"Tasha! Tasha! Snap out of it, already." Waves of silky, ginger hair swayed in front of my vision, and a pair of hazel eyes glittered underneath a silky forehead now engraven with worry.

Still half in a daze, I blinked, straightening up against the table I had been leaning on.

"Are you all right? You were messing around with that lighter of yours again. I swear, Tasha, if you keep on acting like you're going to burn the house down -" Elanor sighed. "Is your arm okay? The wound did heal fine, I think - though your ankle hasn't stopped shaking either."

"He's dead," I whispered. "He's dead, and yet I can't remember his name. Why can't I remember his name?" I turned to Elanor, demanding, "This isn't real, is it? You're not real."

"Tash, the war's been over for eight months. Look," she said, taking my hands in hers, "Trust me, all right? I am real. I wouldn't lie, would I? This isn't one of the rebels' torture simulations, this is real. You're free." Elanor spoke with ever more urgency, like rocks hurtling down a mountain, gathering speed until they formed an avalanche of "please, listen to me".

"Is he dead?" I asked. "Is – whatever his name is – dead?"

"Yes," Elanor whispered. "Rowan is dead."

"I was covered with his blood. I watched him die, and then I burned his body." I paused. "I loved him." I sighed, closing my eyes. My heart felt strangely heavy, as if something was tugging at it, sinking it lower and lower. "Then what happened?"

"You were captured by some rebel soldiers. Look, I have no idea what they did to you, but it's over now. You're free." Then, almost silently, Elanor added, "We've been over this before."

"I was – I was MIA for a month and a half, right? I think you told me this before... about a month ago." I shook my head. "I'd remember being rescued, wouldn't I? I'm sorry, but you're not my baby sister, El. As much as I want to, I can't believe you."

"Elanor" sighed.

"I'm going to the market in a few minutes. Do you want to come with?"

It was far too noisy for my liking. The stalls were crowded, bright and bustling. Children ran around, laughing and playing, while their parents grew frustrated as they tripped over themselves trying to keep one eye on their children while bargaining with the vendors.

Everyone was so carefree; everything was so normal.

Everything was too loud.

The yelling of the crowds, the shuffling of feet – it all overwhelmed me. The sounds of life overwhelmed me. What I understood was the sound of death, a cacophony of gunshots and desperate yells, of malice-filled whispers and bombs that blew existence into oblivion. What I was accommodated to was the silence of death, speaking louder than any voice I had ever heard.

From far away, it seemed, I vaguely heard Elanor's voice posing a question - something about poppies. They were always her favourite flowers. I sighed, sitting down on the side of the alley and closed my eyes, feeling rather lightheaded. The drumming noises of life began to blend, swirling together, fading away. I kept my head in my hands. Something wasn't –

I opened my eyes to a silent city, familiar and yet changed. For one, it was much earlier in the morning, with scarlet painted across the dawn. Furthermore, the buildings seemed derelict, almost falling apart in their loneliness The most drastic difference, however, were with the people. They were silent. In fact, they were deathly silent, their corpses carpeting the pavement.

Dead. Everyone was dead.

"Elanor?" I yelled to the empty air.

"Be still, my beautiful daughter."

I spun around in a flash. Before me, a few paces away, was a hazel-eyed woman, her ginger hair gently cascading down her back. I had to tilt my head up ever so slightly to look at her face – a gentle face, filled with youth and brilliance, just as I had always imagined.

"Mother?" An overwhelming confusion smacked me right in the face, as if a wave of water had just come crashing down. My mother had died when I was twelve, and Elanor ten. I still remembered those last few weeks of illness - my sister and I struggling to make vegetable broth for my mother just the way she liked it, a satisfied smile on her face as she stroked our hair, her voice as reassuring as ever. That tale, obviously, didn't get a happy ending.

