𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 (𝟏)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏

My foot taps the ground. Rapidly. Uncontrollably nervous.

My back aches, and when I looked in the mirror this morning I was different. I looked different, I felt different, I was different. I had a throbbing kind of pain all along my side and shoulder, and greenish purple bruises lined my ribcage.

But I couldn't remember how I got them.

This happens sometimes. I don't remember things. I think it might be one of the many side affects of our dose of pills. I've convinced myself that was the reason.

I fiddle with the hem of my blue and white patterned dress as I wait in the line I wait in every morning. Three girls until It is my turn to take the pill I am forced to to take every morning.

The Protectors tell us every day why these pills are so important: They keep us safe from the bacteria in polluted air outside, because our lungs are more at risk for infections. And they help our deteriorating bones.

They never tell us anything about the disease aside from the fact if it weren't for them and the medicine they provide us, we would be dead.

And that fact always hung around in the back of my mind. A constant reminder of lucky and grateful I should feel. Only the thing I ever feel is dread and loneliness.

I don't know how I've managed to make it this far without finding some creative way to end my life. I have nobody, and it's miserable to be here.

I find myself counting the seconds of the day. I try to see how many seconds it takes between day and night, and lunch and dinner.

21600 seconds in six hours. The six hours between lunch and dinner.
Our lunch and dinner aren't even worth the wait.

Our disease requires a certain amount of calories to work properly. I'm always hungry after each meal. I don't dare to ask for more food like other girls. I'm not stupid enough to do that. Instead I smile and act like I've eaten enough for days.

Three girls go by fast, and sooner or later it is my turn. The man wearing a black rubber suit holds a glass of water, and a pill in the palm of his gloved hand. The glove is white and latex. He ushers it forward and I don't hesitate to take the pill and down it with a sip of water.

The pill get's caught in the back of my throat and I cough. I hold my mouth and struggle to keep the water in. I force the little thing down my throat, and a burning sensation fills my nostrils while my eyes water.

I wipe the water dripping down my chin, rub my teary eyes and move forward, away from the line.

I've always wondered what would happen if I stopped taking the pills. The fear constantly lingering in the back of my mind has never let me explore that curiosity.