Pain swelled beneath her gaze. Emily clung to her ankle. “Go! Just go!” She shouted as I glanced to the ceiling where limbs dangled, showering us with a drizzle of red.

The footsteps were relentless, loud. They echoed against the dusty floorboards. They’re coming this way. I thought. I must do something. I thought.

Why hadn’t I listened to the group? Now we were stuck, left with no strength to carry each other. But how could I eat our brother; when scratchy sounds of arms being torn, skin chewed like bubble-gum in mouths of strangers, was all it took for the bile to rise in my throat?

Emily screamed again.

I bit my lip until I tasted iron.

I looked to her horrified face, the last memory of her I will have engraved in me forever.

I muttered: “Sorry Mother…”

And I ran.

Far from her.

Far from them.

To freedom.

To light.

Until the sun rose, and I could see their shadows no more.

Until my tears had long dried, and I cried.

I cried.

“Emily.”

Always.