It's Your Fault...

       "No, please…" a whimper escaped the young Scout's throat, a pained look crossing her sleeping face as she rolled over. Her peaceful slumber had been disturbed, a nightmare returning from a few nights before. She curled up, knees digging into her chest and arms wrapping over her head, brown hair entwined in small fingers.
       "Stop… It was an accident… Please…" tears began to form, rolling down her face and slowly dripping onto the hammock below her. She gripped her head tighter, as if becoming a smaller ball would protect her from the phantoms in her mind…
       
       She stood on a small island; the water surrounding her was a deep red, fog making vision almost impossible. The young Scout whined, standing in the center of the island with her eyes shut, hands pressed tightly over her ears in an attempt to block out the whispers in the mist.
       "It's your fault."
       "I'd be alive if it weren't for you."
       "Did you even bother trying?"
       "I will never forgive you."
       "How could you betray me?"
       "I never should have trusted you."
       "You don't deserve your happiness."
       "You'll only hurt them."
       "How can you live with yourself?"
       The whispers never stopped. They kept repeating and repeating, sometimes including some new accusations. They were his voice. Each whisper was a different age, but it was his voice… But something was different…
       The whispers sounded wet… Like they were from under the water…
       "No!" a shriek escaped her mouth as she felt something clamp on her ankle. She looked down, a deathly-white hand gripping her with all its might, trying to pull her into the ground below. The girl kicked at it, screaming and crying as she broke free and ran to the edge of the island. She stopped at the shore, her back facing the bloody water as she watched the hand slowly return to the dirt. A sob worked its way out of her throat, the girl's tears blinding what little vision she had.
       "You killed me…" a voice spoke behind her, the Scout whirling around to see an all-too-familiar face. His flesh was rotting off, but what little skin he had left was bluish-white in color. He reached for her, the tips of his fingers stopping just short of her face.
       "Rico…" she whispered, taking a step back. Her eyes flicked over the rotting corpse that was once her friend, horror slowly filling the grey pools. She gripped her stomach, the sobs coming more frequently, and turned to run.
       A tight grip on her hair pulled a startled squeak out of the girl, yanking her back before she could protest. She was in the water.
       "It's all your fault."
       "You left me to die."
       "How could you?"
       "I loved you."
       "You betrayed me."
       The whispers continued to plague her as she felt the cold, clammy hands grip her arms. Her old friend's body curled around her from behind, holding her in a death grip. She tried to scream, precious air bubbles escaping her throat and rushing to the surface. The water filled her lungs, and it was only then that she realized it wasn't just bloody water, it was blood. She tried to gasp for air, only inhaling more and more of that blood. She clawed through the thick red liquid, desperately squirming to escape. He was dragging her down, slowly, so she would know how he felt…
       His grip loosened, and he was gone. The corpse vanished, so she was truly alone. Now… Now she knew how he felt… Falling into the water, realizing he was alone… Sinking lower and lower into the abyss… Screaming, trying to breathe… Realizing that there was no way out, and the one person who could save you was only staring… Watching you slowly die...
       
       A loud thud echoed through her room as the Scout rolled out of her hammock, slamming into the floor. She remained a tight ball, whimpering and sobbing into the rug as she continued to suffer through the nightmare.
       In the morning she would be up and in the kitchen, as always. She would have a personal breakfast cooked for her and the few friends that had asked. She would be all smiles, and laugh as they asked about the bump on her head. She'd joke about how she was so clumsy, how she always rolled out of bed.
       In the morning, she would pretend the nightmare wasn't there. She would make her friends believe she was fine. But it would still be there, haunting her mind, reminding her that it was her fault that he was dead. Reminding her that she could never trust herself to keep them safe.