The Feathers of Fire [1st DRAFT]

7. The messege

When I woke up it was already getting dark. On instinct I wanted to jump up and see what happened. However, my back was far too sore to move. I was lying on my stomach on the sleeping bag, my nose almost touching the crumbling stones of the well.

My ears rang and my throat was as dry as sandpaper. I groaned and attempted to roll over, but when my back was going to touch the ground something stopped it and a searing agony erupted from my shoulders and ribs. I cried out in pain and quickly swung myself back onto my stomach.

There was a stifled yelp of surprise from nearby and quick footsteps approached until a shadow was cast over me. There was a pause. "Are you okay?" Beanstalk asked. I groaned. "Well . . . I think you'll be okay."

"What's on my back? Where's that orb of fire? What was it?" I asked frantically, trying to shift myself to see him better.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down mate, one question at a time." I stopped twisting and glumly stared at the well. "The orb disappeared," he told me. "The fire did too. I don't know how but it just stopped like there was an off switch or something."

"And my back?"There was another pause. "Look . . . Carmen . . . there's- there's something on your back right in between your shoulder blades. I don't know what it is but it's made of metal and it's about two inches wide and three inches long."

"Take it off!" I demanded. He sighed heavily. "We tried. It won't come off, like it's hooked in your back. There's a bruise around it too."

My breath quickened as panic crept its way into my heart, turning my blood to ice. I wanted to reach back and tear the device from my flesh but I knew that it wouldn't do any good. I hated how I could feel it, constantly and completely, like a barnacle that would defy my every attempt to remove it.

"How far does it protrude outwards?" I asked. I sensed him leaning over me to get a better look. "About an inch," he answered.

"Is it bleeding?"

"No."

"How long have I been passed out?"

"Roughly four hours."

I wanted to pull my hair out in frustration. All that daylight, wasted.

"Where are the boys?"

"They went back to the cacti for shade. They still haven't come back. I'll call them over soon."

I pressed my face into the sleeping bag, wanting to shut out the world and drown in my own pain and frustration. I had the faint thought that the device in my back would kill me. For a split second I hoped that it would. There had been so many times that I wished death would free me from his hellish world.

Yet, everytime I had such a thought other things would pop into my head. Things worth living for. Like Benito, who needed me to take care of him, Luis, who needed me to trade with him, and the slight, very slight chance that my mother and brother weren't dead.

My mama had never been what I'd call a fighter. She was a short, stout, passive and meek woman. She could fight verbally of course but I'd never seen her throw hands. She also did not seem the type of person to know how to survive in the desert on her own. She could cook, clean, and sew but I would never have used the word "tough" to describe her.

My papa would have been more accustomed to the life I now lived. He had a very high pain tolerance and it didn't take much to please him. I smiled as fond memories of him resurfaced. Always looking for "adventure" and not caring about what others thought of him. He didn't always consider the consequences of his actions, or the dangers of his stunts.