I Am Destin Eyeisis

• Briana Kirk, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2015

Prologue
My breaths come in ragged gasps, my feet flying across the sandy beach. Before my awakening I would never have been able to move this fast, trees passing in a green blur. I hear their motorbikes racing after me. In my head I see their life force, six white bulbs tinted with black; six following me. I force my aching legs faster, cursing my jeans. I must warn the others. Despair overwhelms me, choking me. My lungs burn, I've never pushed myself this hard. I chance a glance over my shoulder. They’re positioned in a V; spread evenly apart. They don’t wear their usual gear, making them lighter and faster. Weight is your enemy when trying to be fast on sand. Stupid jeans. I stumble. A yelp escapes me. I whip my head around; they are close, too close. Strands of my black hair escape my ponytail and stick to my face. My heart pounding like a drum, as fast as a hummingbird. My singlet creeps up exposing my muscular stomach. I yank it down, my breath coming in wheezing gasps, stumbling again. Please, please legs don’t give up on me. My knee locks and I fall, landing on my stomach. I don’t look back, just scramble to stand. The engines behind me stop, I panic. Desperately trying to drag my tired body to my feet. Fate wasn't having it. Out of nowhere a boot swings slamming into my gut. Usually I would have been able to dodge that but not today. My breath whooshes out of me as I roll onto my back. Cool water laps at my side. I blink sweat out of my eyes, bringing the six guys standing above me into focus. They wear all black, one of the men, probably the leader, steps forward, arms crossed in front of him. Muscles stretch the fabric of his shirt tight across his arms and chest. His eyes are narrowed. His mouth set into a thin line.
“Where are the rest?” His voice is cold. I shake my head. Resisting the urge to shout that I will never tell. His face flushes in anger, “TELL ME!” He demands. I don’t make a noise and he nods, seeming to have made a decision. Without warning he reaches behind and pulls out something I never thought I would see. A gun. Gleaming black in the sunlight he cradles it like a newborn. He flicks the safety back. Terror freezes me. I can’t find the breath to scream or speak. Leader guy steps forward, pressing the gun to my forehead. It is cold and reminds me of someone kissing me farewell. His laugh echoes on the deserted beach. My breaths coming in panicked gasps. His fingers tighten their hold on the gun. I imagine him preparing for the kickback, as the bullet penetrates my brain.
My name is Destin Eyeisis and I am about to die.