Salvation

I blacked out for most of it I think. The pain I mean. If anyone ever tells you that having your particles pulled apart and turned to dust isn’t painful, especially because of the short time it is done in, they are a fucking liar. It hurt, and I was confused and scared and I couldn’t help but think that I wanted Spiderman to swoop in and save the day. I’m at a bus station parking lot and I remember being on a trip with my class. The people around me are screaming and some of them are still being pulled back together.

“FLASH”

I hear yelled across the parking lot. It’s that nerd ned, he’s ridiculously waving his arms at me with a panicked look in his eye. Nerdy dorkier Ned. I run over to him as fast as I can. A feeling of relief washes over me as I stand beside him and we wait for a teacher or an adult or someone to fix this. I want someone to fix this.

The parking lot was in chaos for a while after that. Lots of people were yelling and confused, the people who had been dusted on why they were dusted, the people who weren’t confused why they were back. Eventually our teacher mr Harris was able to arrange transport for us to go back home. Of all of the failed trips we’d been on this was by far the worst.

Me and Ned split up on the bus, he went to sit with that weirdo mj and I went further back to sit by… myself.

It wasn’t too long later that I had learnt what had happened, anyone who had a phone on them when they were dusted could search it up. This meant that given the long bus ride back, made longer by the traffic and now un-dusted people wondering the streets most people on the bus were thoroughly caught up on the situation. Well, not all of it. There was an unspoken belief that not everyone who was dusted came back alive made certain by the fact a certain frequently absent student was once again…absent on the bus.

When we reached the school they tried to keep the students on campus so they could contact parents and gaurdians and arrange rides back home, if they still had them. I knew that even if I had come back from an apparent five year long absence my parents wouldn’t come to pick me up, hell they might not even be in the country. I decided to get a taxi home rather than wait for a phone call that wouldn’t come. I was glad I did that instead of walking when I saw the terror that was taking place on the streets, I’m surprised we were able to drive to my house without incident because I knew that not all people were so lucky.

I quickly payed the driver, with cash because I wasn’t sure if my card would work, before heading inside to my house. Of all the things I regret that day it was heading into the house. I should of walked home or waited for the teachers to call a car, or even just sat on the carb for a few more, just a few more minutes.

I enter the house but I don’t hear the door close behind me over all the yelling, there’s a smash and a crash. I look into the open doors of the living room and see what has happened. My dusted dad has walked into my not dusted mom who was fucking the pool boy apparently. The man snuck through the side door right as I entered and my mom threw a vase at the wall. They’re screaming and yelling and cursing at each other, blaming one another and screeching about the hate they harbour for one another. I flinch back before I go still in fear. It’s in fear and not shock as I very quickly learn the difference not soon thereafter. Looking back on it my mind is hazy and I can’t remember they’re exact words, I don’t think I was even registering what their words were at the time, maybe something along the lines of ‘whore’, ‘narcissist’ , ‘selfish bastard’. I can’t remember they’re exact words. I remember what came after.

My dad had left the room and went upstairs. My mum was still screaming. When my dad left she continued screaming hateful things. She turned to me and continued screaming them. My dad came back downstairs. He held a gun. My mum was screaming. He pointed it. Lift. Shoot.

That was when I learned the difference between freezing due to fear and shock. Something wet trickled down the side of my face. I didn’t register it. My mum was still screaming. I didn’t register it. There was a body lying beside me. I couldn’t register it.

My mom suddenly became eerily quiet. She walked over to me and slapped me in the face. Hard. More blood trickled down my face. She mouthed the words to me very clearly. “ you’re going to clear that up and you’re not ever going to tell anyone about this, understand? “ . She walked away before I could answer the question.

I stood there for a long time, my mum had slapped my face in that…his direction. After what could have been minutes or hours or honestly days I moved. By the next week the living room looked spick and span. Like nothing had ever happened.

School was being let off for two weeks. They needed to figure out what to do with the new-well old influx of students as well as sort out returning teachers and leaving teachers, and just honestly deal with the fact that fifty percent of the population who every one thought was dead had returned.

My sister is in a boarding school. She turned nine. The overwhelmed court house skimmed through the case of a wealthy man falling off his yacht and not being found. Things moved on.