The Shattered Genesis (Eternity) by T. Rudacille Page A

kept it simply because I liked the frame and nothing else. In the photo, my mother had her arm around my back and was smiling as she waved to the crowd around her. I was still young enough not to question the perpetual charade we were forced to live under. In the photo, I was smiling, too, and looking up at her.
                  That photo made me sick. As I shoved it into my other bag, I felt a wave of nausea that was so forceful, I had to reach out and grasp the mantle for a moment and focus on my breathing. It was the only way to avoid the disgusting, inevitable consequence of the tumultuous, acidic feeling in my stomach.
                  “What is it?” I heard him whispering to me from some far off place. I shook my head slight ly, unable to explain my strange behavior away. I was unable, for the first time in a long time, to pretend that I was fine. He slung my bag onto his back and put his arm around my shoulder. As he steered me towards the open window, the feeling began to di ssipate.
                  “The fire escape doesn't work.” I murmured to him once my stomach stopped bubbling comletely.
                  He looked at me, instantly trying to work out a solution to our conundrum. My two ideas were useless, at least if we wished to live another day: We cou ld jump to our deaths or get eaten by Reapers. I was well aware that they were the only two options and for me, there was no contest between the two. James interrupted me as I silently prepared to take that first step onto the window ledge.
                  “I know this i s going to sound insane but I need you to just go with it.”
                  “After everything that has happened today, do you really think I’m not going to go with it?”
                  “Do you have something sarcastic to say every time someone speaks?” He asked me, clearly amused and b ewildered by the tendency. Most people just found it annoying.
                  “Indeed, I do.” I replied and before I could add, “Thank you so much,” I heard my name being hissed on the other side of the door. My eyes must have widened and betrayed the revulsion I felt. I had never heard such a sound and to hear it saying my name provoked a fear that froze my ability to comprehend firmly in its place. Chills ran laps up and down my spine and the hair on my arms stood up straight. One of the creatures outside made a sound almost like a guttural bark followed by what sounded like my name garbled out through spit and clenched teeth.
                  “James…” I whispered, not realizing how tight my grip on his arm was once again, “What are we going to do?”
                  “Get behind the couch and close you r eyes.”
                  “What? No, don’t open the door!” I ordered in a furious whisper. “James, please don’t. Please don’t let them in!”
                  To call that “begging” would be inaccurate. To call that pleading with him as though he possessed and could allot the rest of the d ays of my life would be closer to the truth. But instead of hearing my desperate plea and jumping with me out of my fourth story window, he spun me around and sat me down behind the couch.
                  “I won’t think less of you if you cover your eyes,” He told me hur riedly, “But whatever you hear, do not come after me. Understand?”
                  I nodded vigorously, suddenly cognizant of the fact that I might very well witness the end of him. Given all the other complex emotions of the moment, I didn’t quite know how to process th e idea of not having him by my side from then until the end. I would only understand how the thought paralyzed me much later.
                  My entire body jolted upwards as the door he had just thrown open banged against the stopper in the wall. I stared