Written in Ink

Genevieve

Ink.

It's the only thing anyone here is talking about. How many inks you have, whose they are, what yours looks like, who else has yours - they just won't shut up about it. If you're married and find yourself with a new ink not belonging to your partner, you're in trouble. If you notice your little girl with two inks at the age of five, you know she's had her first crush. And if you happen to have the same solo ink as someone else, everything gets jumbled beyond repair.

Here, inks determine our lives.

My hands trailed along the stair railing, leaving fingerprints on every brass inch. I knew Mum would kill me for it later, but I could not care less. Today my mind was clear. It wouldn't do any good to allow trivial worries such as fingerprints on the railing bog up my carefree mood.

They rarely came - the moods, that is. At the age of 14, there's so much pressure to find an inkmate. Some families are much harsher than mine of course, but there's still pressure. Especially from Mum.

Dad's a romantic just like me, and would never pressure me into loving - we both want that slow and easy kind of love without the work. Without the stress. Funny how he married the one woman who cared most about who she ended up with.

I padded on down the glossy stairs, closing my eyes as I let the cold rail kiss my fingertips.

As my mind drifted towards thoughts of love and marriage, I felt a burning on my left ankle. This was typical; the first time it happened I'd screamed and writhed as if a flaming rod were being pressed into my skin. It really wasn't that bad - just a burning reminder. Now I'm even more used to it.

As I lost myself in the whirl of thoughts and worries, I felt a distant sort of weightlessness under my feet - like I was flying. It lasted a mere second or two, but as my heart lifted and my head rushed, I felt so waking and simple and happy.

Then I realized I'd run out of steps.

My body crashed to the hardwood floor, my arms taking most of the impact. I lurched my neck up, attempting to avoid contact with the ground, but with my body too heavy and my pace too quick I felt my forehead smash into the floor and my heart screamed with my body as a million senses flooded me before it all went dark.

How silly of me to think I was flying.

_

When my eyes opened, I was staring at a collection of green circles. My mind was muddled, and I felt a throbbing in my right arm. For some reason my left sock had been taken off and I clenched my toes as I felt the wind whistle between them. The tired voice of my father droned on behind me.

I focused my eyes, but it was impossible to make out what was before me - it was as if something small but heavy had been pressed into my face. Water ran down my cheek, and at first I wondered if I was crying, but then I realized it came from the unknown weight.

Ice! I thought. I moved my arms to shift it below my face, but felt a slow and pressing sort of pain and immediately dropped them. Instead, I nudged my head upwards as much as I could with the pain and the bag (frozen peas, I realized, which explains the green circles) slid onto my chest.

Sharp light bit at my eyes as I struggled to open them, blinking quickly.

I was laid out in the living room, on a worn brown sofa that dipped in the middle. Across the room, in a stiff leather armoire, was my mother. Her face was bright as she tapped away at her laptop, and my rigid lips melted into a smile at seeing her so happy. It wasn't necessarily rare, but as Dad says - "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!"

Speaking of my father, he was in the adjoined kitchen behind me. I could hear his (slightly agitated) voice but didn't dare turn my head for fear of worsening the pain I was already in. I took a slow moment to listen to his conversation -

"-it was, how could I tell? Does it turn red or swell up? Hers seemed swollen, but not bruised as far as I could see- oh, yes, you're right. I hadn't thought of that. She'll be in pain, so I don't want to make her move it, right? ...I see. Okay. I will at once. Yes, I know, I just didn't want to-"

I sighed loudly, causing Mum to look over and see me awake. Her grin stretched wider as she tipped the laptop lid downwards and bounced over to my side.

"How do you feel, Gen? You took quite the spill..."

"Yeah, it really hurts. My arms, head, and neck are the worst of it," I said. "Sorry for all this, I guess I got.. Distracted?"

Mum shook her head slightly. "Don't worry about it. Dr. Lou says he thinks your arm might be broken so we're taking you to the hospital just in case, but we prodded it a bit and it seemed battered but not quite broken. Then again, I'm a technician, not a doctor, so we'll see what they say."

I frowned. The hospital? Hospitals are one of my least favorite places, right up there with airports and the school locker rooms.

She saw my expression and rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, we'll be quick. So long as it's not broken, we'll be in and out in an hour or two."

"Okay," I replied warily.

"Do you think you can stand? It'd be best to take you as soon as possible."

I took a moment to assess my physical state. Head muddled, arm in pain, but legs fine. I nodded, wincing at the pain it caused, before quickly lurching myself upwards and placed my feet flat on the carpet floor.

My head spun and I heard Mum cry out. I tried to take a step forward but my toenail snagged on the loose carpet and I fell once more, too dazed to hold out my stronger arm in preparation for a second impact.

I really do need to start thinking before I act.

(a/n)
a bit of an introduction to get one of the characters where I need her to be in order to begin the story, hint hint.

- le apple