You

• Safaa Sayeed, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2015

A blast of fire rips around the block, leaving me shattered.
“No!” I cry. “No…”
“He’s gone! We need to hurry before the next round does the same to us-“ Lyria says.
Another boom of fire tears into the Quad. My legs tell me to run, my brain tells me to follow Lyria, who had started sprinting to the nearest monotoil station, yet my heart told me to run back and get Arden, who had been caught in the flames.
Who to trust, who to leave behind. My foot taps impatiently as I ponder.
“Eshana!” Lyria shrieks. “Run!”
I watch as the next round of sonic jetters sweep into the stratasphere.
And in that second, I made the choice that would change my life forever.
~3 years later~
“Derec…”
“Yes, Eshana?”
“Do you think I made the right decision those 3 years ago? To leave Lyria to the mercy of the Esteaens?”
Poor Lyria. She may be starving in a concentration camp in Cleoye, may be working as a slave for one of the rich families of Dasmait. She may be dead, Byldon forbid.
“Depends what situation she’s in now,” he says, running a hand through his gold hair. “If she’s in a bad position, no, you did not make a good decision.”
“But what about you?” I say.
“Well, my dear redhead,” he says, calling me that dreaded nickname, “I would have died. But-“
“But what? I was taking a chance. You were certainly going to die, whereas Lyria actually had a shot at surviving, considering she’s as pretty as she is and as smart.”
He chuckles, his sage green eyes twinkling like he had a lifetime of secrets, yet he had only been on this ruined planet Kaspien for 18 years. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t think it through that much. Or otherwise you lied to me about it being a ‘split second decision’.” He puts emphasis on the last three words.
“Well it was, but I realised that afterwards,” I explain. It was true.
“I guess,” is all Derec says before he walks into the forest, no doubt to gather food.

~Derec’s POV~
I amble through the forest, my heart cracking with every step.
‘Lyria, oh Lyria,’ the matillens seem to sing, their sunset orange feathers bright against the viridian green of the tree.
“Oh Lyria, oh Lyria,” I whisper to myself, opening the rectangular locket around my neck. “It’s time to let you go.”
I squat at the flowing stream, holding the only photograph I had of old times, when Lyria and I were together, when Krystian was still alive and madly, deeply in love with Eshana, who, I realised 3 years ago, had truly loved Krystian.
But by then it had been too late.
Sometimes I spy Eshana silently weeping as she studies the black and white photo that she has of Krystian.
And this makes everything I feel for her complicated.
“Good-bye Lyria, good-bye.”
I let it drop.
“Derec?”
I spin to see Eshana, her amber eyes concerned. “Are you all right?” she asks.
I briefly contemplate telling her, but- no. I couldn’t break her. Not tonight.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Ok,” she says, but she doesn’t seem to be convinced. “Look, I love you. But I know, Derec, I know you still love her.”
“I don’t. I love someone else.”
The words blurt out of my mouth in a rush.
“Who?” she asks, brushing her scarlet hair with her fingers.
“You.”