We're sitting on this bed kind of thing in a train. You're propped up on some pillows, your hair's all messy, your ****** hair all grown out, you can barely keep yourself awake. You keep trying to play with my hair and you just end up rubbing my back, your eyelids drooping and your posture relaxing. You hold me leaning against your propped up legs, and you finally fall asleep.
I'm facing a wall and I have some chalk, you've been talking in your sleep and I've been drawing what you've said. You start speaking in iambic pentameter and I laugh to myself. The train rocks and you wake up, only to ask me what time it is and fall back asleep. My watch is in a language I don't understand, so I shrug and go back to the wall with what are now paints and a brush. You trail off into mumbles and I begin to hum. I've finished the picture on the wall with your words and you smile, the sun dancing on your face as the train tears through the countryside.
We go through a tunnel, a tunnel with windows. I flinch and feel dizzy, the tunnel and the train spinning. You're awake and you reach up to touch my lip, you pull your hand away, your fingers covered in blood. The train lurches and I give in to the gravity, head hitting the wall and blood splatters ruining your picture.
You whisper something to yourself, and get up, all exhaustion gone. Someone opens the door and fires a crossbow at everyone in the room. He gets to me and I look at him, the crossbow is empty, and something tells me it always was. A man comes up behind the assassin and asks, "All clear? What about that one?" Referring to me. The man replies, "She's already gone." For the first time, I didn't know what he meant. As they close the door the second man puts a hand to his ear, "All clear on level X." The door closes behind him, and I turn back to you. You had your hand on my shoulder and I had mine on your shin, but as I turn your grip slackens and you reach up to wipe away some of the blood from my face. You flinch at the cut in your chest, a cut that wasn't there before. I sit up and look around the room. All the white jumpsuits around me are stained red, covering people who aren't breathing anymore.
Now we're wearing white jumpsuits and yours is slowly changing to scarlet, coming from the **** in your chest. I start to feel lightheaded from smelling all this blood. I look back at you and your eyelids begin to flutter, you force them open and look into mine. Your thumb strokes my cheek and you say, "Save them," with all the pain of endless suffering in your voice. You finally give in to exhaustion, and from your injuries I'm sure you're dead. But your chest rises and falls slowly and you still shift in my direction, seeking comfort like a cold child cuddles his mother in her bed at night. I try and wake you, you don't budge. I hear yelling and rushed steps down the hall helping my panic set in. I shove your shoulder, call out, I don't want to hurt you but I won't face whatever the hell this is alone. You simply won't wake up. The door slams open and before I can turn around I feel a sharp pain and as I look down I notice something shiny and red is protruding from my chest. The pain returns as the tool disappears, only to be replaced with blood slowly turning my jumpsuit red. A voice behind me scolds, "I told you X was clear." Running footsteps grow faint in but a moment. My own eyelids flutter and I fall into your embrace, you shift, adjusting the comfort of your position. I hear sirens approaching the train, from where I'll never know. I awake in my bed, surrounded by blankets and a sharp pain in my back. And I can't find you anywhere.