Cataclysmic

/ˌkadəˈklizmik/

adjective

relating to or denoting a violent natural event

Banging on the front door of our apartment was all I could hear. My little sister, Cynthia, was curled into my side, her blonde curls plastering to her fear covered, pale face. My 'parents' could be heard outside, yelling at officers looking for me and Cynthia. The innocent baby blue eyes I still attained searched hers in the dark, trying to communicate that we would be fine, but she couldn't see past the fear lacing in her own irises.

"We have a warrant to search your home for a Lucas Robert and Cynthia Rose Hemmings," a dark, menacing voice stated.

Shivers ran down my spine, but I focused on the task at hand. Protecting Cynthia. Cynthia and I had both been approved as Bots in the Brain and Bot program, but there had been a mishap in the lab or something of that sort, causing the authorities to want us back. But my aunt and uncle, whom had raised us and we considered our parents, knew what that really meant. The White Coats wanted to study us. Find out what went different in our DNA than the rest of humanity. That would require needles poking and probing at us, and our dissection in the end. Cynthia, being only six at this time, only knew that these men were bad and we had to stay quiet until they left.

"Go ahead. Search all you want," my uncle said in disgust. "You won't find the brats here."

Our parents had developed a ploy to make me and Cyn go off the grid. They would constantly move so no one would notice anything different about us and report it. Then when the authorities came by they would say that they never wanted us and we ran away a long time ago. At first it worked, no one suspected a thing. Until I turned thirteen. Then they were able to track me through my microchip connecting me to my lab twin.

Doors were kicked down beside us, and the walls sounded like the structurally sound building was caving in. The little closet we were hiding in now was dead bolted shut, but if they heard a peep out of us, they would not hesitate to break down the door.The only comfort I could give Cynthia at the moment was holding her close and placing fast, soundless kisses in her hair. I dared not to run my fingers along her shoulder, in fear she would fall asleep and make involuntary noise. Minutes later the doors stopped dropping off their hinges and footsteps were heard, heading toward the front exit.

"Thank you for your cooperation Mr. and Mrs. Hemmings. Have a good night," an emotionless guard told them before stepping out of the house.

The door locked exactly when they left and the door shut, thanks to my dad being right behind them.

"Luke? Cynthia? Sweetie, come on out," my mom urged us, not knowing where we were.

This was such a abundant thing that when I hid with Cyn, my mom would sometimes not know where we are. Partly so she didn't glance at our hiding spot concerned and the other half because when we heard a knock, no matter who we were expecting, we hid because you never know who was on the other side of that door. I opened the closet door, and Cynthia burst out first, running towards our mom and hugging her tightly. My mom hugged her back, gentler, but with the same amount of love surrounding it. My dad simply stood beside them watching them as I started to climb the stairs to my room, happy to get back to playing my guitar currently laying on my bed. It couldn't get much easier. For once, we were a somewhat normal family.

Then, as always, the government had to ruin it. All I heard was a whizzing sound past my ear and a scream from Cynthia before my world changed forever.

Four bullets came flying in the windows, one for each of us.

My instincts kicked in before I could register what was happening. Dropping to the floor at once, I look up to find where and by whom the bullets were shot. Five White Coat government troops were outside, aiming through their scopes into the house. My blue eyes widened and my feet tripped over each other a few times before I got a hold of myself and ran up the stairs to the nearest window. An exit.

"Luke!" I heard a little scream come from the hallway, near my room.

She knew what to do, go to my room and run.

"Cyn," I whisper-yelled for her to hurry and come in my room. Her short legs carried her into my room where I had my backpack ready to leave and never look back. "Come on, we have to go." I grabbed her hand and drug her towards the window.

"What about Mom and Dad?" she asked, looking up at me with her innocent blue eyes, looking almost identical to mine.

"Two confirmed dead. The kids are no where in sight," a voice came from downstairs. My heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach, even though I knew that this would happen, it still hurt. But at the same time it accelerated, and only boosted me to get myself and Cynthia out of here.

"Cyn, we gotta go now," I told her, pulling her with me and safely getting her through the window of my room.

Deep voices continued speaking through walkie talkies in static filled silence. It was scaring me to the core as their footsteps approached my room. Cynthia was at the bottom, safe and sound. Without a scratch. I threw her the bag out the window as they get closer.

"Cyn run," I shouted lightly at her, motioning for her to leave.

