Author Games: Brave New World

Quarterfinals: Axelle Haumann

The room Axelle was quarantined to was dark and cold, the only light coming from a small glass pane in the ceiling. Her body was still aching from the decontamination shower earlier that week, her skin still a bright red. She was scrubbed clean of any possible contamination she might have faced, and her the clothing she was wearing and six inches of her long blonde hair was burned with the body of the man who tried to kill her. In it's place was a light blue hospital gown, providing no protection against the clamminess of the room.

Time had slipped away from Axelle. She couldn't tell how long she had been here, or how long she would continue sitting here. Tommorow and yesterday all blended together, blurring into a mass of dark and damp.

For now, Axelle sat huddled in the corner, separated from everyone that she knew, and those she didn't. Here in her corner, she had no idea of what was going on in the outside world. Everyone else could be dead, killed off one by one from the disease. Or, they could all be frolicking about, happy she wasn't there.

Either way, she was somewhat glad to be here. If it meant that no one else contracted the disease, she was happy to be secluded and quarantined. Then again, she still wasn't sure if she had even contracted the disease.

The only downside was the lack of company. She had thought she was alone before, but there was no way to even begin to describe just how alone she was now. There were no moonbeams, no birds, no people, not even a blade of grass to keep her company. Not even the tiny scrap of red cloth was with her anymore. That was burned with her hair and her clothing.

No one would care if she died.

No one would care if she lived.

No matter what the outcome was, she would go on being ignored and forgotten. Just like before. Unless everyone else was dead, then she wouldn't be ignored, she would just be alone. Even more alone than she was now, if that was even possible.

Maybe she should just end it now, get it over with so she didn't have to face the symptoms of the disease. She didn't want to go through the pain of contracting the Last Night. She could escape that right now. Axelle shivered, and hugged her knees even tighter than before, wrapping the light blue hospital gown around herself.

The room seemed to waver, beams of golden light coming down from the skylight. Birds began to chirp once more and she swore she could hear people moving by her room.

Was she hallucinating? Wasn't that a symptom? Axelle stumbled backwards from her corner onto her cot, her back slamming against the wall. There was no way she could be hearing people- everyone was under quarantine. And the birds haven't been chirping since she was thrown into this room. She had to be contracting the disease. She couldn't die- at least not like this. She knew that when- if, she had to be somewhat positive- she contracted the disease, there was no chance of her healing. No way to stop her from bleeding out. She couldn't go out like that.

She was a world-famous model. Axelle Haumann from Brussels, Belgium. She had her own clothing, makeup, and perfume line. Millions of fans followed her via social media platforms, and She couldn't die at the hands of some disease. She had to take these matters into her own hands. There was no other choice.

Gently Axelle pried herself up from her cot, her hands shaking as she searched around the room for something, anything, that could be used to-.

She didn't want to think about what she was searching for. That would only make her hesitate more.

Her hands weren't the only thing shaking; her whole body shook with tremors, either of fear or from the sickness. She couldn't tell which, but it probably fell in between the two. She scanned the room again. And again. But the room was empty, save a cot with a frail metal skeleton and a thin cotton blanket and mat.

She dropped to her hands and knees, looking under the cot. She had to find something, she had to leave this. She refused to let something hold her back while she watched herself succumb to this hell called Last Night.

Nothing was under the bed. Axelle didn't know what she was expecting. Did she really think that she would find a bottle of pills or a knife under the cot? When she was quarantined? She didn't really expect to find nothing, though.

Grabbing a handful of the sheets, Axelle fingered the scratchy material and looked up at the ceiling. Despite the hasty set up of the room, there were sturdy beams running along the ceiling.

A single teardrop rolled down her cheek as she ripped the sheets off the cot. Her mind had shut off, filled with only the monotonous repetition of the facts of her situation.

She was alone.

She was going to die.

She had to make sure that she wouldn't go out because of a disease.

She was the only roadblock between the disease and herself.

She was alone.

Her eyes saw nothing but a single iron beam, a chair in one corner, and the cotton sheets in her hand.

She heard nothing but the scraping of wood on rock as she dragged the chair to the center of the room.

Blood and salt filled her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks and blood pouring out of a cut on her tongue.

She felt nothing; she was numb.

When the chair was centered and the sheet thrown over the rafter, Axelle collapsed on the ground and let out a scream. Her scream was filled with everything she had been feeling in the past few days. Loneliness, fear, pain, and determination ripped from her vocal cords and were set loose for the whole world to hear.

But it wasn't enough. She needed to let everyone know what she was feeling, let them know just why she was about to kil- why she was doing what she was doing.

Now her eyes refocused onto a tiny piece of chalk, no longer seeing the hanging noose or chair. Her ears longed for the sound of chalk against brick. She wanted to taste the dust coming off of the white rock. The remnants of a white stone rolled around in her hand, waiting to fulfill their purpose.

With shaking hands, Axelle pressed the shard of chalk against the stone, writing out a message on the wall. Words poured out of her, all the thoughts and fears somehow leaving her brain and finding their place on the wall. The hastily thrown up brick wall was now a collage of words and memories. White with a backdrop of red. All ending with four words.

Goodbye, goodbye my love.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, threatening to smudge the chalky white on the brick. She couldn't smudge that. It was the only way people will even know a fraction of what was going on in her mind. Dropping the chalk onto the floor, she made her way to the chair. Blinded by her tears, she stumbled into the chair, almost knocking it over before she finally could grab ahold of the sheet hanging from the ceiling.

Memories played in a loop through her mind. Her life flickered and flashed. Voices called out to her, screaming her name.

Hoping that someone would remember her, she kicked the chair out from under her, sending the tiny wooden beams skittering along the floor.

She would go with grace, flying into the air on her golden ship.