Shatter me

For WC41

Title: Shatter me -Lindsey Stirling

Chapter 1

Shatter me

"Luke where are you!" I scream, searching desperatly for my little brother, my best friend. We went into war in the same plane, him by my side like old times.

I run over pieces of broken buildings and dead bodies, trying to hold back tears as I recognize people I once knew. I search frantically for his dusty red hair, his young face. I don't think I can continue fighting this war without him by my side.

I hear faint coughing and wheezing, and run over to the sound as fast as I can. I come to a giant block of cement, and as the coughing starts again, I drop and thrust my arms down into the hole. Fingers claw my arms, deserpate for salvation.

I pull the body from the ground and hug him close. It's Luke. He coughs again and hold him out to get a better look. He looks horrible; his face coated with dust and blood. I rip a piece of my shirt to clean his face, and realize it's his blood. His skull is crushed on one side, there's no way I can save him.

"Helena? Is it you?" His voice, barely audible, cracks with the effort to breathe. His tears make tracts in the dirt coating his face.

"Yes, yes I'm here. Shh no don't try to talk. I love you." My vision is blurry with my tears, my throat closed from trying not to cry. I adjust his head on my lap, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

"Where am I? What's going on?" He coughs again, and it's nothing but blood. I notice a maroon patch on his jacket and realize he's been shot too. His lungs are filling with blood, and he can't breathe.

"Safe, you're safe. And it doesn't matter what's going on, I'm here and you're okay. You'll be okay." I can't hold back the tears anymore as I tell him these lies. He knows he's going to die, that he's dying right now. And he accepts it; he doesn't fight it.

"I love you," he coughs violently, "I'm sorry." He coughs violently a few more times, then is still.

"Luke? Luke! Don't leave me! You can't leave me...." I drop my head onto his and collapse into violent sobs.

"Give him back, give him back, give him back…." I pray to a God I don't believe in, although no one can bring back those who've passed into the Other World.

I lay his head down on the blood soaked pavement and close his sky blue eyes. I stand and walk away, the pain flaring in my chest. Fifteen is too young to fight in a war meant for men, to young to die. I look back once more, as if to see if my brother has risen and is following me. He is not. I shed more tears as I march away, pain dominating my emotions. That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt. And it was all I was feeling now.


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