Sorry I'm Late

This is a short story I wrote for the Halloween competition.
It tells the tale of Archie, and the memories he can't forget. She won't let him forget. But who is she? And who's story really is this?


3. The Middle.

I looked at my wrists. They were sweating, but….something was different. I looked down, and I froze. No. No, no, no. It wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. I stood up, and the Church looked back at me – the Priest had stopped talking, and any chatter evaporated into a sharp silence. I swallowed. “I need some air.” I explained, and ran outside. She was here. I knew she would still be here, I knew she’d want to talk to me after she’d gone: I loved her, and she loved me. But I thought it was finished: I thought it was over. But my wrists proved it wasn’t. I felt sick. Words had formed on my wrists: words in the black powder I knew only too well.

A few days past, and the boy could finally stand up. But she was nowhere to be seen: she would be at school, though, surely? He left the house, and ran to school. He walked into his classroom, but it was practically empty, apart about ten classmates. He couldn’t breathe. But then, out of nowhere, came a sound from the door. “Hiya – sorry I’m late!” came a breathless voice from the door. It was her. But something was missing. Or rather someone. Natalie Spencer had never missed one day of school. And Jake Chambers’ braces were out, so he had no reason not to be here either. And all he could see were her hands: her hands with the black powder. 

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