Okay, so first thing first, I deleted my story "Just Not Right" because it, well, sucked. Plus, I had no idea where I was going with it. Oh well. I didn't like it much anyway, haha.

So here's another attempt—this time it will be better; and it has nothing to do in relation to the other story whatsoever. This is its own new idea. Though I will be doing the chapter titles the same way as the story that I deleted, because that's kind of cool.

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Consumed in Fire

Sweat dripped down his face. He tripped, stumbling again. His breathes continued coming out heaved and gasping as if breathing in was doing nothing for his lungs. He was drowning without any water.

His clothing was ripped and his hat tilted off the side of his head, showing a short mass of no-longer-curly red hair. It should have been red. That was the way everyone remembered it. But it wasn't. No—this hair was jet black.

He finally risked taking a break—as if his body was giving him a choice—and collapsed. He felt like a fish out of water, gasping for air. Every limb on his body was throbbing in pain.

All he could think of, however, was, 'What have I done?'

He leaned himself against one of the many trees in the forest he was in. Cuts and bruises littered his body and his hands still felt like they were burning. He looked at them. They glowed red, being consumed in fire, growing, taking over and covering him. He wanted to scream, but the fire entered his lungs, burning him from the inside out.

He snapped awake, gasping again. His hands threw themselves in front of his face. They were fine, normal, cold. His throat was sore, but his lungs were breathing normally now.

Where was he? What time was it? Where was everyone else? Why was he here?

"Hello, Kyle."

His breath stopped in his throat, his heart stopped beating, his mind stopped thinking.

"Wh-wha-what?" He gulped down the raspiness in his throat to let his voice come through. "Wh-who?" It was dark out and his vision was limited.

"You can't possibly say you've forgotten me already," The voice shot chills up his spine. It was filled with hate and maliciousness; and it was directed towards him.

Cold air snaked around his form, constricting him. It felt as if the voice was surrounding him. He felt nervous, scared, paranoid. He wanted to stand up and run as fast as he could without ever looking back, but he was petrified to the spot.

"It's me: your super best friend Stan," The voice chuckled. "Ex, anyway."

His eyes widened. All those questions were answered. All those thoughts jumbled back to him in a tidal wave of confusion and hopelessness. Tears streamed down his dirt-ridden face for the hundredth time.

In the silence, the voice began closing in on him. He could feel it—the fire again mixed with the ice of the voice—but he couldn't see it. He wanted to see it, but at the same time refused to. It got closer, crushing him in pressure. He shut his eyes.

"Kyle!"

"N-No! St-stay away!" He shouted. The voice grabbed him by the shoulders. It felt warm; not like fire either. He calmed down slightly, his breaths evening out. He took comfort in the hands gripping his shoulders, leaning his head onto them.

His green eyes opened to see the voice—except, they weren't green, they were a dirt brown, and they just weren't the same. He saw a blurred, double-vision of someone—of the voice.

"Kyle? Kyle! Don't die on me, Jew!"

He tried to smile. "Stan?"

He passed out.

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So, what do you think? Good, yes? Bad, no? I dunno—you tell me! Read and review!