This isn’t how I thought my life would be. Not an uncommon sentiment, I know, but I can’t be original in every way. When I was five I thought I would be a wizard or a warrior. Maybe the first mortal to figure out how to kill a vampire. Or a Guardian of the Peace. For a while I even wanted to be a baker. One thing never crossed my mind: that I would be forced to hide from both sides of a civil war.
My iPhone beeps and I look at it automatically, reading the text message that lights up the screen. Then I read it again. And again. I almost ask Stacey to verify I’m not losing my mind. The chill of the early morning creeps through my fingertips, encircles my heart. It’s Sam. A text from Sam. But how can it be? Sam is dead.
I decided to rescue him the moment I realized what he was. I wasn’t supposed to do it. It wasn’t part of the plan. Seeing him, half aware, afraid, and in pain, made the plan unimportant. I couldn’t abandon him to torture and despair.
I would like to say I knew something was wrong, that the moment you disappeared was branded in my mind with irrevocable finality. Instead it passed amidst a string of mundane tasks, indistinguishable even in hindsight.
I met a man on a train. He saved my life and then he died.
**A note since this is my first First Sentence: a while back I began a journal of potential first sentences for as of yet unwritten stories. I thought it would be fun to post them.