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2: College Student, Crumpled Paper, Train, Laptop

3: "You can all go home now."

None of us ever wanted this.

Four of the others screamed as it dove in for the attack. They were not the first to go.

There had been the small, scared boy who was not even supposed to be with us, but of course he had to follow his older sister. She had cried at his death, but crying only attracted it and led to her own death.

Then there was that smart girl, who had not deemed it necessary to run when she was attacked. All she had done was stand there, calling out about how it was all right. It was not even real, she had said, and the boy had just died because he hit his head wrong and his sister had killed herself out of shock. Perhaps she had hit her own head wrong, too, because she fell in the next moment. That would never explain why her organs were spilling out onto the carpeted floor.

The house itself was not very frightening. In fact, it was rather stunning. The previous owners had definitely been filthy rich, judging by the amount of gold trimming in the house. Nobody knew why they had simply disappeared ten years ago. I suppose we knew now.

We were missing more than the seven that we had watched die. None of us wanted to go look for them, however, because that would give away our position. Their lives were not worth nearly as much as our own.

Then it found us. I looked it straight in the eye, and it attacked, screeching. The sound had been terrible. That much I remember. I tried to dodge it by leaping to the side, and it snatched up the girl beside me. She died instantly.

I scrambled to the door, hoping it would be distracted by the others. Instead, my fumbling brought me to its attention. It shrieked with that terrifying noise and dove. I flattened myself on the ground, hoping for the best.

I was proud of being the first of its victims to survive so long, though I doubted that this would continue any longer. Perhaps I had a chance if I could just reach the door.

I was too slow. I felt something sharp closing around my stomach just before I reached the door knob. I wondered what death tasted and felt like because I had already heard, seen, and smelled it.

However, it never came.

I never caught a glimpse at our savior. I doubt any of us saw him because we had all bolted at the sound of his voice saying, “You can all go home now.”

I suppose I was very lucky.

4: His eyes were the color of worn silver dollars, and they demanded absolute attention.

I swallowed thickly. Then, I glanced at him again. Then, I turned back to the table. “I didn’t mean to. Honestly. I didn’t think that would happen.” The warmth from my mug didn't help much under the chill of his glare.

"Of course you didn't think," he stated matter-of-factly. "You never do."

I gulped again, then again. I willed my hot chocolate to refill itself, just so I could avoid his glare. However, I knew I could not. I glanced up again. His eyes were the color of worn silver dollars, and they demanded absolute attention. "I didn't mean to," I repeated weakly.

"The fact of the matter is you did, whether you meant to or not, and I haven't even heard an apology from you."

"I'm sorry," I supplied quickly. I pleaded with myself to turn away, to run away, to hide away. I couldn't do it. I was trapped by the slivers of silver.

"Your apologies are of no consequence now. It happened. What are you going to do about it now?"

I finished off my hot chocolate, ignoring the searing pain. "I don't know."

"That is a problem. You need to know."

I wished I could get angry. I wished I could glare directly into his eyes and snap at him, telling him he couldn't tell me what to do and that I was perfectly capable of fixing things myself. However, wishes were but whispers of the wind, and they were easily gone. Instead, I cowered under the intensity of his stare. "I'll fix it somehow."

"I'm sure you will," he quipped. "What made you think to do it in the first place?"

"I don't know," I confessed honestly. "I just—I never imagined it wouldn't work. Everything seemed fine at the time. Everything was going so well, but then it all stopped working. I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm not even sure how; it was fine before. I had no clue beforehand that it wouldn't work—Honestly, I didn't. It was all so sudden; I didn't even think about the consequences of it failing because it had been doing so well before, and—"

"However, it did fail. It is still a problem. You need to fix it. You don't know how to fix it, or you never thought to fix it. That in itself is a problem."

I set my mug on the table. "I know."

"At least you know that much," he muttered under his breath. "I'm not going to help you with this. You need to figure out for yourself how to get out of your own grave."

I hoped that whatever expression I was making would be enough to convince him to reconsider. "No, please help me. I can't do this by myself, no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do. I can't—It's become so much worse. It's irreparable, impossible; I don't know what to do. I need help." I wished my voice would stop breaking.

"I'm afraid my hands are tied. I've already come to a decision. Good luck."

I leapt up to stop him from leaving. "No! Please stay. Please help me. You can't go! You can't leave me here to try to fix it myself. I can't do it. It's impossible! Please!" I cried out, but he was gone.

A pair of hands held me back. "Kayden! Stop this!"

I screamed and tore myself away. I needed him to come back, to help me fix this mess. "Let go of me! He's gone, and I need to get him back. He's gone! He can't be gone. I need him. I can't fix this by myself. Let go!"

The hands had returned, gripping me tightly.

His eyes were the color of worn silver dollars, and they demanded absolute attention. They would never demand my attention ever again.

5: "One bullet is a lifetime supply."

The gun clattered on the table as he laughed. "I'll make you a deal."

My eyes didn’t move from the gun. “What kind of deal?”

He walked closer to me, standing right behind me. “If you can get out of this place, I’ll let you go free. I’ll even give you this gun.” He leaned close to my ear. “Isn’t that such a great deal?”

