I was a survivor, but I envied those who died.

 

 

 

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The blinding flash of white light sparked at my instincts, and my eyes immediately slammed shut. I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t see the grenade, but I felt it. My arms fumbled over my eyes, rubbing away the pain, and the grenade exploded. Pallets of ball bearings shattered the war torn city.

 

 

 

Two ball bearings made its way into my skin, burying themselves in my flesh. One lodged itself in my heart, or in my lungs. I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t tell, for both my breathing and heartbeat was faster than ever before. The second bearing was on my left shoulder. There was nobody to help me. I had to help myself.

 

 

 

Each step was heavy, yet my body felt light. I could almost feel the could metal of the ball bearings, which stayed lodged in my skin. I could feel trickles of liquid drip down my sun tanned skin. Rivers of blood.

 

 

 

I could see my house, yet it seemed to keep the same distance from me every step I took. No, it was coming closer. It came too slowly. I wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t make it in time.

 

 

 

I tried to scream out, but the air was punched out of my lungs. The first ball bearing was in my lung. I could feel it now. My lungs wheezed every breath I took. Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

 

 

Dammit, I was going to die. Each time that thought crossed my mind, my breathing would wheeze even louder, and blood would stream out quicker. Clear out my mind. Think happy. Think happyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ

 

 

 

I thought happy. The pain grew worse. I knew the pain wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t that great, it was my fear that hurt. Happy memories I would never live again made it worse. Fear of the past. Fear of the future.

 

 

 

What did the afterlife hold in store for me? I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t want to know. I began running. A jog at first, but it slowed to a sprint. The house was so close by. A few more steps. I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t make those steps. The world went black.

 

 

 

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I was still alive, but the pain was greater. I could feel a bed. I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t recoignise the face looming in front of me. But she knew who I was.

 

 

 

Why couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t I tell? Did I know I was crazy? Who was the one who helped me? I kicked at her. She tried to defend herself, she begged at my feet, but I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t remember her pleading. I knew she was crying, but I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t know what emotion that was. Anger? Happiness? I knew what she felt when I attacked her for the last time. Pain. Like I did. Then nothing.

 

 

 

She died in the house I had been running to. I donÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t remember why I ran there.

 

 

 

I wanted to die but I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t I knew I was crazy, but something insisted I wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t. The wounds were still there but I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t feel them. I had survived, but I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t know it.

 

 

 

I wandered aimlessly. I saw bodies, like the one I had just seen. Dead, motionless. I looked around. I was the only survivor.

 

 

 

I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t know what my life was before I went crazy. I know nothing of happiness and joy. But I know anger. I know instinct. My instinct prevented me from going to hell.

 

 

 

I envied those who died.

Spooky, an excellent short story.

Great, I love it. Good job.