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The creature is pinned to the ground. The seven harpoons are plunged into its body, but I can still see it squirming.
“Is it dead?” I whimper.
The boy approaches it, his blade pointed forward. I stay behind, I don’t want to get anywhere near that thing. The creature flails trying to free itself. The boy stands over top of it and slashes his sword right into the mid-section of the creature. It lets out one final cry and stops moving. The boy pulls out a harpoon, it’s made of the same material as his sword, and he plunges it into the creature's skull.
“What the hell was that?” I see the same black liquid I saw before leaking from its limp body. I realize its blood. Black blood is dripping from the creature and onto the ground. A team of people in biohazard suits crash through the door and push toward the creature. Before I can see what they are doing the boy gently places his hands on my shoulders and turns me around.
“You won’t want to see this.” He says.
“Tell me what’s going on.” I demand.
“I wish I could but I’m really not the right person for that.”
“Who the hell are you anyways? What is this place? What was-”
I gasp for air and my eyes begin to grow blurry. There’s the same feeling in my chest and stomach as before when I left the lecture hall. My legs crumple like tissue paper beneath me. I tumble to the ground. I see the boy crouch down and he’s saying something, but my ears fail to work. I can see that the he is trying to hold me up but I can’t feel him. My ears start to pick up some noise.
“It’s going to be okay. I’m sorry that you had to do this.” He tries to comfort me, but he sounds like he’s so far away.
“Was this real?” My breath is faint.
“Yes.” I look into his sea blue eyes and try to focus. They look so familiar to me.
“My name is Weston by the way, Weston Brandt.”
I feel like I am being pushed to the point of breaking. My stomach is being stretched out like elastic, letting go and snapping back into place, over and over. But then it stops.
I swallow the air like I might never be able to do it again and my eyes snap open. I paw around my surroundings. The sheets of the nurses bed soothe my fear. The stupid cat poster is a welcomed sight. I am back.
Was that a dream? Did I die and come back to life? Weston… my brother was there. That’s impossible. He’s dead.
I sit up on the bed, my head is pounding. That must have been a dream. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’ve been in this room the whole time… I think. My black dress is still covered in dirt.
“No, no, no.” This must just be from today. There’s dirt everywhere but it could’ve gotten on me from walking or taking the bus or something. This doesn’t mean anything. I try wiping off the dirt stuck to my dress and I notice my hand. I turn it over and see the black smudges on my fingers. I smell my hands hoping that it’s not what I think it is.
It’s spray paint. The same spray paint from the message that was sprawled on the ground from wherever I was. That means that whole thing was real. That means my brother is alive.
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