I shifted away from him. “What’s the catch?” After all, there was always a catch.

He walked back to his side of the table and sat down. “Well,” he began, “if you don’t make it out, I’ll make sure you’re dead.” He picked up the gun. “Also, the gun only has one bullet.” He pointed the gun at his temple. “One bullet is a lifetime supply, after all. You have multiple ways to freedom.” He threw the gun back down on the table. “So what do you say?”

“I’d rather just leave, thanks,” I tossed back at him. Suicide wasn’t an option. Suicide was never an option. I was going to make out it alive, and I was going to make it out okay.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Now, how to get you out?” He produced another gun from behind his back and cocked it against his temple again. “See you on the other side, I guess.”

I choked on air when he pulled the trigger and collapsed on the floor. How could he have just killed himself in front of me?

A guard rushed in to see what was wrong, and I instinctively grabbed the gun from off the table. I aimed it at guard, who immediately put his hands in the air.

Also, the gun only has one bullet.

I cursed inwardly, realizing I couldn’t just waste my only bullet on the unarmed guard in front of me.

He sensed my hesitation and began advancing toward me. “Calm down, kid. Let’s be reasonable about this.”

Reasonable? Was locking me up for my entire life reasonable?

I leaped forward, blinded by my sudden rage, and slammed the hilt of the gun against his head. He dropped to the ground with a satisfying crack. I reached over the guard’s body and grabbed the other man’s gun off the ground. I checked to see how much ammo was left in the gun and cursed again when I realized he had used up the last bullet.

Figures.

I had to leave. More guards would come eventually. I crept outside the cell, wary of the possibilities of other guards out there. Seeing that there was no one there, I ran down the corridor, hoping that I’d eventually find my way out.

I managed to stumble across a sign directing passersby to certain areas of the building, and one of those directions pointed to the emergency exit. I bolted in that direction, only to find a small squad of guards waiting for me. Unlike the first guard, they were all armed with the latest firearm tech.

“Put the gun down and come with us quietly if you don’t want to get hurt,” one of the guards demanded. I didn’t know which one had spoken because of the helmets they all wore.

I didn’t want to listen. I charged the nearest guard and cocked my gun under his chin.

The other guards laughed, nervously, might I add. One of them spoke again. “All right, kid. Don’t make us hurt you. Just give it up already.”

One bullet is a lifetime supply, after all.

I hesitated. Of course, I would rather die than be taken captive once again, but I would also rather escape than die.

One guard took a step forward and made my decision for me.

I pulled the trigger and held my hostage up as a shield, hurling my useless gun at another guard, which didn’t do much good, and snatching the dead guard’s weapon, which did plenty of good. I had taken out all but two before I was hit in the shoulder.

Collapsing, I shot one of them and aimed at the other.

“Just give it up, kid,” he said, pointing his own gun at me. “There are more guards on the way.”

Right on cue, footsteps began to thunder around the corner.

You have multiple ways to freedom.

Death may have been a few of them, but I didn’t want that. I wanted to escape. I wanted true freedom.

I fired my gun and rushed outside.

6: "An only son. A folded flag."

I dropped down next to my partner, who was already examining the man. “What will he leave behind, Eni?”

She spared me a quick glance before returning to her work. “An only son. A folded flag. Are you going to help me out or not, Bails?”

I gave her a cheeky smile. “Or not?” Eni glared at me, and I held my hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. May vestri animus sileo in aeternitas. Happy?”

“Very,” she replied in a dry voice. “Would you mind leading him this time? I’ll cut the line.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I turned to the man—or, his soul that had left his body—and smiled. “Manako Ihaya? I’ve come to lead you to eternity. Will you please follow me?”

He carefully watched Eni. “Am I dead?”

“Yes, Manako-san.”

“What is she doing?”

I answered patiently, “She’s inspecting your lifeline to make sure that there aren’t any anomalies, but it looks fine.”

“Anomalies?” He chanced a look at me.

I nodded. “Sometimes the lines are tainted, and we have to go back and review them.” When his confused expression didn’t change, I explained even further. “Sometimes people don’t fulfill their purposes, so we have to send them back.”

“You mean like resurrecting them?”

“Well, yes, in a way. They usually aren’t quite dead yet.”

“What about instantaneous deaths?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes the line snaps instead of being cut. It’s messy business then. Also, some of us are faster than others at collecting souls.”

“Are you ready to pass into eternity, Manako-san?” Eni asked suddenly, done with cutting the man’s line. He was now officially dead. “I do apologize, but we do have many other souls to attend to.”

He gulped and looked around at the carnage. “Yes, I suppose so. Is it nice over there?”

I hesitated, but Eni gave him a quick reply. “I’m afraid we are unable to tell you that.”

He nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll go. I hope my son knows I love him.”

I took him by the hand. “I’m sure he does. Goodbye, Manako-san.” I led him through the veil and returned back to earth. “It’s sad. All of this, I mean.”

“Of course,” Eni returned immediately, “but it’s life—or death, I suppose. Plus, it’s our job, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“You don’t,” I muttered.

