The Parables

Jacq - Precinct Ten

Jacq - Precinct Ten

My feet touch the floor and I let out a yawn. Shaking my head, I slip into the en suite and lock the door behind me, in case my Tutors decide to pay me a visit. Peeling off my clothes, I throw them into the corner and climb into the shower, turning the water flow to maximum. Grabbing a bar of soap, I scrub my body until I'm dripping with suds then wash it all off with the water. Turning the shower off, I get out and grab a towel, drying myself hurriedly. For all I know, we could be arriving in The Commune in five minutes or five hours. I'd rather be ready to go with five hours to spare instead of five minutes to spare.

Grabbing my shirt, I throw it over my head and pull my boxers up my legs. Unlocking the door, I leave the en suite and open the doors to the wardrobe. Heading inside, I turn around and suddenly spot a note stuck to the back of the door. Pulling it off, my eyes absorb the words. I groan.

"A pink shirt? Really? Bloody Precinct Colour. Why were we lumbered with pink?"

Grumbling, I pull the first pink shirt off the rack of clothes and pick my own black trousers off the floor. Quickly, I switch my clothes, pulling the black trousers over my boxers and changing my grey Retraction shirt for the dreaded pink shirt that I'm being forced to wear because of tradition and rules. Rules that if broken, were punishable by death and pain. I open the door to the main area of the carriage and leave my sleeping quarters.

Crossing the room, I reach out and grasp the door's handle. I turn it until I hear a faint click then push the door open and enter the kitchen. Stepping forward, I allow the door to close freely behind me and scan the room for the kettle. Spotting it in the corner, I check there is enough water in it before flicking the switch and grabbing a china mug. Searching through the cupboards, I find the pot of rosemary leaves and scoop a teaspoon and a half of them into the mug then put the pot back.

When the kettle has finally boiled, I pour some hot water into the mug then stir it around and leave it to stew for five minutes. There's nothing like a good cup of rosemary tea to wake you up in the morning, even if I do look like a woman drinking herbal tea whilst the dawn breaks across the sky. And five minutes later, that's exactly what I'm doing; sipping from my china mug of hot rosemary tea whilst watching the golden sun ascend above our planet through the window in the main area of the carriage; marigold-hued rays kissing the still jade grass that basks in the increasing warmth from the blazing star up above.

Sighing, I take another sip from my mug and sit down at the table facing the door to my sleeping quarters. Just then, the door next to it flies open and Warren stands in the doorway. He grins at me and strolls towards the table, dressed in a dapper black suit with a salmon pink tie. Pulling out a chair, he flops down onto it and rests his elbows on the table.

"So you found the note on the back of the door, then," Warren remarks, smirking.

"Unfortunately, I did," I grumble. "Of all the colours, why pink? I hate pink. It makes me feel too feminine."

"It's just the way it is, son," Warren says somewhat sympathetically. "The colours of the Precincts have existed for many years and they've turned into a tradition."

"Trust us to get the worse colour," I mutter, then take another swig from my tea.

"I had to wear it once as well," Warren reminds me.

I smirk. "Bet you looked dashing in a fuchsia pink shirt."

"Oh, you bet I did." Warren nods, grinning. "Stood out from all of the other Martyrs, I did. The only boy to be wearing such a girlish outfit. Made me feel so special." We both chuckle at the thought of it.