She bolts upright, still crying out, tasting smoke on her tongue and hearing crackling flames.
She breathes out, and lies back down, ignoring her leaking eyes.
Crying wasn't going to bring back her mother.
Sometimes, he wakes in the middle of the night, breathing heavily and seeing red flash behind his eyelids.
Sometimes, he sobs ever so quietly; covers his face with his hands and prays for the images to go away.
His last moments with his mentor, forever tainted by blood.
He awakens in a cold sweat, to the sound of sirens in his head and the cold night air around him.
He awakens not submerged but distressed, the question of who am I rolling around in his head.
It takes some time to come back to him; the identity he made for himself and not that given to him.
Restlessly she paces, ignoring her own exhaustion to shoot target after target.
Restlessly, she wanders round, refusing to close her eyes and just give in.
For if she does, he comes swarming back; as though she let him win.