SAVIOR

Smoke filled her vision, her mouth parched from the ash that had entered, her hair sticking to her forehead as she breathed heavily. Her hands trembled, her eyes blinking and tearing up as the smoke stung her eyes.

What just happened? Where was she? She coughed into her arm, feeling the heat rising up her legs as she surveyed the blurry mess of red, orange, and black surrounding her. As the smoke clouded her vision, clarity struck when she noticed fire licking the wall, inching closer to her.

With a yelp, she stumbled back, willing her legs to move and her heavy arms to push herself upright. Turning towards the door, she staggered forward before halting, doubling over to cough once more. Her throat felt raw, each cough a painful reminder as smoke invaded her nose and throat.

She swiftly blocked it with her arm, then spun back to her room, witnessing the flames devouring each of her books. A part of her felt extinguished as she watched her cherished books burn.

She knew she should flee, seek her father, check on her mother. Instead, she darted back in, grabbing whatever she could. She reached for her journal, yelping when fire singed her hand. Swatting it away, she snatched the journal before sprinting out.

Heading towards her parents' room, she kicked the door down without a second thought. "Mom? Dad!" she shouted, coughing and almost gagging on the thickening smoke. Finding the rooms empty, she raced down the stairs only to be met with a wall of fire.

Gasping, she glanced down at her journal, tucking it into her hoodie pocket before hurrying back up, almost tripping.

The windows! she realized, running back to her room, pulling her hood up as she leapt over to her chest and then to the window. Drawing her arm back, she punched through the glass and leaped out.

It was a two-story building, her room on the second floor. A wrong landing could have broken bones or worse her neck.

Thank gods for small mercies, she thought, slowly rising from the flower bed her mother had tended by the side of their house. Her head snapped towards the direction of screaming and wailing, her breath hitching in fear. Mom? she thought, moving closer to the commotion, flinching at a loud bang.

Sponge stopped abruptly, freezing in her tracks. A gun—that was a gun, her mind supplied unhelpfully. She staggered towards the sound, her chest pounding so loud that it took her a moment to realize it was just her own heart racing as she witnessed men in uniforms shooting down people, her people—oh gods, oh my god, Sponge thought, quickly retreating, her legs weak and her breath shaky.

"Colonizers—oh god, colonizers. I have to find Mom and Dad," she muttered under her breath, dashing to the back of their house, hoping her parents were waiting for her at the shore.

Sponge stopped, but they weren't there... In fact, no one was there…

"Where—where are they," Sponge mumbled to herself, running a hand through her hair as she turned back towards her house, observing as fire crept towards the roof. She caught a familiar voice, a familiar shout. She spun and sprinted, ignoring the voice urging her to flee, to sail away, to stop trying to be a hero.

My mom… my dad, I can't leave them. Sponge sprinted, halting at the sight of the shed, swiftly opening the door with a resounding slam. She seized one of the axes hanging on the wall.

It was a training axe, used by the children to practice axe throwing. Nonetheless, it was still a weapon—and Sponge wasn't entering that chaos empty-handed. Breathing heavily, she grabbed another axe, hastily securing its holsters on her legs in a disorderly manner. On a normal day, she would have fastened it carefully, lest her father scold her for the haphazard job.

But today was far from normal—that would be an understatement.

Bounding out of the shed towards the clamor, the bangs, the cries. "Sponge! What are you doing here?" A hand clasped her shoulder, turning her to face—her father! "Dad!" She exclaimed, enveloping him in a tight embrace, feeling his arms wrap around her with an extra firm grip. For a moment, she forgot about the smoke, the screams, and the ash on her tongue.

Only when her shoulders were grasped once more, pushing her away to confront her father's pale face, sweat trickling down his forehead, and—blood at the side of his head. "Where's Mom?" Sponge inquired, drawing out her axes, gripping them so tightly she feared she might splinter the wood—she paused. Not until her father seized her hand, forcing her grip to tighten again. "You must hold it tighter, Sponge. Your mother—I've lost her, she's here somewhere. Head to the shore and prepare the boat," her father instructed as her expression fell.

"What? No! Let me come with you!" Sponge pushed him off, unsheathing another axe, this time—firmly grasping it.

"No… No, go to the shore," her father insisted, holding her face, compelling her to meet his gaze. She could see the flames flickering in his eyes, feel the warmth of his hand as her body quivered. Both from fear and frustration at her helplessness, unable to do anything to help.

