We All Have Scars

1

I stood by as Jorge jumped through the jagged hole, falling towards the intruders. At the last second, he crumpled up into a human ball and rolled three times, then sprang up and landed on his feet. I looked over at my sister, Brenda, and rolled my eyes. Show off. 

"My name is Jorge," he said, his arms outstretched as if he expected applause for his acrobatics. "And I'm the Crank who rules this place." 

I noted that all the intruders were boys, and they looked stunned. Jorge must have noticed. 

"You people forget how to talk?" He asked, a smile on his face. "Or are you just scared of the Cranks? Scared we'll pull you to the ground and eat your eyeballs out? Mmm, tasty. I love a good eyeball when the grub's runnin' short. Tastes like undercooked eggs."

They looked absolutely horrified, surely they knew he was messing with them. One boy spoke up, he was asian with jet black hair and muscles, for a guy his age. "You admit you're a Crank? That you're freaking crazy?" And evidently not smart. 

"He said he likes the taste of eyeballs." Another said. "I think that qualifies as crazy." 

How long have these boys been here in the Scorch? There were a lot further gone Cranks than Jorge. I'm surprised they're not dead already. 

Jorge laughed. "Come, come, my new friends. I'd only eat your eyes if you were already dead. Course, I might help you get that way if I needed to. Understand what I'm saying?" Suddenly, he gave a stern expression, warning them he was serious this time.  

No one spoke for a long moment. Then a blonde boy, with a British accent asked, "How many of you are here?" Clearly he's the smart one, asking the right questions. 

Jorge's gaze snapped to the blonde.  "How many? How many Cranks? We're all Cranks around here, hermano." Unfortunately for us. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it," the boy replied flatly.

Jorge started pacing the room, stepping over and around the boys, taking in everything as he spoke. "Lot of things you people need to understand about how things work in this city. About the Cranks and WICKED, about the government, about why they left us here to rot in our disease, kill each other, go completely insane. About how there's different levels of the flare. About how it's too late for you-the ill is gonna catch ya if you don't already have it."

The boys followed him with their eyes as he walked around the room making these horrible statements. They all looked terrified, and helpless. Jorge stopped in front of a bunch of them, including the asian one. He continued to talk. 

"But that's not the way it's gonna work, comprende? Those who are at a disadvantage are those who speak first. I want to know everything about you. Where you came from, why you're here, what in God's name your purpose could be. Now."

The asian one let out a low, dangerous-sounding chuckle. 

'Please don't something stupid.' I mentally begged. 

"We're the ones at a disadvantage?" He swivelled his head around mockingly. "Unless that lightning storm fried my retinas, I'd say there are eleven of us and one of you. Maybe you should start talking." 

'Wrong, don't make anymore stupid mistakes, please. I don't want to kill anyone.'

Jorge looked at him for a long time, his face blank. "You didn't just say that to me, did you? Please tell me you didn't just speak to me like a dog. You have ten seconds to apologise." 

'Oh God, no, no, no.'

He looked over at his friend with a smirk. 

'Just freaking apologise!' I wanted to scream.