My Fall
Prologue
That feeling.
That same feeling. That same noise.
Ragged, rough, frightened, I just couldn't place it. A noise from somewhere. The windows were closed, but still it could just be a draft. Why did it bother me so much? Why did it feel so familiar?
Chapter 1
The tiniest creak, then before I could stop myself, I breathed out; a sharp, short breath that had Nicole looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern on her face.
It was just that suddenly everything fitted into place. Of course it seemed impossible and every inch of my logical mind shied away from it: but I didn't just listen to that part of my mind any more.
My name is Riley Maine. I'm called Riley because my parents thought I was going to be a boy, I was a disappointment. Anyway, when I was 10 and my sister was 8, I stopped her from dying.
Thing is, it was just a hunch, a niggle in the back of my mind. The weekend of the 12/10/2002, my sister was meant to go to a sleepover at the house of a girl called Sam. She lived in a flat in the middle of London, 3rd floor. See the problem with living in a big city is the fact that it's one hell of a terrorist target.
I'm sure you know the rest of the story; 5 girls dead and my sister, the lucky child who decided not to go, and lived. Ross if 13 now, I'm 15, still young, I won't die now!
Those are the words that pounded through my head as the breathing got louder. Tenser, it made it even more familiar.
Now I knew. I'd seen this all in a dream, or nightmare, I knew what came next.
I had to stop it!
Chapter 2
"Sir!" I said, rather more loudly than I'd meant to.
"Yes?", my maths teacher replied.
"There's someone outside the door."
"I didn't hear anyone knock."
"But can't you hear him?"
Pause. "Hear what?", he said, looking at me like I was an insane person.
"Just trust me", I muttered.
I fumbled desperately through my pencil case, hands shaking and palms sweating. "Anything!" I cried inwardly to myself. Yes! Scissors there, and a compass. Not enough.
I pulled myself awkwardly out of my seat while I vaguely felt the class's eyes on me. I positioned myself between Mr Smith and the peeling blue door of the classroom. My ears roared as the adrenaline kicked in and all my senses became heightened. It felt like another world, to the world I'd been living in anyway; dull and lifeless.
Suddenly the door swung open, ramming into the wall. Through it charged a young man, all in black with only one of his hand visible. As the man retrieved his other hand from behind him, I felt the power radiating from him before I saw it. The man held the aura of confidence around him that could only be captured when you were in possession of a gun, a real gun.
The cold, hard steel glinted blindingly in the ironic sunlight. Anyone wielding a gun on a day like today threatened to blind you and kill you.
Hands up. Two words that I would have laughed at in any other context, just not this one.
The man looked half crazed, his eyes boring into mine, he didn't seem to notice anyone else. Perhaps that was purely because of the two futile weapons I clutched in my hands.
I've never been one to run, so I had to fight. Instinct had me lunging for his stomach with my scissors. I made a small indentation before his gun clunked on contact with my skull. I slumped against the teacher's fake wooden desk. I blanked out momentarily, but soon enough any concussion left me and I opened my eyes to discover that the last ten minutes of my life, had sadly not been a dream.
My eyes travelled round the room and levelled with the hit-man who had invaded my school. In his left hand a knife, pointed at me, obviously hoping to deter any further attack. In his right hand, the gun, directed towards the rest of the class. The latter seemed to be retreating to the back of the classroom. The man must have issued them with this instruction while I had been unconscious.
"And you." He looked at me pointedly, his voice firm and foreboding. He flicked the gun at me as if to remind of the life-ender he held in his hand.
I walked, head down over to the end of the classroom. I lent my head back against the surprisingly, and inappropriately, warm wall. In fact everything about this scene was wrong. A gun. A murderer? Scared teenagers? You weren't supposed to meet this sort of thing in school. I observed the man in black as he strode purposefully but also wearily towards us. He looked to be in his late twenties. Dark brown hair and black eyes, so deep I thought I could see his soul. He was well built I'll give him that, tall with very toned muscles, I would have said an army officer had I seen him in the street.
However, here he just looked like a man cold to the core, who was about to ruin my life.
IMAGE: Big Wheel by kevindooley
