowed. The knight laughed, mocking his fear-ridden opponent, and raised the sword above his head, ready to strike the final blow. But it never came. As the sword fell, the boy looked up, a wry smile passing across his lips. He brought his sword up, the flames glowed furiously and cut through the darkened blade, sending it falling to the floor. The last thing the knight saw was the smiling, innocent face of a child, before the flames engulfed his heart, death taking him quickly.

More knights had entered the room, raising their swords at the sight of their fallen comrade. The boy jumped up, and slowly edged himself around the room, parrying every blade the knights swung at him, taunting them, laughing cruelly.

"Can't you feel it? The guilt running through your veins." The boy inched slowly leftwards, narrowly avoiding a blade meant for his neck. "Cowards, shameful cowards. Go, go run back to your 'god.'" The boy mocked, passing harmlessly through the forest of furious blades. "Don't fight it." He ducked, as an inky black sword slashed violently against the stone wall behind him. "Your ancestors chose this future for you. Tell them, when you see them will you?"

He stood up, the dark blades swishing harmlessly away from him as he raised his hand. The knights stood, spellbound, drawn to the boy's hand as it sped through the air, brushing each breastplate before the boy stepped back,

"She grows. I cannot sustain her." He cupped his hand, "You are perfect: weak, lost, hated..." The boy suddenly wrenched his hand back towards his body, breaking the spell. "Goodbye." The knights came with it, their armour suddenly felt so much heavier. None of them resisted as they fell, the charred metal resonating on cold stone. The boy stepped forwards, and pulled open the visor on the closest knight, then held his hand out. The knight's glazed eyes stared lifelessly back at him as something formed in the upturned hand. The thing dived towards the man's mouth, and the boy was forced to turn away as it burrowed into it. After a short moment, a command barked from the knight, and he turned around, replacing the hand. This vessel was ready. As the pulsating mass returned to his hand, the boy stood up and walked towards the next body, then the next, and the next. No body in the room was spared this treatment, each and every vessel was prepared.

This body was strong, of course he should never have doubted his Dark Master. These vessels were perfect for his brotherhood, the others could be reanimated if needs be. But there was no time to concern himself with that now, his brothers must be called, the ritual completed. He brought three of the empty vessels against the wall, and conjured up three small balls of fire, which he placed above the lifeless bodies. They fell to eye level, and began circulating around their chosen vessel's head, as the boy sat in a fourth place, channelling ancient energies from the air, earth, water and fire. The vessels glowed fiercely: one brown; one white; one blue and the boy's own body became a bright, burning red. He had never felt so good. The existence of his brethren were in his hands, he had to force himself to concentrate, calling them, calling their names in the openness of his Dark Lord's realm. They answered, drawn towards the vessels. He broke the bonds. Quickly, he stood up, the colour drained from the vessels: he winced. Had he broken them too early?

"Brethren? Akran, Lagast, Tarfel?" His tongue settled naturally back into the ancient language of the forgotten few. "Have you returned?" The vessel next to him, destined for Akran, moved slowly, and the boy rushed over to help the armour-clad figure to his feet.

"Mordecai! The water rushes greets your inner fires at its shore as once it did so long ago." The figure dusted himself down, and looked around him. At once, his charred metal armour was doused in a wave of water, and as the water touched the metal, its ripples gave way to a rich dark blue fabric which enveloped the hydromancer's new body. "'Tis good to see the light again, my brother. The time is coming I assume?"

"Indeed, now come, Akran," he gestured at the two remaining blackened armours. "The air and earth appear to have been... You could say grounded, eh?" He chuckled at his joke, and began to turn, then hesitated. "There has been a complication, however, I am afraid. The wards are being explored by a certain serpent."

"Juna?"

"The very same. With you and the others by my side, she has no chance. I shall release the wards before we continue. Her death shall relieve our master, and surely satisfy my bloodthirst."

"Agreed. Now, to our brothers." Akran knelt beside Lagast's vessel, and began his preparations.

Juna had never felt right in human settlements, but spending a night in one was too much for her to bear. She missed her serpent form, she longed to stretch herself out and feel the cool, rough ground against her scaly skin. Instead, she had had to remain a human and sleep in one of their 'beds.' It was so strange, the soft covers, the warm room. So different. How could they sleep like that, day after day? The Earth was calling her, she had felt it throughout her troubled night. Something was wrong, very wrong. Juna had slipped out just before dawn, through the kitchen exit, towards the palace gardens. As soon as she stepped on the grass, terror flooded into her, the earth desperately calling out, asking for help, divine intervention. The images of the night's actions flashed across the inside of her eyes. She saw Alexis writhing in agony, his body falling to the floor with the thick smoke surrounding him, shrouding her view. Juna shook her head, the images cleared and she looked up to see the Sun emerging from below the horizon. Its radiance shone across the courtyard, bathing her world in a wonderful golden light. Juna smiled for a split second, realising this was one of the first times she had ever seen the dawn, but then her face darkened, as she remembered the visions.

