I watch as Jonathan’s nimble fingers wrap my bleeding upper arm. The wound still stung from the bitter alcohol dousing it had received only minutes before. Jonathan, bright eyes scrunched in concentration, cut away at the excess bandage and simultaneously brushed the scattered slices of his light hair away from his face. It amazes me how completely unafraid he is. His hands, so calloused and hefty seem perfect for weapon mastery, but his heart, even after being so viciously trampled upon throughout his childhood, begged for a life of healing. The victims he sees every day, only the mere thought sends me to shudders.
Jonathan, so tall and strong, is nothing like me. Unlike him, I am petite and overlookable; still branded with an innocent face of childhood. Unbelievably, we are siblings with nothing in common other than blue for eyes and straw colored hair. He holds no grudges. Meanwhile, my body is scarred from the hatred fueling inside of me.
“You should cut down on your practices Teresa.” Jonathan’s peaceful murmur shatters our silence, “You’re body will never heal the way you continue on.”
“I heal just fine.” I retort, flinching at his unwavering gaze.
“The blood covering your body says otherwise.” A flickering smile plays with the corners of his mouth as he peels off his ruined gloves.
Attempting to irritate him further, I jump down from his patient table and roll my shoulders, “Well, maybe after a nice dunk in the river, my body will have something else to say.” The erupting pain that centralized around my forearm begged for mercy, but I didn’t bother to let the throbbing get to me. Jonathan shook his head.
“I don’t understand you Tessa,” his sentimental use of my nickname surprises me, “instead of working in the offices; you choose to train for the fight.”
The smile I had worn so casually shifts into a frown, “Jonathan, I need to prove myself. I’m not like mom, and I’m not dad-”
“Teresa,” he cut in, exasperated.
“No,” I close my eyes, turning the already dimly lit room into a never-ending hole, “I’m not like dad Jonathan. Although sometimes I wish I was.”
Vision revived, I stand in the middle of the makeshift rebellion hospital, blindly wishing for another life. The “hospital,” or as it’s better known, the health ward, is a dusty one story building. It used to be a house. During the scourge so many years ago groups of runaways hid here, living off of the trees, animals and attached generator. The floors remain blood stained and filthy, each wall peeling and discolored, and the rain had long ago etched the roof into a useless concave shape. Newly imported lamps, either the rare battery operated ones, or the standard electric metal, cast a terrifying shade of orange throughout the ward. It reminds me too much of the world just outside the door.
One day, the rebellion will need me. In order to make sure they do, I must always be the best. Work the hardest, train the longest, bleed but never cry. Tears are weakness. Tears are what killed my mother.
“Promise me Teresa,” broad arms wrap themselves around me, “just promise me that you won’t hurt yourself during your battle. I don’t know what I would do if I lost another person so close to me.”
I carefully place myself outside of Jonathan’s line of vision. Even after practicing the art of theft and lies for over thirteen years, Jonathan could still read my face as though I were a picture book.
“I promise.”
The lie came out so convincingly through my tainted mouth. My heart, black with despair and abhorrence, barely skipped a beat. I kiss his rough cheek, mumble a farewell, and walk out the door. My promise would be broken. I knew that if it were to come down to it, I would die for our cause.
YOU ARE READING
Oriel~Book One
Science FictionAfter a brutal coup d'etat, the land once known as America has been at the controlling hold of five military leaders. Their iron-fisted reign has continued for over five decades without conundrum. Little do they know, a group of rebels is slowly plo...