"Dad—," she began, but her father cut her off. "Go!" he commanded, pushing her away, her feet unsteady as she stumbled back, racing towards the shore, nearly tripping over her own shoes. Her lips quivered as she glanced back, catching sight of her father.

She halted, observing as a man aimed his rifle at her father's head. "No—No," she murmured, jogging back, urging herself to run faster, witnessing her father kneel, speaking to the man in uniform.

No no no no no— BANG. She froze, seeing blood splatter onto the grass, barely able to make it out. Her father slumped to the side, his body limp, while the man—the despicable man, kicked her father and chuckled.

She couldn't recall what occurred next, but suddenly she found herself standing over the same man who had callously shot her father, her axe stained with blood, his decapitated head in her other hand. His lifeless body lay nearby, blood gushing out. She could taste the metallic tang of blood in her mouth; it must have splattered on her face.

Dropping the head, she turned towards her father, her hand outstretched until—"One more over here!" a loud voice shouted from the side as a stray bullet narrowly missed her foot. She recoiled, then dashed away. "Get that boy!" she heard them shout as she ran, her legs moving swiftly, her chest burning. Her breath grew shallow as she pushed herself to move faster—faster.

A deafening bang and searing pain in her leg caused her to collapse, her axe slipping from her hand as she screamed, attempting to shift her injured leg. Oh god, she could hear footsteps and men yelling, taunting. Anger surged through her veins, but she knew—she knew these breaths might be her last.

"We got them all, good job," a voice announced, but she refused to turn her head, to acknowledge them, not until a heavy boot pressed down on her wounded leg. 

She shrieked and howled, seizing her other axe, the one trapped under her thigh, between the grass and—The one whose legs that were stepping on her, had a whole axe stabbed through his thigh.

Sponge cackled, a wild sound, her eyes wide with manic energy as she witnessed him cry out and collapse onto the ground, the axe still embedded in his thigh. But before she could revel in the moment, the butt of a rifle struck her head, causing her glasses to shatter and fall as she grunted, her head jerking to the side. "We should tie this bastard up and use him as a practice target, shoot him, you know," one voice suggested, while Sponge clenched the grass beneath her hands, growling, her teeth grinding in fury.

Her sight blurred into a chaotic mix of black and blur as she felt a hand in her hair, pulling it back forcefully. Her neck strained, attempting to meet the gaze of the colonizer, yet she couldn't discern his position or appearance. "Oh.. Oh? This one's a female!" she overheard him laugh. "Damn, did we just hit the jackpot? All we've seen were elderly men and women. This might be the first time we've come across a girl!" another voice chimed in, laughter following.

She briefly detected slapping of knees, chuckling, and someone groaning—likely the same individual who had been standing on her wound. Sponge sensed the grip on her hair release, her head dropping back and thudding onto the ground as she gritted her teeth and shut her eyes tight. Please, if you can hear me, God, save me, please—help me.

Her leg gradually numbed, a throbbing ache pulsating through her head as she listened to their conversation. Feeling somewhat lightheaded, her vision spinning if she could see at all. Am I going to die here? Sponge mused, a tinge of amusement creeping in.

Then, she heard rustling, an unfamiliar pounding near her cheek as she lifted her head. Is someone here? Sponge wondered, a glimmer of hope flickering in the darkness

"Did you hear that?" someone inquired, but Sponge felt a boot pressed against her head, compelling her to lower it back down. "It's just this bitch, she's still squirming and moving," the figure above her remarked as Sponge twitched.

"No man—I thought I saw—" The man's words were abruptly interrupted by a strangled scream. The boot on Sponge's head was lifted. "Shit! Someone is still here! Get—" His voice was cut off as Sponge groaned, attempting to push herself up with her arms before collapsing back down, her chest throbbing with pain.

The ground trembled once more, light footsteps approaching, and—was that the sound of a blade? Suddenly, silence enveloped the area. She could only discern the crackling of flames from the house behind her, distant gunshots, and her own strained breathing. "Hello?" Sponge called out, her voice hoarse as she tried to rise again, her arms quivering and her other leg unresponsive, no longer obeying her brain's commands to move.

More footsteps. Her mind registered as she caught a glimpse of blurry, possibly black boots. Lifting her head, she strained to discern the person's face. "Don't move," a calm voice instructed as a hand covered her eyes, causing Sponge to shut them as the individual's touch shifted to her leg, inspecting the wound. Their touch felt both gentle and weathered. Sponge lowered her head. "Rest,"

A god had saved me, they heard my calls, she deliriously thought, the effects of blood loss clouding her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness.