--wordcount: 340
--warnings!: guns, slight mentions of death
--created for the Tropetember event: Plagued by Nightmares
“Michelle.”
I turned around, ever so slowly, ever so carefully, as I faced her. She was a frightened rabbit and every wrong step I took would be enough for her to run. To run away. From me.
And that was just what happened.
“Michelle?”
I could hear her breathe heavily. Her eyes were wide. Her hands were clenched. She didn’t say a word.
But then I sensed her calming down, enough to ask me.
“Are you okay?”
“Michelle-”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you..” she paused, and looked at the men beside me. “Do you need help?”
Her voice was a mere whisper, blowing away into the wind. But the silent night allowed us to hear her.
The man I was holding down was injured as hell, but he could still muster the courage to shout his last words.
“Whoever you are, run.”
And a blur passed right before my eyes.
I saw a flash as a gunshot ended the man who told Michelle to run. I felt my best friend, the one who fired, push me over.
And I heard her scream before another shot cut her short.
“Michelle!”
That name still rings in my head. I forget about it every day, but every night it comes back.
My eyes open.
The gloom of this moonless night soaks through my curtains, the shadows of buildings adding to the darkness of my room.
I let out a groan. Michelle. What a stupid thing to think about. I’ve moved on. I can’t do anything about the past, so why is my mind bringing it up?
My blanket is twisted along my body and I struggle to untangle it. My hand searches under my pillow, and finds the item. I cast a quick glance at my gun, cold and heavy in my hand, the same gun that-
No. I won’t think about that. It’s time to forget.
I return the gun to its hiding place.
And I lay back down, hoping that the memory does not haunt me twice tonight.