She glided back into the Palace, into Reldo's sleeping quarters; where he rested, his mind slowly returning. Whispering a few words of comfort to his still body, Juna knelt beside the bed, vowing to hunt down his attempted murderer, and deal out justice as well as she could. She took his book of records down from its library shelf, and quickly re-read yesterdays hastily scrawled notes on Alexis. The scrawny, brown hair. The piercing blue eyes, like that of a new born baby. Then she noticed a passage which definitely had not been there before. She read fast, absorbing the information, quickly, in fear it would disappear as fast as it had come. Her eyes came to rest on a word that chilled her to the bone: Zaros.

Of course, it came to her in an instant! There was something obscuring her vision, she should have felt it before. The runic vision crashing to the floor; the boy disappearing before her very eyes; Reldo's infection; the black smoke clouding around the boy, and now the new passage in the book. The talisman had been protecting Alexis, shielding him from prying eyes, and now, the bonds were broken. Something was toying with her; Juna knew it was a trap, but, renewed with a prayer softly to her God she realised Guthix would protect her. She knelt down, eyes closed, shivering in the fresh morning air, and faded away.

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Waves - By: Scary Applesauce

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Wrong Number - By: Slashing UK

This story is inspired by topic 168416

***

Picking up the phone I dial the URL of my favourite chat room. Listening to the connecting tones I close my eyes to spare myself the sickening disorientation of the refresh. The connection completes and is replaced by dial tone, I open my eyes, hang up and step out of the booth and into the hubbub of a crowded room. I move towards a group of young men sat in a circle of leather armchairs. Their conversation is about some video game I’ve never heard of, so I move on to a smaller group of Goths, but I don’t understand their language. The other groups don’t have much going for them either, so I stroll back to one of the long row of booths and shut the door behind me. Silence. I pick up the handset, press the receiver to my ear and wonder where to dial next.

I feel lucky, or undecided, so I punch in Google. From my access profile, the search engine decides that I would like to go to a classical music concert. I hear the tones, close my eyes, and wait for the refresh, then open my eyes and hang up. I wait for the green light, as air rushes into the booth to equalise the pressure, then I open the booth door, and find myself in an exchange control. Damn it. Didn’t I specify that I wanted to stay in the UK? I hate having to go through immigration just to go to a URL which I’ll most probably decide I didn’t want to visit anyway. The black-uniformed officers of the Austrian immigration authority don’t even look up from the queue of patiently waiting immigrants queuing to access the immigration booths on the other side of the exchange. I guess they see this all the time. I step back into the booth. Luckily, an incomplete refresh won’t get charged to my Skype account, but I can’t afford to spend all of my credit on pointless URLs. I dial Google again and pick Top Refreshes.

The usual collection of too skinny celebrities, entertainments, sports, news, hobbies and interests, virtual worlds. I select hobbies and interests. Video games, fishing, hiking, woodworking, chess… Hiking? I wonder what that is. I decide to check it out. No, I don’t need instructions or an introductory tutorial, let’s get on with it. I punch in the URL and refresh at the hiking booth. It smells odd, slightly damp, and looks dirty too. I open the door and am lashed by the air from a powerful, cold fan. No wait, it’s the wind…I’m outdoors. I’ve not been outdoors in years. There are several pairs of cumbersome and dirty looking shoes nearby. I wonder why I’d need them…

I stroll outside the booth and can’t see anyone. There’s a street, covered in messy looking plants, shifting in the wind. Ahead and to the right there are some green hills stretching into the distance, and to the left side there are some buildings. I’m not exactly dressed to be outdoors, I wasn’t planning on going to a beach or visiting a volcano or going to a zoo or something. So, I stroll towards the buildings. I don’t think I’ve walked this far in one go for a long time, and I’m soon out of breath. Besides, all those plants on the ground make the floor very uneven and I keep stubbing my toes.

I arrive at the first building, but it’s in a bad state of disrepair, and all boarded up. It looks like an old house, but I’m not really sure. The next building is much the same, and several after that. Then there’s one with the word’s “Ash Hill Corner Shop” flaking away from a board above the large front window. It looks empty. Then there’s another with “Travel Agency” painted on it. I’ve no idea what a Travel Agency is; it contains nothing but a few old bits of furniture and jumbled piles of old papers.

