It's time to fly.
It's time to die.
You kick and flail,
To no avail.
As the screaming,
Drowns your dreams.
******
Chapter One: Promises Made
*****
"Wanna wrastle?" Brendan asked as he hit his cousin playfully on the arm.
Harper, never one to back down from a challenge, eyed Brendan and nodded enthusiastically.
"Alright, on three. One…two-" Brendan dove for Seamus playfully in a classic move and the two rolled on the dirt ground before fists started flying.
To any bystander it would have appeared as if the two children were trying to rip each other to pieces, but any earth dweller would know that the boys were just rough housing. After all, they needed to learn how to fight if they were going to survive, and skills were learned and honed at a young age. Fighting, for mudfeet, was what playing a strategic computer game would be for a soon to be commonwealth officer, and flying simulations was to a future pilot. It was necessary. Noses were bloodied, lips were split, and pain was felt, but it was all a vivid characteristic of life. To feel pain was to be alive, and that was the best thing anyone could be.
The "wresting" continued and Brendan grunted as Harper nailed him hard in the chest and sat on him, hoping to pin him. In doing that, however, Harper had left part of his back unguarded and Brendan took the opportunity to slug him, successfully knocking the smaller boy off. Although the fight appeared vicious, neither would ever hit hard enough or in too vulnerable of a spot to seriously injure the other. This was the only thing that separated play from survival, and if it had been real they would have gone for each other's eyes, throat, or more fatal places, but the situation wasn't life or death so the wresting remained playful. They stopped only after Harper slammed his cousin to the ground and Brendan smacked the back of his head on a rock.
"Sorry Brendan," the younger boy apologized immediately.
"Don't worry 'bout it," the stoic mudfoot replied. "I'm fine."
"We had a good run though huh?"
"Yah…you punch harder than you used to."
Harper smiled at the compliment, "Thanks."
The two boys pulled themselves off the ground and did their best to try to stop the blood that was dripping and oozing from their minor injuries.
"Hey Shay…" Brendan started as he leaned against a nearby tree.
"I told you not to call me that."
"Oh c'mon Dec and Si did not give you that nickname!"
"I don't care," Harper huffed and kicked a small stone by his foot. "I just don't want anyone to call me that anymore."
"Ok, ok, fine."
Harper took in a deep breath of freshly polluted air and stared up at the sky, trying not to remember. Brendan, however, hung his head and examined the dirt at his feet while he thought of his past friends. The scene was a perfect reflection of their clashing personalities. One was always aiming for the stars and dreaming of the future, and the other took things in and accepted facts for what they were. Although they were different they complemented each other in many ways. Both could fight, but Harper had a knack for planning strategies and designing things, while Brendan was the fearless one that could convince anyone that white was black and black was white. They made a great team and they both knew it.
"I was just saying Harper that maybe we should make a pact…here and now."
Seamus looked at his cousin with curious eyes, "Okay. What kind of pact?"
"A pact that we'll never leave each other…not for anything."
"But Brendan, I'm getting outta here remember? I won't be here forever."
"Fine, then just promise me we'll never leave each other to die…and we'll always be there to help each other no matter what happens. You know you got my back, I got yours." Brendan spoke with a strong and steady voice. "Promise me Shay."
Instead of reprimanding his cousin for once again calling him Shay, Harper just nodded and replied, "I promise."
"I promise too," Brendan said. "Now we should do something…something so we'll never forget…"
"Like what?"
"We should…make a mark!"
"What?" Seamus asked, totally confused.
"Mark ourselves. We should make a little scar somewhere so whenever we see it we'll remember each other."
"Oh okay, but where?"
Brendan's brow creased in concentration as he tried vainly to think of the perfect place, "How about…our hand! That's something you look at all the time and the grown-ups will just think that we fell or something dumb like that."
Harper unsheathed his knife and wiped it clean on his shirt. Brendan took it first and made a small, yet deep, five-millimeter slit about an inch below his forefinger and an inch to the left of his thumb. Harper followed suit and soon enough they both had matching marks on their left hands.
"Now we'll always remember each other," Harper said softly.
"Don't sound so depressed Harper. It doesn't fit you well. Besides, we should be happy. We're always going to be there for each other, so no matter what, even if the Magog are on the verge of killing us or the Nietzscheans are about to rip our throats out, we'll always have that hope that we'll save each other."
Harper just nodded as he stared into Brendan's electric eyes, not knowing what to say. The blood that ran down his hand was all but unnoticeable and he actually did feel better…comforted almost. His mouth parted into a big white smile, as he looked back up at the sky, content.