Why Are You Crying?

I grab Lucas by the sleeve of his shirt and pull him up. "Come on." 

"Hey hey hey..." I ignore him. "Wait." Despite what he says, he doesn't force himself to plant his feet down.

I'm amazed at myself for being able to get him on his feet. That or he helped me stand him up. But it doesn't matter.

I need to find where it's coming from. Something within me tells me to go and find it, not because it's the right thing, but because my footsteps force me to go and explore.

We get outside and stand there, waiting for the bawling to start again. I turn my head to the left, and continue to follow the echoes that come around. 

I can't say it's really an echo though. More like crashing waves of cries that get louder or more stronger with each wail.

"Ruth!" Lucas says. Suddenly, he put all of his weight down, and I nearly trip underneath the the sudden impact. "I don't hear anything."

We were both become quiet. Once more, the cry sounds off, "You don't hear that?" 

He shakes his head, "No, I don't." I moan at him.

I'm not sure what's up with him, but it's obvious that there is someone--a child.  My hearing may be superior, but even if that 's the case, he has to at least hear something of it. I let go of his sleeve, a ripple of wrinkles forms.  But... I do." 

I bite down on my lip, a little too hard.

Am I already losing it? That can't be the case, I only just got here. It would take a little while longer before it would sink in to my skin. Before I become desperate.

My shoulders scrunch together, almost like I'm about to break down. It become louder, like it's coming towards us. Already, my feet move me forward. I'm rather willing to give up, but my feet are not finished yet. My conscience forces me after it.

"Wait, Ruth!" Lucas starts after me, I can hear his footsteps planting deeply in the grass.

Every few seconds, where the is pure silence, I hesitate, only to wonder where the heavy sobbing is. This apartment complex is confusing, knowing that you might never possibly end up where you were before, like new realms open up when you make the next turn. With every step, I can hear the weeping grow louder in my ears, right next to the blood pulsing and my heart thudding against my chest.

I stop, nearly out of breath. I hurl over and put my hands on my knees.

I hear it. Crisp and clear.

I walk around the corner, and a child, a small girl, cries her eyes out. She sits against one of the walls that make up an alleyway. A few times, my eyes run in and out, she's hidden well in the darkness.

Goodness I found her, not because she's crying, but because I actually had myself going about being ludicrous. And I was starting to believe the fact. 

As I approach her, I hold out one of my hands. The stupid idea of her attacking me pops up, but I don't believe that's going to happen.

 I get down to my knees. "Hey," I say,  with a mixture of a pant and a reassuring voice. I'm trying not to scare her. "Are you alright?" I ask. I haven't seen her here at all. Maybe I might have expanded my area, or maybe she's new. 

She nods her head as she rubbed her eyes. "Where am I? Where's mommy!?" She sobbed. Then she looked up at me, a runny nose, crystal blue eyes that are behind puffy redness, dark hair like mine that slides down to the waist.  

She wears jeans, and a pink hoodie.

She has to at least be six years old. Before I get to respond, she jumps into me and grips at my sides. "I want mommy," she sobs into my chest.

I'm surprised, more like scared really. She has a complete and sudden faith in me.

I gently wraps my arms around her, "I'm sure your mother's looking for you right now." What am I supposed to do? Honestly, I didn't think I'd get this far, because the idea that it actually was a hallucination was roaming around my head. 

But no, she's real. A person. 

"Then where is she? I want to see her right now!" She rubs her head into my chest hard, bringing a sore feeling to my now ever so sensitive rib cage. 

I don't know what to do. There are so many things that I can say, but saying any one of them would just make her cry even more.

Doubtful, I feel as if her mother isn't here.

"Ruth!" I hear Lucas yell at me from behind. I shut my eyes, forgetting that fact that he said he wants to take care of me. And I went ahead and ran off. 

Then he stops a few feet, seeing me with a child in my arms. He opens his mouth, and with a loss of words, closes  it. 

I pat the girls head, until her sobbing quiets down. Her hair is smooth and soft.

We sit on the ground, her in between my legs like a little child. "Do you think you can tell me your name?" She's so warm, I feel relaxed.

She gently tries to wipe her tears and sniffles, "Clara." 

I smile softly, "That's lovely. I'm Ruth." I pull some hair away from her face, so that it doesn't get mixed in with the tears and mats dryly on her face.

"I'm Lucas." He says. I almost forget that he's here. He wasn't on my attention though, it's on her at the moment.

I start to pull my fingers through her hair, "Do you know what your doing here?" She  her head. "Lucas," I ask him to explain, because I don't the slightest clue of where we can be. I don't want to create one either.

He tells her everything about what he had thinks about this place. She seems to had grasped it all reasonably, much better than I had.

Unless she was just nodding and smiling like she had no clue. But it looks like she knew what we were talking about. "I think I understand."

I'm about to laugh, because she says so in such a darling tone. Lucas can't help but to smile.

She smiles back, a cute, sweet and toothy smile. There is a strange bond between the two, or he's just good with kids. It seems like that's the case.

"Do you know how you got here? What happened in the real world before you arrived here?" I ask.

Clara looks up at me, her eyes glinting from the light that peeked around the corner. "Mommy and Daddy always get into fight's." While she says this, small droplets begin to form on the lower part of her eyelids. I gently swipe them away with my fingers. But no matter what I did, they would still reappear. "Mommy tells me to go to put the headphones on and listen to music in the living room, since we live in a small apartment. And I can't go in Mommy and Daddy's room; they won't let me. And my room doesn't have a door." She looked around, finding something to get her mind off of things. Her shoes were a final option, dirt formed around the front of the rubber soles.

"They both started yelling at each other, I don't remember what it was about." That doesn't matter. "And it got louder and louder." Droplets slowly fall to the dark blue of her jeans. "They started throwing stuff at each other. Plates, books... Then... Some-hic," her voice begins to break under the pressure,"thing hit me-hic on the back of my-hic head." She started to sniffle, 

I look at the back of her head, when I run my hand though, there's nothing. No scarred patch or anything out of the ordinary. No open patch of skin. 

I think about it for a long moment. My first thought is that I have a rather huge dislike for her parents. I see them vividly, neglecting, on the verge of divorce. I can't think of them being kind or warmhearted. There is no middle ground of them, even if there was on in the beginning. 

Her parents make me ill. No one fights, especially when there's a child around. And to throw things, anyone would be the next victim. Then what? What would anyone do with themselves if you put a child at risk? And if you killed them?

The same thought runs through my head when I think of Liam. And the Reaper. Cooperation is rather necessary for everyone to live in peace.

It's honest to say that I'm glad she's here, and not there. If so, she'd be dead. She's sweet and gentle, someone that doesn't need to be dead.

But here's Clara now, a victim of a dysfunctional family. 

I try to shift the negative thoughts away, this isn't about them; this is about Clara. They don't deserve a place in my mind. Do be so cruel and harsh. Maybe it wasn't completely directed to her, but still...

Here we all are though. It makes me wonder if we're all here because were suffering like her. We are all victims of something if anything. Maybe we just don't want to be in the world, or at least, don't want to be part of such a life.