The person to her left didn't take the severed hand too well.
Cynthia heard a cry of anguish and she jumped up startled.
A boy with messy hair was stumbling towards her, she prepared to fire but he took no notice of her. He was staring at the hand.
His hand: Cynthia noted as she saw the bloody bandages that encircled his wrist.
The boy just stood there, moping.
"Aww... fuck this. It's a hand. You'll get a new one!" Cynthia said after a few seconds, she was fed up with the boy's moaning. He slowly turned his tear-streaked face towards her.
"Fuck off, I see you're not missing a hand."
"I take good care of mine. Now, why don't you move along, I gotta take care of something."
"What?"
"None of your fucking business, you twit! I ain't crying over a lost body part."
"Do you want to?"
Cynthia was taken back: what had that kid just said?"
"I said: do you want to lose a limb? Hmm? Would you like to lose something you use everyday?"
"What do you use it for then? Or am I gonna regret asking, you wanker."
"Enough of the name calling! And for your information I am a technician-for-life."
"Hang on," Cynthia stood back, puzzled, "life should've been pretty good to you then."
"Well... I wouldn't say I'm the most loyal, or devoted member of the team."
"How's that?"
He blushed, "I sleep in late."
"What?! You tell me something I may genuinely want to know, and you say you 'sleep in late'! How pathetic?!"
"Shut up, what have you done then?"
"A lot." Cynthia replied shortly. The conversation ended and the boy cradled his arm. It didn't make any sense, why would life punish one of his own?
YOU ARE READING
Working Progress
ActionA story about a girl whose life doesn't seem to give her any answers, and where life itself wants to control her. Needless to say she tries to rebel against it's plan for her.
