Altruist

Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1

It's always the same, the landscapes shift but the events remain unchanged. I'm walking through an outdoor marketplace, vendors shout, competing for my attention at each stand. The sun is hot against my skin as the sweetness of fruit in the warm summer air fills my lungs. I am happy, feeling safe and secure amongst this crowd of strangers. Nothing bad happens on days like today, and maybe that's why I don't notice the man standing behind me. It's not until I feel his shadow, cool against the back of my neck that I even realize he's there and by then it's too late. The sting of a smooth blade pierces the skin beneath my rib cage and the sensation takes the wind out of my lungs and my feet off of the ground. As I collapse, strange faces surround me, staring, gawking. Just as my vision begins to cloud, I see the boy.

He darts to the center of the circle that now surrounds me, his face twisted with agony. I notice his ocean blue eyes, dark chestnut hair plastered against his forehead with sweat, his strong jawline even more pronounced by the clenching of his teeth. I gaze at him, wondering why he's so panicked, but it's not until he lifts me from the ground and cradles me to his chest that I realize his pain is my doing.

"Don't worry, this won't keep happening," he mutters, heaving gulps of air. My arms, once clinging around his neck begin to lose their grip, fall mercilessly past my sides. There I lay, dangling in this beautiful boy's arms, the peace of my breath mixing with the despair of his. The taste of blood begins salting my lips and then, then there is nothing.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. My alarm is blaring and the world comes crashing into my ears. I bolt awake gasping because I am still alive. Shaking off sleep, I hear my mom calling me down to breakfast. "Kate, hurry up, you'll be late for the bus."

My body stretches the night off of its bones and I press my feet firmly against the cold, wood floor. Making my way to the mirror hanging behind my door, I linger there critiquing. Somehow I thought by the start of my 11th year at Summit Academy I would have slightly more to offer, that I would magically appear more adult, or something, anything, different. But no, my hair is still the same dishwater blonde it's always been, with choppy bangs draping across my plain green eyes. I lift my weight onto my toes, pivoting so that my profile reflects back at me. Maybe I've grown a couple inches, I think. Not that a couple of inches would transform my stubborn petite figure, but it would be something. A smirk creeps across my face, This is it, kid. This is what you have to work with.

Glancing into my closet, two rows stretch out before me, the top displays blue and white polo shirts while the bottom holds khaki pants. I wonder for a moment what it would be like to wear whatever I wanted to school. That would require me to make decisions before 8am though, and to be quite honest, I'm not sure I'm even capable of that.

After pulling the shirt down over my torso, I grasp my green currency class pin. Its shiny enamel is smooth against my fingertips. Gold lines forming two overlapping circles, one hollow, the other solid, signifying our commitment to an interlocking relationship with the people who run this city. I attach it to the front of my shirt and trace the lines for a moment and wonder which of us, the citizens or our government, represents the hollow circle and which is solid. My watch beeps, ten minutes to reach the bus.

I make my way down the stairs two at a time, trying to make a dash for the door but Mom cuts me off, her voice overly polite. "Kate, you have to eat. How will you make it through the day without a balanced meal?" Oh, to be a morning person, I think.

For a brief second I consider making a dash for the front door and escaping into the daylight, but the thought is fleeting and my courageous compulsion subsides. I plop my body down at the table. I should have expected this since it's the end of the month and our food ration is still overflowing. Mom hates feeling wasteful, but the truth is we have more food than we need. I tried giving some away once when I was 8 or so. There I was walking down the street with a sack of food slung over my shoulder. I got about a mile before two soldiers stopped me and delivered me back to my parents. As punishment, our ration was cut in half for six months and I've never been as hungry as I was then. Needless to say, I don't try to give things away anymore.