I hear a door opening, back at the row of booths, a thin old man staggers out. He’s wearing outdoor protective clothing, but is shielding his eyes from the daylight. He rubs the netlag from his eyes. I guess he couldn’t sleep wherever he lives and travelled to somewhere dayside to enjoy his insomniac hobby. As I watch, he pulls on a pair of the over-sized shoes and straps them tightly in place. Then he heads for the hills. Seeing the way he’s dressed, I realize how cold I feel, like I’ve been standing too close to air conditioning for too long.

I turn back to look at the street and notice further along something that I think my parents called a “car” or something. I think people used to travel in them before the Personal Telephone Refresh (PTR). I walk up to the car and peer inside. It has four seats, all very close together. It sure looks cramped. I wonder how long people used to spend together in them. Ten seconds, maybe twenty or thirty. Just to get somewhere! Maybe they even spent minutes in them. That would be so dull. I try to imagine sitting in the car. I think people must have been a lot skinnier back in those days.

Then I notice the low, buzzing hum. It’s coming from the other side of the road. There are more abandoned buildings, and some strange structure with a wide open forecourt, under a tall, flat roof held up by some thin pillars. It has “Mason’s Garage” written across the edge of the roof. And just a little further along, is the cleanest, freshest building of all. It’s mostly white and has some clean, blue signs on it. I approach it, and see that it belongs to Earth Telecom Corporation – the organisation that took over the PTR licence after its inventors were sued into bankruptcy following the crime wave that followed its first release. The building emanates power and activity, despite its lack of windows or doors. I walk around the building until eventually I find a door. It opens readily enough, and I squeeze in through the narrow doorway, taking a moment to rest and get the warmth back into my arms and legs. I can hear people, machinery and music, and head towards the sounds of activity. After a couple more doors, and being told I was in a restricted area by a technician wearing a Yahoo! t-shirt from before the take over by Earth Telecom Corporation, I find myself in the familiar environment of a telephone exchange. I head straight for the booths, dial my home page and close my eyes.

After taking an extra warm shower, I realise just how badly my feet hurt. I put my feet up and dial up a pizza delivery for tonight’s dinner. As it shimmers into view from the phone portal, I reflect on the day’s URLs. Rubbing the soles of my feet to take away the pain, I add an entry to my Google profile, “Reminder to self – study some history. And, no more hiking!”

Halloween Night - By: Desireful

On Halloween, Trick Or Treater's flashlights illuminate the night,
It's inevitable for children to receive candy without light,
Getting ample candy from door to door,
You persevere from your sores,
To keep going, without falter or sight,
All on Halloween night.
To keep the scare alive, abrupt a "Boo!" at a friend,
Don't aggravate the people around you by acting like it's the end,
Everything in sight is dismal, just for Halloween frightm
All on Halloween night.
To deceive people to go again before the night ends,
Even if they live right around the bend,
Your futile efforts to finish the neighborhood doesn't make it right,
All on Halloween night.
It's normal to falter, when you approach an abode,
When Trick or Treaters are coming up the road,
But as the night grows smaller,
The pile of candy in your bag grows taller,
Everyone feels less jubilant as Halloween starts to fall out of sight,
All on Halloween night.
Being frugal with your candy will make your brothers and sisters bicker,
As you try to endure the boring count of your candy over a candle light's flicker,
You enjoy eating your hoard of luscious candy treats,
That nobody can beat,
The jubilant Halloween night comes to the end with a fright,
All on Halloween night!

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The Pker - By: Merch Gwyar

She was in the Wilderness Agility Course and a momentary fear gripped her. It was ok, the area was deserted, and so Jodie took the first tentative steps towards the obstacle pipe. Behind her, the wolves bayed and her mood was such that she half considered opening the gates and just letting them send her back to Falador. She touched the ropeswing and landed at the head of the stepping stones. Across, one, two, three, over the lava to the other side. She walked to the log balance, calming down now, letting the silent monotony of skilling salve her savaged nerves.

It was all good. She trained agility until the cares of the day seemed like a distant upset. Nothing touched her here. The danger of the Wild was also her protection, as few dared cross its snowbound landscape to reach her at its very edge. Climb the rocks, bonus points, into the pipe and onto the swing. She even smiled as she dashed out of reach of the skeletons. Only 1000xp to go for the level, one more run.

