GRUDGE the Love of Two Worlds

Death is unusual

The creature named Joko was still stunned by Gibran's last breath on his shoulder. His eyes darted when he saw Raka's hand touching Gibran's left back.

"Raka!" joko snapped to the man who became his friend.

"His heart is ripe, you better give it to me." Raka asked Joko. Innocently he attacked Gibran's heart with deep energy.

The approach of the citizens' feet makes Joko just resigned to his invisible form, letting Raka take Gibran's lifeless body and resigned with the next play.

Because to fight him will not be able to.

Raka throws Gibran's body on the dusty dry ground. "Go away from this village tonight." he ordered the mysterious young man who was also happy after the death of his eight brothers.

"Thank you Raka Wijaya." she said smilingly, "If you need help you just call me."

"No need, my show is done. And my enemy is dead."

The young man nodded, leaving as quickly as lightning disappeared in the darkness of the night.

Together with the citizens who arrived at the place, Raka approached Gibran's body and seemed to be confused by the situation.

"What's going on?" ask the oldest of the six.

"Please sir, Gibran isn't moving." Raka was panicking.

They approached and examined Gibran, and of course the still-warm body was lifeless.

"We're taking it home, quick!"

Full night when the moon shines full, Raka walks with a slight stagger, holding the chest that had been attacked by a thief. But what really happened wasn't that bad.

Letting the fight only centered on Gibran, draining his strength, attacking relentlessly so that he lost and he came to finish him off.

Cunning.

In the house of Bunga, the one-child woman looked agitated by holding her chest, a sense of longing and worry suddenly ambushed her heart. As if tightness in the chest with an irregular heartbeat.

"What's this about? Why am I so worried about Mas Gibran." he muttered to himself, sitting in the living room alone, several times looking at the door hoping that Gibran would come home soon.

Until a voice sounded in front of the door, Flowers moved and immediately ran to open the door.

His clear eyes could not blink, limp and scared at the same time when he saw Gibran in the bring of three residents, his eyes closed.

"Bawn, Mas Gibran needs a place to rest" said a young man with a nervous face.

Behind him also looks a limp Raka with holding the chest.

Melati retreated and let them in, her heart really already felt that Gibran was gone.

"Mas." he called out to grab Gibran's hand who had just been lying on a thin mattress in front of the television.

There was no warmth, the hand felt empty.

"Mas." called him again to feel his face, but the same.

"Mas." his voice grew higher and more afraid, he hugged Gibran and began to cry.

Groping and listening to his heartbeat.

Flowers are so powerless, the comfortable and sturdy house suddenly turned and swayed strongly in the sight of Flowers, his body limp can not think let alone say.

"Buck...!" his cry sounded echoing, heartbreaking, implying the pain of his heart made everyone bowed unable to do anything.

Closing her eyes on her husband's chest, the lying body looked like it was sleeping with a calm face.

The gripping night turned grieving, the Flower lost the soulmate who always accompanied her at half-life, eight years they were together, from acquaintance to marriage and death separated.

"I love you so much Mas." he said softly, reluctant to move all night that he just hugged Gibran's body and cried.

*

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*

"Mas Angga." he said whimpering tight.

"Gibrans! You where?" he searched and kept looking, until he was tired and then met a young man.

His body was being tied up in a big tree, and in the gnawing of some people who attacked blindly to helplessness.

Then one came later, throwing a fireball right in the left chest of the young man.

He screamed in pain, his nose and mouth bleeding to the ears, his left chest hollowed out by a fireball.

He looked extremely pitiful, crying out blood and tears at the same time.

"Gibrans..!" he yelled.

"Ngga, wake up!" the voices of people asked him to wake up.

In a daze he looked around and realized that it was just a dream.

"Related!"

"Gibrans!" call him again shouting, waking up with sweat pouring down his forehead.

"Why, why are you?" asked two of his friends, they looked at Angga in wonder.

"In the past, I saw my sister in the crackle, calling me for help" she answered, rubbing her face while beristighfar.

"Dreams" said another friend.

"Yes, but I don't usually dream until it's real" he said grabbing a tissue Didi gave him, wiping the sweat that soaked Angga's hair.

"Miss maybe." said Didi his friend again.

"The next month we go home" said the other friend who patted Angga's shoulder.

He sat there breathing, thinking of an unusual dream, reaching for a cell phone to contact the family there.

His black eyes glanced at the wall clock still at 1:30 in the morning.

"Not lifted up." he murmured a still painful and blurred eye. He went out of the room, got some drinking water.

The atmosphere of grief still enveloped the residence of Gibran and Yanto, not to forget also Dimas Mahendra came to see the last face of the beloved son.

But there is something that makes Gibran's real father surprised. The footprint on Gibran's left chest is unusual.

The area that is difficult to reach if fighting it looks blue as a ping pong ball, translucent to the back, straight like a puncture.

"This is no ordinary death, I know very well that my son is not that weak." he muttered, heard by Yanto who was also standing beside Dimas.

"I think the same way." Yanto holds a trail like a mark on the cupping.

"It's usually fine" said one of the oldest, neighbor and brother Yanto.

"People fighting don't use science like this. It's like an attack deliberately directed at the heart and makes Gibran die." Dimas stroked his son's chest clean white, only stained with the bruised blue spheres.

"That means Mas Gibran was killed?" asked Bunga who had just approached his father-in-law's two men.

They turned their heads, a little surprised and in fact they did not want Bunga to know.

"We don't know Nak" Dimas told the tear-jerking Flower.

Flowers turned to the young man who was holding Gibran last night.

He asked about the incident, but according to them there was only Raka there, in addition to the four people who had died as well.

"Mas Raka." muttered Flowers but was nowhere to be seen the young man this morning. Last night he asked to be sent home because he was seriously injured.

"Is it something to do with Mas Raka?" but again he thought if before even Raka helped Gibran when fighting.