She shook her head lightly to tell me that she wouldn't leave. My face turned cold and hateful toward her, knowing she would run if I forced her to. As I predicted she ran, and a few seconds later I jumped down from my window, onto the grass and solid ground. Only seconds later my door broke open, and I could hear wood splinter across the flooring. Without thinking twice I ran the same direction Cynthia did, toward the airport. We were leaving and staying in hiding. My little sister's footsteps began to grow fewer and fewer before I realized what she was doing; however, I thought none of the officials would follow us this far, and she was safe, which was a big mistake on my part.When she started to slow down, I sped up to catch up with her. As I approached, only a meter away, a burst erupted from behind me. In a blink of an eye, my six year old sister was falling on the concrete of a dirty alleyway. The brick around me seemed to hold secrets, like this wasn't the first death it witnessed, but this was the first of the night.

"That was the first time I killed," I said ashamed. "I didn't mean to."

"How did he die?" Melissa asked me quietly. She didn't want to know, I kept repeating in my brain. It wasn't one of my finest hours in life, and I was still thoroughly ashamed of it..

"Please don't ask me to tell you," I begged her, not wanting to remember the gruesome detail or make her afraid of me.

"I just want to know what happened to the man that put you through this pain," she whispered carefully, possibly scared she would break me.

The truth was that I could care less if she broke me. She was the only person that has been able to break my heart. The only one, since Cynthia at least.

"I was angry to say the least," my voice trailed off, engrossed in the memory permanently painted in the back of my head.

The man's face was scattered with scars from previous cuts to make me aware he had been in combat before and war was not foreign to him. His blue uniform also scared me; I had seen it before when my mom had pushed me into a closet years ago, just in time so the officers couldn't see me and my sister. His face still held a smirk though, right below his baggy eyes that sparkled with joy. This was what he lived for, and he was a cruel man for that. My breathing accelerated, vision turning red. I couldn't see anything but the plans to kill him going through my head. I glanced at my sisters bloodied body one last time as blood oozed from one point in her skull indicative of a head shot wound.

I became angrier by the second as I launched myself at him. His smile fell from his face, not expecting a thirteen year old to behave in such a way. Before he could reach for his gun in defense, I had him pinned to the mucky street ground. His uniform that was once all so clean now was smeared with mud and various trash items left in the alleyway. Tears streamed down my face as I punched his face repeatedly, holding his head up by the collar so I could see his head move with each agonizing blow. The tears, however, weren't for him or because I was harming a person, but for my sister who was no longer breathing because a sick and selfish bastard put a bullet through her skull.

No noise came from the officer. With each blow he would groan in pain, but never protest as if he knew he deserved the beating for taking such a young life. Within a few more blows, his body went limp. My hands shook violently, realizing what I had done. I had killed a man and his blood was now on my hands. My shocked face looked down at the man whose face was now broken up: nose bleeding, cheeks turning blue from bruises, old cuts reopened with my fist colliding with them and tearing skin, but mostly, his eyes were open, dull and lifeless. Jumping up quickly, I ran down the opposite path of the alleyway. I passed my sister, who was paler than usual and whose blonde hair was streamed in crimson red from the constant flowing blood.

"There he is! Down the alleyway!" a powerful, husky voice yelled.

I could picture the amount of forces coming toward me, and I knew I had to run. So that was exactly what I did. I ran.

"They fired a few times at me, but they missed." My head was hung low and I didn't want to look at Melissa in fear she would judge me, or worse, be afraid of me.

"Luke?" she asked me in a small voice.

I felt a hand come in contact with my face, but this time, instead of tensing like I usually did, I relaxed into her touch. It was comforting to know someone wasn't afraid of me, despite knowing what I had done. I felt my head being lifted up to meet her gentle gaze. Her blue eyes stared back into mine, shining brightly in the light of her room.

"You did the right thing," she simply stated, looking me in the eyes, with an unwavering voice.

"But I-"

"You killed the man that took an innocent life because he was greedy, and anyone would do that."

I stared back at her, filled with the feeling of admiration and care towards her. She didn't run like everyone else, and she didn't avoid the topic. She understood why I did what I did, and she fully agreed with me. It was an odd change to go from feeling like the world was against you to knowing that the person you care about most was for you.

"Then why do I still regret it every night?" I asked her, my forehead coming in contact with hers.

Her navy shade of blue eyes looked like sapphires as I stared into them intently, waiting for an answer.

"Because you are a good person."

When she said that, it was like the invisible barrier between us collapsed instantaneously. My face came closer to hers, stopping before I kissed her as if to ask permission. When her head slightly nodded, that was all the permission I needed as I allowed our lips melted into one another's. It felt like taking a shot of whiskey, the warmth exploding in my stomach as I begged for more and the raw feeling of my throats felt oddly settling. This was what it felt like to feel cared for. I had almost forgotten how that felt, but now I knew it to a new extreme.

Edited: 10 January 2017