They came from nowhere. Two players appearing at the pipe, while she rushed across the pit below. Jodie paused, to climb or not to climb... but one of them greeted her with a cheery, 'hi', and, reassured, she began her ascent. 430xp, just one more run. The others were already crossing the lava pool, she could keep her distance, if she was careful. She crept into the pipes.

They were waiting! Doubling back as she emerged from the other side, one already circling around the spike pit. Frantically, Jodie clicked on the pipes again, but they didn't allow access from this side! She ran, darting forward and taking damage, towards the ladder and down, finding sanctity with the skeletons. Her attackers found her, one becoming entangled, but the other slashing her with his knife.

'Don't! Please! I have nothing on me!' She screamed. 'Why are you doing this?'

She dodged and lagged, but reached the ladder, struggling upwards into the dark Wildy night. Pursued down into the expanse below, one player raced to block her escape route. The other hit hard.

'I have one fish, let me trade you it.' Her cries were met with 'lol'. 'I only had to go round once more, then I had my level. I'll leave then. I'll leave you alone.' Hitpoints draining away to dangerous levels, she remembered something from self-defence classes back home. Personalise yourself. Personalise them. She found their names. 'Jason666... please don't be mean... D34thskull... let me go...'

She frantically tried to exit, but couldn't achieve ten seconds without being hit. It was too late. She was in Falador.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Shaking, Jodie logged out, alone in her office, the lab dark and empty through the glass partition. Things were going so badly. First the contract lost, after she had spent so many hours sweating blood to complete, and the boss had blamed her. Not in so many words, oh no, nothing that blatant, but the air was icy around them. Without that funding, how could they make their wages. How could she pay her mortgage? It was all on the line. All going to pot. Now this! Stupid, stupid, little children, why couldn't they leave her alone?

She didn't even know that she was crying until she tasted tears on her lips, salty and snot-filled, not attractive at all. She was rocking in her chair and her hands, when she reached for her mug of tea, couldn't pick it up for trembling. What now? Log back on and find something else to release her stress. She was stressed. She could feel it as a knot in the back of her neck. Smash the computer? Trash the lab? Jump off the windowsill into traffic and the great beyond?

'Jodie, breathe. Just breathe.' She was speaking aloud to herself, a tiny rational voice being drowned out by the screaming inside. This wasn't like her. She had always been so professional, so frostily calm that people didn't even forward office funnies to her inbox. She didn't do emotions; she felt like she was going insane.

As quickly as it had risen, the turmoil in her mind died away. Jodie stood in the midst of a sea of paperwork and broken glass, which she couldn't remember knocking to the floor. It was all clear now. So clear. Her eyes shone with the knowledge of what she must do. Information first. Could she defeat them in hand to hand combat?

She opened a brower and found a search engine. 'Jason666 + D34thskull' threw up three different websites. Runescape itself, for their listings in the hiscores; then two more pertaining to a PKing Clan called Beelzebub's Army. One was simply their clan listings on a third party site, but the other was the clan's homesite. It had a forum. It had profiles. Time passed and Jodie searched.

Jason666 was a fifteen year old from Minnesota, USA. There were photographs of him and the farm on which he lived. Two brothers, both photographed, and a little sister. How sweet. She found an obscure reference inside a thread that suggested his name was Stephen. The public could search the past usernames and he had changed his several times. The earliest was Srobins1992. Another search then, Stephen Robins + Minnesota. It seemed that his granny was a family historian. She had a website devoted to all of her findings. She had included his school photograph; he wore a baseball cap emblazoned with his school's name. Jodie recognized his face. She took down the names of his parents and siblings, then turned to a directory of the state. In luck then, only one listing near to that school for the names. She had him.

D34thskull was even easier. He'd linked from the Beelzebub's Army site to one of his own. His blog scattered personal details like confetti, even confirming some details which she had previously found out about Stephen. It seemed that the two were best friends.

Jodie stood. The hum of traffic outside lessening now, as the clock ticked on past 9pm. The sensation of wanting to jump had never left her, just receeded under the sharp focus of her mission. She was head chemist here, government sanctioned and with access to all areas. This wasn't about logging on to hunt through pixels anymore. She could finish this.

She crossed the lab into the fume cupboard, pausing at the door to don her white coat, protective gloves, goggles and facemask before even opening the drawer. Once inside, she took out the powder, so carefully, so not to breathe it in. So not to let it touch her skin. In a controlled environment, she smeared it onto paper, then stuffed the paper into envelopes, each one addressed. It was too risky posting it here, colleagues might start developing symptoms and dying. She'd be found out before her letters had crossed the Atlantic and reached their destination. PKing ftw. Yes.

