The coldness of the hard ground is seeping through my clothes, the material worn incredibly thin. The metallic scent of blood taints the otherwise foul-smelling air. I try to lift my head, but waves of excruciating pain floods my head before even clearing an inch.
Where am I? What is happening to me?
I hear sounds of fighting everywhere – guns firing, knives slashing, people screaming. And somewhere nearby, a person sobbing, tears falling gently on the floor.
Oh, right. I'm dying. I'm lying on the ground, bathing in my own blood, wearing clothing that I don't even like. And I'm dying. It's ironic, isn't it? For weeks and weeks of trying to escape, now I finally am.
Just then, I feel a hand enclose around my clenched fist. I haven't even noticed I was numb until now, as a tiny ounce of warmth emanates from the stranger's fingertips and spreads to my arms. A warm tear splashes on my jaw and rolls down my neck.
And then the stranger murmurs my name in deep anguish.
"Natalie…"
And suddenly, I know who it is. He is no stranger. And I need to see him… I need to see him one last time.
I strain to open my eyes. It takes all my willpower to blink once, blink twice, blink thrice. And finally, I open them. My vision is tinged with black, a dark vignette threatening to encompass the tiniest of lights and colors that my eyes can perceive. But it doesn't matter. Because at the very center, I can see them. Those eyes that will be my last memory.
Amber meets amber.
His eyes stare into mine. I can feel them suffering, paralyzed.
"Natalie," he says again. This time it's pleading, begging me to stay, to never leave him. I smile… because he knows, as well as I do, that I can't.
I can feel myself leaving, retreating into the darkness.
At the very last moment, I will my hand to unclench itself. The pain doesn't even bother me anymore. I hold his hand, the way I did at the gauntlet all those years past, and he knows.
I will always be with him.
And the last of lights escape my vision, making way for the darkness.
I am free.