"Come with me, sweetie. Let's go home. I know you've been having a tough time. Let's just go home and talk about it, okay? Your favourite chicken casserole is waiting for you.." My mother's voice was sweet beyond belief, and though I was tempted to follow her –

"It was Aunt Isabelle who made the chicken casseroles," I said.

"We can't stay here." My mother was beginning to sound a little worried, and her tuneful voice took on a tone of desperation. "Just come home, dear. Everyone's waiting for you to come back where it's safe. Terrible things are going to happen here, Tasha. Please, listen to me."

I kept as firm as a log.

"What horrible things?" I demanded. I wanted proof. I needed proof.

"This."

Rowan was standing at the side, pointing a gun at my mother. Before I could say a word, he pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot ripped through the air, seconds turning to hours as I looked, horrified, between my mother and my lover. I watched helplessly as that silvery bullet flew, like a dart determined to hit its target, towards a woman who was already dead. My mother crumpled to the ground, a fresh bullet wound dead center in her forehead, before shattering into a million pixels and fading into the air.

I turned my attention to Rowan, who looked at me with cold eyes.

"I always had the best shot in our squadron."

"Why?" It was all I could say.

"Your 'mother' was a character the rebels planted in your mind to halt these warning signals that your subconscious is trying to give. In other words, this current realm where you are right now is a sign that your 'reality' is not, in fact, real. Did your mother not look a lot younger than she should have? Did her speech not sound peculiar? From what I remember of your descriptions, your mother spoke straightforwardly, and was not fond of redundancy." Rowan kept his eyes on me, his expression serious. "Be careful, Tasha. They will send more."

I had to admit, this Rowan seemed exactly like the one I knew. Still, however, I was cautious. I had to be.

"How do I know you're not one of them?"

"Do you want to shoot me, and take that risk?" He asked. Upon receiving no answer, Rowan continued. "No, I didn't think so," and disappeared into the air. Instead, at my feet lay a bouquet of crimson poppies – the very bouquet that "Elanor" had wished to purchase when we were at the market. I reached down to pick the flowers up, but when I did, they melted into a pool of blood, now dripping between my fingers. I stared at my hand, now dyed red.

"Please stop," I whispered.

"No, this can't be..."

I was in a hospital room of sorts, and "Elanor" was standing over me.

"Tasha! Oh my goodness, I thought -" Elanor put a hand on her chest, breathing heavily. "Are you all right? Right after I bought the flowers, I turned around, and you were on the other side of the road, fainted. You're in a hospital now. I was so worried, Tash! Seriously, wha -"

I cut her off by springing out of the bed.

"You're not real, El. I don't know how many times I must tell you this. Stop it, and just tell me how to get out of this damn dream or whatever that the rebels put me in!" I was furious.

"Elanor" looked at me as if I was mad. I probably did look the part.

"It breaks my heart to hear you say that," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. "You don't understand. Eight months, Tasha, you've been like this for eight months, and I just" – she wiped a tear from her eyes – "I can't stand to see you like this. You're my sister, Tasha. Why would I ever lie to you?"

"Because you're not real."

I turned to leave, but suddenly, a little boy appeared before me, with curly black hair and the prettiest blue eyes. I felt myself swallow reflexively, my fists curling at my side.

"Hello, Liam," I whispered. My little brother, Liam, had died when he was seven. Three years younger than El, he was the baby of the family, and adored by everyone, particularly me. He had fallen ill of the same disease that would soon also kill our mother, and died within a week.

Right now, however, Liam looked as healthy as a seven-year-old could be. He walked up to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, sighing contentedly as he rested his head on my stomach.

"I missed you, Tasha. Where did you go?" He asked, innocent blue eyes staring up at me. I turned my head to glare at "Elanor". This simply wasn't fair. Turning back to Liam, I whispered,

"The real question is, why are you here?"

Upon hearing my response, Liam took a step back, a slightly angry – but mostly confused – expression masking his face.

"Bad Tasha. Aren't you happy to see me?" He paused, sniffling, and I could see tears forming in his eyes. "Why aren't you happy to see me? Don't you love me, Tasha? You promised that you would always love me."

