Window Cracks

▶️Aunt Trace◀️

"Tea."

After having lived here for a month, Trace's voice is still just as good as pouring ice cold water over myself to wake up.

I had a restless night. Adrianna's words echoed in mind-tormenting chunks; I got a headache when I would hear her voice...

Concurrently, I stared at the grey ceiling all night, sheets crumpled up beside me, the dull floorboards moonlit through the single window, which barely had a curtain.

I feel lethargic. Dead in youth and purpose.

Now, Trace stands here, beside the bed, like she is about to shoot someone with her eyes, with her arms pasted to her sides.

The room is dimly lit by the usually greyish-white and overcast skies.

I have noticed that Trace has navy blue hair that could pass for black in this grey settlement, and it is sleeked down to her lower back, augmenting her crystal blue eyes' beauty. She's slim and her black clothes hug her gentle curves. But her skin is pale, just as everyone else's in this community.

"Trace," I croak with a hint of humour.

"Tea. Kitchen. Now."

"I'm not that hungry."

"You can eat it then vomit it out later," she remarked, maintaining composure. Her smile was coy.

I still cannot tell whether she is humorous or blunt.

I get up and walk to the kitchen, her footsteps echoing mine just behind me. I sit at the grey round table, and I look at Vivian. She barely speaks, but when she does, she will be feeling very displeased, and she will make sure we all know. Currently, she is trying to look out the window from her own smaller and lower table, seated on the only small chair that is there. She looks at me and smiles. I smile back and instantly, my muscles start to relax, and all the tension from last night uncoils and dispels into the past. I feel new enough for today.

Vivian. What an intellectual she is. I do not know what I am; probably my own poison, most of the time.

Trace initiates the breakfast by slapping a plate of bread with honey on my table, followed by some weak looking tea in a big cup. I nod in gratitude, as usual, and pick up my bread and slowly bite in. I chew, sucking the scarce honey out of the bread  for my dearest taste, and I then take a chug of the lukewarm tea.

Trace moves to the grey sink, and washes two plates in which in one, Vivian probably had porridge in. She prefers that.

On the first morning we lived here, I noticed that Trace has a tattoo that strings from her left shoulder, down her arm, to her left hand above the knuckles. I remember studying a small bunch of red dying flowers that had black tendrils by the limp sepals which then downwardly transformed into a cage that contained a human shadow inside it that had its protruding legs which transitioned into a melting substance that dripped a shaded water body below that ended by her wrist. From there, to her knuckles, I saw stars weaving together to form something I could not decipher in time, because that day, she noticed I was staring, and she sharply turned around from the sink to eye me. She then, must have noticed what my eyes were fixed upon because she speedily shuffled for a grey cloth, wiped her hands vigorously and strode out of the kitchen.

I remember looking at Vivian with a confused facial expression. Surprisingly, there was no Vivian to look at. She must have slipped out. I was alone, and questioning what I had just seen of the physical and emotional Trace. I would not find out soon. She returned, more relaxed, but wearing a black tight-fitting jacket.

Since then, every time we have been within each other's presence, she wears nothing else but that black tight-fitting jacket to cover her arms... That tattooed arm, in particular.

As of now, I am looking at Trace washing the plates in a black tight-fitting jacket, and through the corner of my eye, I see that Vivian slips out of the room.

I realise, again, that I will not find out soon about the tattoo.

She turns around and wipes her hands with the grey cloth, and rests her lower backside against the grey counter and looks directly at me. I still do not know her age but I believe she must be in her late twenties.

I look back at her, but more shyly, of course, and she smiles triumphantly at the subservience.

I stop myself from rolling my eyes by taking my final chug of the tea. She enjoys her authority.

"Tank," she orders.

PFFFFFTTSSH.

That is me spit taking all over the table. I cough too.

"What?" I manage to let out in the same breath.

"Is the food that bad?"

"The Tank?" My breathing gains evenness.

"Oh. Your parents were against sending you there for some reasons. I'm sure they trained you well at home, but you will go. Get my cloth and clean this deposition."

She points to the same grey cloth she used by the counter behind her. I hesitantly push myself up from the chair and walk trembling steps as I pass her intimidating aura, slightly invading it.

It takes me a short time to wipe, and I stand awkwardly.

I always thought the Tank was a myth. My parents had talked of it in passing when I learnt in my home. To hear Trace talk of it was a big bout into a reality I never thought was liveable, let alone by me. In my previous years, after having asked my parents several my questions about it, I built up an image of this mythical Tank being a physical training place that children go to, to eventually specialise in some sort of combat or program and serve the community in their older years.

"When will I go?"

"Hour."

"But-"

"The Tank needs basic clothing. I already have you registered and I cannot wait to do the same to Viv in a couple of years..." Trace starts relishing in her thoughts, "...she will probably be in the community systems unit. She seems so clever," she says with pride and a hint of a smile. I agree with her in my mind, Vivian seems of high intellect, but I also take note there is also a learning place, and not just training ground. Trace takes me out of my mental process by looking at me. She continues, more seriously:

"For you, I don't know where you'll end up. But it'll be easy to train there. Finish my bread and get ready, you don't really want to be late on your first day of Tank."

That gets me working. I simply have to choose one of my grey pieces of clothing and head out to the Tank, a place that I now know that exists as of two minutes ago. It is simple.