I straighten the collar to my green coat, tighten the strap to my rifle sling, sigh with relief, and head up the steep, rocky hill to the shooting range. My shiny, black boots crunch against the pine needles, pinecones and asphalt below them, and the wild wind ruffles almost violently through my wheaten blonde hair.
This blustery day is one of those frustrating ones where I just need to get away and relax. Focusing on what makes me happy can calm me down. And that would be shooting at the targets on the hill beside my house.
As I trudge my way up the hill, my sore thighs are a sign of exercise and energy to me, which makes me feel better. When I see the shooting area, golden sand glimmering in the sun, I smile to myself on the inside, and speed up to a trot.
The second I reach the sand, I pull off my rifle sling, and take my favorite, shiny, silver rifle out. Dropping the tan, leather backpack into the sand, I get into a good shooting stance, and aim for the targets that are a good fifty feet away.
When I feel like I have a good aim, I pull on the trigger, and free a bullet. Only seconds later, there's a "pop," which signifies I hit the target.
Feeling energetic, I shoot at the target a couple more times, before strolling up to it to see where I've hit it and how many points it would've been in a competition.
As I pace, the wind speed picks up. It finds its way under my coat, making me shiver slightly, and whips my hair around my face. I lift my foot off the ground, trying to move against the force, when a whirlwind of sand comes right towards me, and hits me in the face.
I feel the impact of the grains of sand slapping me in the face like tiny bullets, but the majority of the grit ends up in my eyes.
Suddenly, the wind throws me to the ground, as I yell in fear, and try to stand up. The whirlwind gets worse, and makes the sand dance around me, causing even more of it to get into my eyes. Giving up on my attempts to sit up, I collapse onto my side, but that only makes matters even worse. Sand flies up, and all the grains try to squeeze their way into my tear ducts. And after only seconds, my vision is taken.
It doesn't stop the sand from flying into my eyes; it just keeps going. I scream in pain, as my eyes itch, burn, and feel like they've been stabbed with forks all at the same time.
"HELP! HELP ME!," I screech, sand coating my tongue. "IT BURNS! IT BURNS AND I CAN'T SEE!"
I'm in the kitchen making myself some honey tea, while Vash went out to do some shooting to calm his nerves. I stroll into the living room with my little cup, and sit by the window in my armchair where I can watch nature, and relax.
It's a beautiful day; the sun is shining, and a few, fluffy, white clouds dot the aquamarine blue skies. No wonder Vash likes to do his shooting outdoors; it's all so calming and gorgeous outside. It's also a pretty windy day, as the trees dance in its power. I sure do hope Vash is being careful!
As I take a few sips of my tea, the wind begins to blast its way through the trees, knocking a few loose branches to the grass below. Less than a minute later, I hear a scream, and it sounds like Vash's voice.
Getting a little bit nervous, I place down my cup, stand out of my chair, and smooth down my magenta skirt. I peer out the window, trying to see the top of the hill where Vashy is, but I just can't - it's too far away.
Just then, there's another faint yell from the distance:
"HELP! HELP ME! IT BURNS! IT BURNS AND I CAN'T SEE!"
I gasp, automatically recognizing the voice as Vash's. Quickly as I can, I run to my bedroom, pull on my white ballet flats, and yank on my light green windbreaker, zipping it up. Without thinking about anything else, I dash outside, and hurry up the hill.
The wind gives me a few dominating shoves causing me to trip over my own feet, and my flat make me trip over a few loose logs. But nothing stops me from following the sound of my big brother's desperate screams.
At the top of the hill, I see a flash of green in the middle of the sand. The wind finally comes to a halt, so I sprint over, sand filling up my flats, and kneel beside Vash.
"Big Brudder!," I cry over his frantic screeching. "Are you okay?"
I look down at his pretty face to see him drooling down his chin, gritty sand in the spit. He's crying as well, but instead of tears, it's a thick, yellowish liquid, almost like mucus or pus.
"Lilli?!," he bawls. "L-Lilli! WHERE ARE YOU LILLI?!" I remember Vash screaming that he couldn't see, so I assume he doesn't see me. I touch his temples, rubbing them softly.
"I-I'm right here, Vashy," I whisper softly. "I'm right here. Th-there's nothing to be afraid of. Wh-what happened?"
Vash lets out another yell. "I-it's my eyes!," he wails. "THEY HURT! IT'S BURNING LIKE HELL! GET HELP, LILLI! PLEASE!"
At first, I don't know who I should get help from. I could turn to Elizaveta or Katyusha. Probably even Ludwig Beilschmidt, if the time's appropriate. After going through a mental list of everyone I could go to, I reach into my jacket pocket, and pull out my flowery, candy pink Kajeet. Hands shaking, I hit the call button, and dial in 112.
The phone rings as I lift it to my ear. Seconds later, someone picks up.
"112, what's your emergency?," a soft, male's voice says.
I'm shocked, as I've never made an ambulance call, and I'm worried about Vash. At first, I say nothing.
"Hello? Are you hurt? What's going on?"
"M-m...my brother's eyes are hurting!"