Initials

"Pick a tree. I'll go carve out initials in it."

My head throbbed, and I realized I was bleeding.

I couldn't hear anything except the sound of the wind restling the leaves. I was on the forest floor, and I was bleeding. Alot. I was bleeding alot.

Jesus, my head hurts.

We were fighting, I figured, though it was not hard to figure out. I could not see anyone, hear anyone. It was just me, as far as I could tell, alone in the woods, caked in blood. For some reason...this is not surprising.

Ever since I was little, I was positive I wouldn't go easily. No old age for me. No disease. No cancer, or typhus, or whatever people die of nowadays. I was always gonna go in a puddle of my own body fluid. Alone, maybe. I never worked out the details.

I don't know why I'm thinking like this. Blood loss, probably.

I racked my brain for something, an explanation of how I ended up here, but I'm drew nothing but blank after blank after blank. Only one thing, probably out of familiarity, came to mind.

Fang.

His eyes, panicked. His arms swinging, motioning me to follow. His mouth, open. Screaming. Blood running down his cheek. Getting smaller and smaller. I was falling. Where was he?

My heart ached. It was a strange feeling.

The sky was dark blue, almost black, so I couldn't see much, only what the clouded moon allowed. The trees loomed over me like tall shadows, and I could only see their blackened outlines.

I wondered where Fang was. I wondered where the Flock was, too, but Fang's name seemed to pop up after every word. I wondered if he was hurt. Was he wondering where I was? Did he miss me...

Goddamnit, blood loss.

I tried to use the tree as a support, to slide up my feet, but I ended up doubling over. My back reached the open air, and I shivered as the wind hit my wet skin.

I gave up on it. Not just trying to get up, though that was a lost battle. I just gave up. It's pointless. He isn't here.

Blood loss. Ugh.

"Fang..." I whispered, my voice strangled.

Why was I doing this? What was wrong with me? What the fuck is going on?

Wind whistled past my ears.

I remember him, but I don't. Every things behind a veil of red, and I want to push it away and see. But I can't.

Panic rises and falls in my chest like waves. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

Find a tree, he had once said, I'll go carve our initials in it.

Would he?

If he found me like this, dead and broken and pathetic, would he still do it? Would he do it at all?

He hated me. He loved me.

I think about my veins, probably damn near empty, and I wonder if they work in reverse. If I can push a button and they would suck up all my blood like a vaccuum.

I'm dying. Or dead. My head hurts.

I crane my neck, so slightly it's barely a motion, and look at the bark of the tree. It's brown and soft from rain. My fingernails are sharp.

Find a tree, Max...

God, I love him. It's weird.

My finger moves across the bark over my shoulder slowly, deliberately. My hand shakes, but I want to see it. I can pretend it was him, that he loves me and...fuck it....my head hurts.

Fuck it....

Find a tree...

M...R...and...

F...does he have a last name?

Fang Ride. Sure. He'd love that.

MR and F...forever.

My head hurts. I let me hand drop, bark stuck beneath my fingernails, and I close my eyes. Where is he?

...I'll go carve our initials in it.

MR

F

I hope he finds it.

Author's Note: I kind of based this off of this book of short stories I read, about a girl's dying thoughts. They made absolutely no sense, so I figure that's how it is. If your dying, can you think strait? Ugh, I don't know.

Sorry if it's terrible. I'm bored.