Idris lets in a breath of the cool night air, which wafts in from a lone window. The covers of her bed are askew and she sits slouched, her head in her hands. For a person barely out of adolescence, Idris' view of the world is terribly bleak. All she sees everywhere is the strong destroying the weak. She pitied Lemaire's daughter in that instant because she was defenseless. They wouldn't hurt Avery in the raid, they couldn't... She swallows, her mouth dry. It's not my concern what they do to the girl. Defending her would mean betraying my friends. Her stomach turns as another thought occurs to her. It would mean siding with one of the people who ordered my parents' deaths. In one fluid motion, she removes the blankets covering her. Tentatively, she sets her feet on the bare wooden floorboards. She drifts to the open window, resting her hands on the stone edge. Her shoulders are tense, partially from the fact they are bare, leaving them exposed to the light October wind. Adorning her left shoulder blade is a tattoo in black ink of a bird, specifically a phoenix. A product of a fit of recklessness when she was 17. It only further demonstrates that Idris is a human of impulsive nature, a person who in a frisson of anger is known to put up a fight. She clutches the windowsill, trying to get a grip on reality. But her eyes... Pure misery... She didn't even try to fight back against the crowd. "You turning soft Summers?" She mutters under her breath. Forget about that demon's spawn. She isn't worth your time. Idris covers her eyes with her palm, clenching the window sill with the other, desperately wishing her heart was made of stone.
YOU ARE READING
Outcasts
Bilim Kurgu"In the twenty second century civilization has crumbled from war. From the ashes rose a new society of the survivors, but it is worse than ever before." Idris Summers, a truculent nineteen year-old, is part of the lowest class of society, which is g...
