Ultramarine -- REWRITTEN

Six. [c.h.] -- REWRITTEN

          I dreamed of fire. Of being engulfed in flames and choking on the ashes and smoke as my skin burned. I loathed every second.

          Drenched with sweat, I sat up and swallowed. Fire had burnt and dissolved any liquid in my body, and I felt empty as my throat and tongue begged for water. Soft lights illuminated the small, concrete room and I stood. I had no concept of time, but knew how many days I'd been locked up. Six. Tomorrow seven.

          Alone in the soft dark, I opened a drawer to grab a new jumpsuit since the one I wore felt sticky and uncomfortable. I watched the camera in the corner with one red dot to signal its recording as I undressed and redressed. Before zipping up the front, I observed myself in the force field reflection. It was faint, but there I stood. Fading circular burns marked the areas underneath my collarbones and my temples. I gently pressed them; still numb to the touch. I hovered over a long, white scar that traveled from the side of my chest up to my collarbone. Memories connected to that scar erupted.

          Ten years old. Leon and I jumped along the slimy rocks near the shore. Sunlight burned my skin, and the water cooled my toes. Laughter distracted us from the sounds of seagulls and crabs scuttling across the rocks as we raced toward a cave on a far side of the island. Young and stupid, we journeyed on the dangerous path, believing that the young were immortal. I stopped recalling the memory and took a deep breath as my finger traveled up the scar slowly. As if controlling what I wanted to remember, I thought of the moment I fell, and my breathing came to a halt. Heart racing, lungs burning, smile widening, legs throbbing as I ran on the smooth rocks. Foot slipping, eyes widening, smile fading, mind screaming. Then, impact.

          A rock had sliced open the side of my chest and up to my collarbone until I came to a stop on the slimy surface. Crimson blood poured from my mortal body as I suddenly realized that I was not immortal. The fearful prepubescent screams of my brother still echo in my ears (even after the fall, I managed to tease him about how high pitched his scream was), for that was the only thing I could hear. Salt burned my wound as I lay motionless on the black rocks. For the first time in my life I felt hopeless and out of control. The feeling burned more than the salt water that was biting my torn muscle.

          I was taken to the hospital and cried as my father yelled at me for not being careful enough. Warren's father had stitched me back together as Warren watched silently. While he was intrigued by my deep wound and the process of stitching skin back together, I was horrified by the thought of my life ending because of it. Years later I had realized that if the rock had cut any deeper or ripped my neck, it would've torn a major artery--most definitely ending my life.

I zipped up my clean jumpsuit and took a better look at my appearance in the faint reflection. My tall frame seemed to be knocked down; wavy blonde hair was now stick straight. Already the lack of sun was taking its toll and my tan was beginning the stages of fading. Soon, I'd be a pale skeleton, but the color of my eyes was still electric. The best way I could describe myself was disoriented, but not even that was good enough.

          I went to lay back down on my cot. Abstract pain filled my heart as I thought of those I missed. Staring up at the ceiling, I listed off names. Leon, Brielle, Warren, my mother, my father. . . Two of those people weren't waiting for me back home, and they were the ones I needed the most. I turned away from my camera and laid on my side. My mind wandered to the last moment I saw my younger brother Leon.

          He followed me through the trees after hearing I had been called to the gates. While I followed confidently behind the gate guard, marking the damp soil with my shoe print, he stealthly kept his distance between lush bushes and flowers. The trail was thin that we walked along, for it was only used by the gate guards that switched shifts and whoever was needed at the gate. My beating heart knew all too well who was coming for me, but still imagined the worst. The multiple times I had been taken and questioned were never easy and I had expressed my fears days before that I may break and confess anything just to get back. He had assured me that no one was stronger than I, but paranoia filled my lungs and mind regardless of his declaration. I knew that he feared for me as well, aware that he'd be the only one left alive in our family if I didn't come back.