My heart broke in that instant, and yet, I stood still. My will as a soldier and my logical mind still held the reins. I would not give the rebels this victory because of an already dead child.

I thought about Rowan, who had cautioned me against future infiltrators in my mind. I thought about my mother, whose body disappeared after Rowan had 'killed' her. I frantically racked my brain for a way out into the real world. No matter what, however, the first step came down to one thing.

I reached into my jacket and there it was, sleek and deadly, shining in my hand.

"I'm sorry, Liam. I love you."

I shot him in the head, before turning and putting a bullet in my sister's brain too.

"And I loved you too, El."

The scene changed. I was sitting on a park bench under a maple tree in the summer. The wind was swishing through the pond reeds, the water itself clearer than glass. I smiled. This was the local park that El, Liam, and I would always come to play when we were young.

I silenced my thoughts, the realization of my current situation finally hitting me.

I had killed my siblings and watched my lover kill my mother. I had also watched my lover die in my arms earlier, and I was stuck in a – hallucination? Dream world? How would I –

"'Get out of this place,' as you would put it?" It was Rowan, sitting next to me now.

I nodded.

"Kill everything and everyone," he suggested.

"Now is not the time to be patronizing," I hissed.

Rowan shrugged.

"Fine by me. Just remember – if you choose to do nothing, you might be stuck in here forever. You have already watched so many people die. How many more, Tasha? How many more until you finally break? Until your mind melts into nothing, into insanity. How much more could you possibly stand, and do you really intend to find out?" Rowan chuckled. "I am offering you a solution, Tasha. Trust me, and take the offer."

With that, he was gone, and the landscape before me returned to the bloodbath that it had once been. Corpses in the street, buildings crumbling apart, the stench of blood overwhelming everything else – it was a grisly scene indeed. There were heaps of bodies piled up, one on top of another, and here or there, a crow sitting on top of someone's arm, munching on their flesh.

Trust him, he said? What could I trust, when everything around me was fake? How would I know what would happen if I died here? Would I wake up? Would I die? How do I -

Trust him, huh?

Fine.

I closed my eyes, now willing for the scene I wished to see. I concentrated, frowning, and imagined everything around me going up in flames.

Even without opening my eyes, I knew that my wish had been fulfilled. I could feel my skin melting off my body, and I embraced the pain. I could hear the anguished cries of all the ghosts that weren't there, but I couldn't hear myself. Somewhere in the distance, a siren rang. My eyes flashed open.

Elanor appears in front of me, wearing a white dress, her hair loose and her skin ghostly pale. And yet - it wasn't Elanor. I feel myself being drawn towards her, and she bursts into flame as I realize - that wasn't Elanor. It was me.

The last thing I heard was my heartbeat.

***

Elanor brushed a strand of her short, ginger, hair behind her ear. Straightening up, she pressed her fingers to her forehead, rubbing out wrinkles.

"She's gone," Elanor declared. "Eight hours, but she finally went and died." She tugged at the collars of her lab coat and began massaging her neck, sighing. "Twenty-seven years old, and I feel like I'm already forty."

Elanor took one more glance at her sister.

"Sorry, sis. You're smart, I'll give you that, but not as smart as me." She shook her head. "I didn't want to have to do this, but you were the one who chose the losing side." Elanor chuckled. "The thing with Rowan was a nice touch, though, wasn't it? You were quite perplexed in the end, and yet completely fooled by him. Oh, sister. I'm sorry, really, but it was all just a simulation. It seemed much longer than it really was, yeah? You lasted longer than anyone ever has, though. Be proud of that; I know I am."

Elanor sighed again.

She walked to the side counter, high heels clacking. She picked up a beautiful bouquet of neatly wrapped poppies and walked back to her sister, who lay, deathly still, on the lounge chair.

"Here. These always were my favourite flowers."

Elanor placed the bouquet gently in her sister's lap.

"Good night."