Prison of Beauty

Rico . . .

Raven's POV

I yawn, stretching my arms behind my head. Hearing a thud and feeling something  like an electric shock in my fingertips, I snatch my hands back and notice I hit the ceiling. I also notice the sunlight streaming into the room my sister and I share in the small attic. 

"Damn, who died and made somebody merciful enough to let teenagers sleep as long as they need leader?" I grumble. So does my stomach. But still, having a clear head and non-bleary eyes (and not being woken up by being hit in the head with a ladle, A FUCKING LADLE) is totally worth skipping breakfast. 

I freeze; me not eating breakfast means that hot Roundmaker won't get half of his breakfast either. Shit! I'm such a selfish bitch! 

I roll out of bed and put on some ripped jeans and a white crop top with a knot tied in front after slipping on a bra and matching panties with "PINK" written in bold on them (I never got why something that wasn't pink would have "pink" written all over it, but I guess reproduction slaves wouldn't have to know, and it's comfy and looks okay so I don't really care anyways). Looking around the mess on my floor, I decide that socks and shoes are for losers anyways. I'm glad each household gets to at least choose their own clothing; each person gets one shirt and one pair of pants or skirts per month, one pair of shoes every two months, new socks and underwear each week, and one jacket every two months. We get to choose what we want from a catalog and place our orders on the front door whenever one of the government officials makes their rounds. 

Finding a pair of grayish brown combat boots with heels about the width of three fingers and that lace up in front, I decide to find some socks too and slip them on. I look at the glass shards my sister and I glued to a section of the wall we painted black as a kind of mirror, and decide I can finger comb the mane of black knots later. Makeup . . . Can also wait. Heading towards the door, I see a kind of sack with bits of corn stuck to the edges laying under my bed and spin around, attaching the pouch to the inside of my shirt with a hair pin.

Heading down the latter, I find a packet wedged between the latter and the steel wall with my name written on it in the prettiest cursive. I open it, and find food inside. A bit more than we've been having for breakfast . . . I stuff half of it in my mouth and half into the pouch. I don't know where the food came from, but I really am grateful for it.

I get off the latter, stuffing the wrapping back behind the ladder. I now have extra food, so I decide to drop this off at the abandoned animal shelter now, since the other food might not fit. When I get there, I see Kyle staring at yesterday's food like it was temptation from the devil. A temptation he seems to be drawn towards, his hand reaching for it -- but then he snatches his fingers away. Watching this, I perform my tear and blood ritual, then look up again.

"Eat it," I whisper. I remember when Sarah said the same thing to Nico. . .

He was thin and ghastly pail, but he would not eat the food Sarah had laid out for him. I ran over to their house when their daughter, Anny, told me. 

"Eat it," Sarah says. I watch in astonishment as Rico's dark curls sway back and forth as he weakly shakes his head. I run over to him, and see that his breathing is getting shallower. 

"We have to get him to bed," my thirteen year old voice said urgently.

"But he has to e-"

"He can eat in bed!" I snapped. Softening my voice, I said, "He hasn't eaten in too long. He needs rest more than food now." 

Sarah weakly nods her head, and each of us wrap an arm around my brother's waist, supporting his arms with our shoulders. Like this, we drag him into the room Sarah shares with him, and lay him gently on the bed.

"Can I just talk to him for a little while?" I asked Sarah, my voice breaking. She holds up her finger, telling me to wait a second, and scurries out of the room. A couple seconds later, she reappears with the potatoes, beans, and salad on a plate. Rico is also a vegetarian . . . 

"Try to get him to eat this, if you can," Sarah says, sadness but also sympathy in her voice.

Once the door clicks shut behind her and I hear the clicking of her shoes get fainter with every second, I drop the sadness and get angry. 

"Rico, what the HELL are you doing?! Why! Won't! You! Eat?!" I whisper-yell at him.

Between struggling breaths, he wheezes out: "Because with every piece of food on my plate, some of it disappears from theirs. My wife and children shouldn't have to suffer just because their father found love in a place where love is something you can't have . . ." That fire of rebellion coming -- no, that fire of righteousness --  comes back into his hazel eyes. And with that passionate love and sense of righteousness in his eyes, his last breath leaves his frail lungs. Those eyes that had just burned with passion cloud over with a sense of nothing. Eyes that had been staring intently at me now look right through me. The hand he had placed on mine slip off and hits the bed with a thud. 

"Be free, Rico. I hope you're free. I hope once Sarah comes to join you, it'll be in a place where you can love each other. Please, God, let him join you. Let him be free!" I whisper, tears hitting my hands, hands clasped around the still-warm ones of my brother.

I leave the house, ignoring anyone and anything in my path. Once I'm a couple hundred meters away, I hear Sarah's keening wail. It sounds like what I would imagine a banchee's wail to sound like. "NOOOOOOOOO!!! GET UP! EAT! SWALLOW, COME ON! DON'T LEAVE ME!!! YOU CAN'T JUST BE GONE! I LOVE YOU!" After this tantrum, she lets go of another keening wail. I join in, letting all my grief and rage out, though it will stay with me forever. After a couple seconds, all of Gen joins in. Some because of grief for Rico, others because of past grief or frustration. A lot of them just because of the unfairness of it all. 

The memory of my head tipped back, howling like a wolf with its pack, starts blurring, and the weird roundmaker's blurry face appears in front of me. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, drawing me into his strong arms.

"It's not your fault," I say, resting my forehead against a well-muscled shoulder.

"Yes it is," he whispers, thinking I can't hear. But I don't care. He didn't kill Rico. Love did. 

Which is why nobody here can love. 

My brother found love in a place where love leads to suffering and death. Even more suffering and death than starvation for those who refuse . . .

A/N

Sorry this is so short guys, but I feel like this chapter was really important.  This chapter is dedicated to Danelover29, for being there for me and being really supportive with this book. Thanks for reading, guys!