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I wanted to run. I didn’t understand any of this. I wasn’t afraid as such. What I felt wasn’t exactly fear, or at least it didn’t feel like fear. It was just a sort of primal awareness of my own body – every pore of it – and a keen awareness of the fact that I was trapped: that there was no way out of this burning building. Ridiculously, my own life started flashing before my eyes. It was the first time I’d been able to remember anything. The memories, though, were no more than a jumble of images, apparently of my childhood, and they didn’t mean much to me. I forced myself forward, step by step, towards the laughing, mocking attackers. Then I leaned down and picked up a torch and I threw it in their faces. That was followed by the desperate slashing of my blade. I looked on in horror as my blade slid in through an attacker’s eyeball, covering me in blood. His unearthly death-screech made me sick to my stomach. Next to me others were joining in the fight, attacking our adversaries. It was late so there weren't too many people there, but I still worried about someone seeing us together. “Let's go for a walk,” she said as she shut the car off. I got out and stretched a little. It was a beautiful warm night. We walked down a little path together and talked. Along the way I felt her fingers run down my arm and grab my hand. Our fingers locked together while we strolled through the park. There was a guy walking his dog who gave us a good stare because we were two females holding hands. My palm got sweaty, nervous about more people seeing us together. Miss Morgan and I ended up on a bench and held hands. She gently carressed my hair back with her fingertips as she stared into my eyes. “You look worried,” she said. My heart was pounding. “I am,” I said meekly. I didn't really want to bring it up but I had to. “Why?” She asked compassionately. “Someone saw us here last time,” I told her. “Does that bother you?” She said with a laugh. “Yes, I don't want.
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