“Eniola Kanawe! Bailey Garille! The war isn’t going to wait for you to finish fooling around!” our superior called out.

“It’s not like the souls are going to dissipate into the air.”

Eni gave me a look again. “They might be stolen. Besides, if you find it so sad, don’t you want to quicken their deaths and ease their suffering?”

“Of course,” I answered, heading over to the next unattended body. "It's just that this whole war is terrible. I love them to death, but why do they insist on tearing each other apart?"

"In their nature, I guess. What does it matter?"

I shrugged. "Humans are strange, beautiful creatures."

7: "He is a poem said out loud; I'm a word on the tip of someone's tongue."

"He is a poem said out loud; I'm a word on the tip of someone's tongue."

I fidget with my sleeve, trying to be convincingly fascinated by the unraveling thread. To be honest, I do find the thread rather interesting. It is doing its best to keep the sweater together and maintain its little world in perfect order, yet here it is, being torn apart at the seams by a whimsical, irrational outside force. Funny how life works.

The girl across from me clears her throat. I remember she has been waiting for the answer to my question for a while now.

"I'm sorry; will you repeat that please?"

She groans and snatches up her pitiful peanut butter and jelly sandwich, working her fingers around the crust to peel it off. "Honestly, do you even care anymore?"

"Who knows?"

"You should!" she bursts, slamming her sandwich down on her plate.

I laugh. "All right, fine. I guess I don't. Why should I?"

"That's my freaking idiot of a brother you're talking about. You were both happier together." Her nimble fingers go back to work on her sandwich.

I laugh again. "Look, no one except you cares anymore. He's fine. Look at him. He got over it."

"No one ever got over it. They're all just pretending, those insufferable poltroons." Having finished with the crusts, she begins eating her sandwich piece by piece. I find myself mesmerized by the way she eats her sandwiches so methodically. I've been mesmerized by her little quirky routines since the day we met.

"All except you, I presume."

"Right. As I said, no one is over it. No one's happy anymore. They're just hiding it. You two need to get back together."

I sigh, turning my attention to my sleeve again. "They look just fine to me."

"As I said, they're pretending."

I sigh again. Desperation can lead to the most appealing conclusions, but they are often wrong and wishful thinking. "Even if they are," I concede, knowing that we would never move past this point unless I let it go, "I can't go back to him. There's no way I'm going back to that torture chamber."

"I'd say not being in that relationship is more torture for you."

"I'd beg to differ," I shoot back, tired of the argument. "I'm not going back to him."

She wipes her fingertips on a napkin to rid herself of the nonexistent crumbs from her sandwich. "How was any of it torture for you, anyway?"

I give a low chuckle. Apparently he never told her anything. "It was suffocating. He put so much pressure on me, but you wouldn't understand, now would you?"

She growls. "I won't understand if you don't tell me. I don't see what was so wrong with the relationship. As far as I could tell, all he did was push you a little so you could get out of your stupid comfort zone and live a little."

"No, not that kind of pressure."

"Then what?"

I don't answer for a moment, trying to think of the best way to explain it. "It was the pressure to be perfect."

"What are you even talking about?"

"Before him, I was a nobody. With him, I was somebody—barely. After him, I'm again a nobody. However, during my time as a somebody, I needed to make sure that I could live up to his image. I had to prove that I was worthy of being with him. The only problem was that it didn't work. I screwed up often. I was never good enough. No one took notice of me except to be shocked by my status as his girl. I could never compare." I can tell she's about to open her mouth and talk, but I'm not done yet, so I continue on.

"He was—is—everything anyone could ever want to be. And I just couldn't live up to that. People still don't know who I am, nor do they care. He is a poem said out loud; I'm a word on the tip of someone's tongue. People see him, love him, analyze him, love him some more, and remember him for the rest of their lives. He inspires people. I, on the other hand, am nothing but a sense of familiarity, common knowledge that someone has momentarily lost, something that no one can quite grasp right, and eventually they give up. He gave up. Now I'm giving up. Why won't you give up?"

She narrows her eyes. "You are meant to be together. Besides, you were never anywhere near nothing."

The sardonic laughter bubbles up out of my throat before I can stop it. "You are joking, right? The relationship is over. We're moving on. You need to move on, too, especially because this has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!"

"As far as I can tell, it doesn't. Since when was the relationship about the three of us? There are you and I, and there are you and he, and he and I don't exist anymore. Just let it go."

"No!" she screams, attracting the attention of the whole cafeteria. "I will not let it go! Neither of you are happy apart!"

"And what makes you think we'll be happy together? You know, we tried, but our sadness together didn't really add up to happiness. I need you to move on from a relationship that doesn't involve you or anyone else for that matter anymore because I am so ready to move on with my life."

She looks like she is about to explode, though she already had. Instead of attacking me, however, she turns on her heel and leaves. I turn back to my sleeve.

And that's the end of it.

The funny thing about endings is that they're much like an unraveled thread. It's fun to fool around with until you actually reach the end of the thread, and you realize that now your sweater is a useless pile of thread. And you realize that you want it back to the way it was. And you realize there's no going back.

Funny how life works.