𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 - 𝘋𝘌𝘈𝘛𝘏 𝘊𝘜𝘙𝘌

15 ~ the ghost boy

Lottie

I felt very out of place inside the city, in a way I never have before. In all other places I have memories of, the people dressed and looked like I did; tattered and stained clothes, dirty faces. Inside the city, people gave us strange looks. They were all dressed in suits and tailored dresses, carrying briefcases and purses. They were going to work. Imagine! Having a 9 to 5 job, even after the world has been turned upside down.

My friends and I stared in awe at the city looming around us. Tons of glass and concrete... and money. Money that could have been used for finding a cure. I decided that wasting their money meant that they had just given up. WICKED knew it was no use, so they chose to spend their money in a way that would ensure them a luxurious life before that life was taken from them. 

I set my jaw. WICKED was wrong. There was a cure. There had to be.

Jorge had noticed the stares we were getting from the passing civilians, and he fidgeted. His hands ran over his clothes, dusting them off, but we all knew that nothing would make us blend in, unless we received new clothes.

"In here," Jorge said finally, ducking into a building. It was tall like the others, and the front was made mostly of glass windows. Inside the windows there were mannequins dressed in the same style clothing as the people on the street.

Inside, Jorge motioned for us to stay quiet. There was a counter to the left, and a woman dressed in a rich purple cardigan and a mask that covered her nose and mouth sat behind it. As we entered, she did not look at us. She was staring at something on her lap; it gave off a bright blue glow. I heard tapping, and realized it was her fingertips on the object in her lap. It must be some sort of electronic device.

"Welcome in," she droned, still not looking up. 

Jorge swallowed, not taking his eyes off her, in case she looked up and noticed our odd clothes. He began taking clothes off of the many hangers. To the boys, he gave suit jackets, button ups, and slacks. To the girls, he handed slim, uncomfortable looking dresses. I cringed at the material, but if this is what I had to wear to avoid being caught, then so be it. 

"How are we supposed to run in these?" Brenda muttered under her breath, glowering at the turquoise dress she had been handed. "And the color is too bright-"

"Let's hope we don't have to run, hermana," Jorge replied. Then he increased the volume of his voice so the woman at the counter could hear. "Let's try these things on in the dressing room." The woman didn't show any signs that she heard, but Jorge led us to the back anyway. There were about six stalls. Each of us took one to change in.

My stall had a full length mirror. I stared at myself in it; it had been so long since I had seen my reflection in a mirror. My face was sallower than I remember. My clothes, which used to fit perfectly, hung off my body. There were scars covering my face, hands, neck... they covered my body in all places that were visible. But my eyes, I noticed. My eyes stayed the same.

I stripped the baggy clothes from my body and slipped into the dress. It was dark purple, like the cardigan the lady at the counter was wearing. The color looked fine on me, but there was still dirt on my face and my hair was a mess. It didn't match me.

"Here, Lottie," came a voice from outside of the stall door. I looked under the gap and saw a pair of slick black shoes. One of the boys. He was holding a wet cloth over the door, waiting for me to take it. I did, and began scrubbing my arms, legs, and face with it. I sighed; the cloth wasn't making me fully clean, but it was better than the filth I had gotten used to. "And try to sort out your hair, too," said the boy outside the door, whose voice I recognized to be Frypan's.