Jodie locked the lab and office, then strode off into the night. There was a postbox in Queen Street. That would do.

'Excuse me, are you alright?' A passerby asked her and Jodie knew how she must look, with her tear-stained face and, perhaps, a wild look in her eyes.

She smiled, 'I'm much better now, thank you.' Then posted her letters.

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Homecoming - By: Cresenne

“You can’t.” Tears ran down her cheeks in angry rivulets as she rushed to block him.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. Pushing her aside, he stepped out onto the dirt street below.

“She’s a tramp, Karel!” She was screaming now, pleading with him to see reason and turn back home.

He whirled around and grabbed her, dragging her into the house amidst her sobs. “Don’t ever –” he threw her onto a chair “– insult her again.”

“But I saw her!”

He froze.

“You’ll destroy our reputation if you marry her.”

“Our reputation’s already ruined. What difference does it make?” he asked in a strained voice.

“But why? Why push it?”

He did not answer as he turned and walked outside, slamming the door behind him. Dim streetlights illuminated the houses on either side of him. He broke into a jog. Sammy loves me. She’d never turn from me…Never. Down the alley and across the Common. Four houses to the right. Her face surfaced in his mind: an image of perfection. His pulse quickened as desire overcame him. He needed to see her.

Darkness engulfed the street where she lived. Heavy shades were drawn across all the windows of her house, obscuring everything within its walls. He hurried up the porch steps and knocked.

No one answered.

He tried the knob. Unlocked. Cautiously, he entered and crept down the hallway. A faint glow came from below the living room door. He approached it, and reached out to push it open.

“…he doesn’t know…”

He stopped. Another voice – low and soft – replied. The other giggled. Sam? It can’t be… But it was her voice.

Hesitantly, he cracked the door open and peered inside, afraid of what he might see. Candles were arranged romantically around the room, their flames casting an eerie glow off the crimson drapes. In their middle was the loveseat that he and Sam had so often shared. Except…

“Sam!” His voice was a mixture of horror and shock.

The other man rolled off her as she frantically grabbed for her clothes, knocking over a table full of lit candles.

“I…I’m not…” she stammered.

“But I thought…” He trailed off. So his sister had been right after all. Sam hadn’t truly loved him.

“Back off!” The other man shoved him into a wall. Karel shoved him back.

“Who’re you?”

“Her – ” the man jerked a finger at Sam “ – boyfriend.”

Fire began to spread across the wooden floor, licking the legs of chairs and tables. None noticed.

“But I’m –” Karel protested.

“Not anymore.” He gave him a cruel smile. “Now leave.”

“Sam!” he called, hoping that she would do something – anything – that would prove she still loved him.

Instead, she looked away. “I…I’m sorry, Karel.”

“You want me to force you to leave?”

Karel met his gaze, then dropped it. Sam had chosen this man. And there wasn’t anything he could do to him in front of her. He shot one last look at her before allowing himself to be led out of the house.

A figure ran toward him; he recognized his sister.

“You followed me.”

She nodded, her wide, innocent eyes boring into his.

He started to reply, but was cut off by a sudden shriek. The house was burning.

“Sam,” he muttered, his gaze shifting to the house.

She was trapped in there – dying, perhaps. He dashed to the door. Locked. Stepping back, he rushed at it again, forcing it open.

“Karel, come back! Don’t leave me!” His sister had caught up to him.

He ignored her and entered.

“Sam!”

No reply. He forged onwards even as smoke blinded him and filled his lungs. Dizziness began to set in. The living room door had burned down, and a wall of fire blocked his path. Steeling himself, he burst through it.

“Sam?”

He coughed and stumbled forward. She lay on her side, next to her boyfriend. Unconscious. He sank to his knees beside her and shook her, praying she was alive. He shouted her name again, his voice ragged and hoarse.

He couldn’t breathe…felt himself weakening…

At least we’ll die together…
_____

Gentle hands lowered him to the ground. Someone crouched next to his motionless body. He forced an eye open.

Sam lay a few feet to his left, her once-perfect face now charred and disfigured. A doctor hovered over her, shaking his head as he drew white linen sheets over her body.

He looked away, unable to bear the sight.

“Why’d you go in?” his sister asked.

He glanced at her. “I had to. Sam was in there.”

“But you could’ve died.”

“I loved her.” His gaze traveled down, resting on her bandaged hands. He bolted up in surprise. “You’re burned.”

She looked down at her fingers in silence.

“How…?” And then he understood. “You came after me.”

She nodded.

“Even after…?”

“You’re the only one I have left.”

He stared at her. Then, slowly, he reached out and drew her into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

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