HE HADNâT SLEPT well, waking himself out of a restless slumber, sweat drenching his overheated skin, as his heart clenched in realization that he wasnât back inside that classroom with the sound of Elâs scream ringing in his ears â he was safe, tucked under the covers inside of his own bed. Mikeâs brain wandered into dwelling on the images that looped in his mind, and he couldnât shake it. The impulse to reach out to El seized him, spurring him to edge through his house until he was right where he needed to be.     Â
    â Itâs day 315. IâŠI-I had a bad dream, â Mike said, dredging up the words from his throat. His knuckles clenched around the electronic device, turning white. â I couldnât go back to sleep because I kept thinking about it. â He added quietly, â Thinking about you. â A wave of feelings passed through him. The weight of the walkie talkie solidified the reality he was living in. It remained strange and surreal to be sitting here again day after day, just him and the blanket fort he built and kept up down in the basement. Speaking to crackling strains of static seemed ridiculous, but then, there werenât many things he had done this past month alone that didnât fall into that category. His disapproving mother and father could attest to that. Not that Mike cared about their approval. He didnât care, period. Except...
     The truth was, Mike knew nothing worse in his life than the tragedy that had taken El away from him; nothing WORSE than the guilt that wracked his heart and mind in her absence. Somehow, he suspended the belief that she was dead, holding onto the remnants of fleeting moments that he believed he glimpsed an image of her, really saw her. It helped get him through the day, and to the next, and the next. And yet, a question was forming in his head, more and more frequently, always disappearing before logic could respond. How pathetic was he for continually doing this? None of his friends were even aware of his repeated attempts to make contact with her, the daily routine he had fallen into. How stupid did it make him? When everyone ELSE had moved on. Just when Mike was convinced his body had run out of tears, a light mist coated his dark eyes. Staring down at his lap, he confessed in a huff of breath, â It takes all my efforts just not to drown. â
     After he uttered those words, Mike heard a murmur, the sound of it stirring him. Shock swiftly doused and suffused his frame. It was faint but there, like a soft echo, winding its way through a long, dark tunnel, which Mike was seated at the far end of.
         Head tilting, he hastily pressed the walkie talkie closer against the shell of his ear. A need for confirmation surged up, pushing past his parted lips. â El?? â In the hush that followed, a push-pull of HOPE escalated and choked Mike into a pitiable silence. Anxiously, he awaited an answer back from her, instead of there being just --- just nothing!
@notstpd delivered the angst