Edit | #Wattys2016

Ten

Somehow, I find the strength to make it to dinner held at the lobby of Headquarters-nothing but canned soup and crackers, and toffees to end the meal. I have to give them my blood, and when the knife slices my skin I want to scream because my own memory of Edit is threatening to surface.

Everyone sits on the floor in a large circle and the chatter during the meal is heartening, lifting everyone's spirits. I sit next to a girl with red highlights in her dark hair, the exact same tone as her flawless skin. She has a gap between her teeth-which are pearly white and beautiful.

Her name is Samantha, and after she strikes up a conversation with me we just can't stop talking and laughing. We share about our lives back home, and why we came down here at one point. When Sam-she tells me to call her that-hears my story, she frowns and tells me she's so sorry. She's become very close to me, just through one meal.

I don't think that I've ever talked that much to Troy. Maybe when I get back up there, I'll sit down with him and have a long chat. That sounds nice, some Amber and Troy time.

Soon Samantha is called over by another group of girls-one of them being Carmen-and after a wave goodbye she skips off towards her friends.

What fascinates me the most-apart from the fact that there are living, breathing, normal humans down here-is that I can feel. The floor, the heat of the can, which makes my fingers leap away once it comes in contact with the metal. The way the plastic wrapper of the crackers refuse to stay in a ball in my hand, the way the crackers accidentally crack in half.

I just can't stop exploring the world, the things around me with my hands, my feet, my legs, my skin. It's such a wonderful feeling.

I don't participate in the conversations-I'm much too shy-but I listen in. The people-with different skin tones and different physical appearances, mental states, everything diverse-are actually coming together to talk. I can't believe it.

Once, Chance had told me about racial riots, how there'd be blood and yells and screams and fires. He told them detailed enough that it was enough to make me go burrowing under my covers. Of course, after each terrifying story, Chance'd sit down with me and we'd talk about how we felt and what we could do.

Looking back on it, Chance seemed like my personal therapist, like a teacher, my own personal beacon in the dark murky waters of life.

Ha, ha, ha. As if. He's not even here anymore. But he's better off without me, anyway. He'll be opened up to new opportunities in life now.

I wonder if he really hates me, and if he's worried about me. I wonder if he went to pick up Troy from Sharlynn's. I wonder if he's eaten his breakfast.

The people at Headquarters talk about different things-from ancient stories, to jokes that make everyone crack up, to the gossip spreading around. It seems like it's a real community, a family. We rarely have these types of gatherings anymore up there. They ended a long time ago.

Thinking back, I kind of miss it. I remember that Dad and Mom used to invite friends from the Outer Cities over, but that was about it.

The people in the Black Hole, however, look thin and weak, but I don't question why. It surprises me that they don't talk about Edit, but then again it could be too much of a sensitive, heavy topic to raise.

As everyone laughs and talks and shares, smiles breaking across each face, my mind drifts away, to a land where everything is safe and sweet and right and I don't ever need to worry again. But it'll only ever exist in my dreams. Because my beacon-Chance-is gone, and my ship has sunk into the dark sea, the sea of hopelessness, of despair, of fear.