The Ringing

Changed

I fell down on my bed and pulled out my paints. I realized there was no water given to wet my brush with-unless I was to use my daily water, and my throat was so dry that I couldn’t bear waste that on my paintings. I cleaned the red paint from my first strokes off my brush by spitting on it and rubbing the brush onto my clothes. I was painting a rainbow, but the colors bled together and dripped down the pages. It was like my painting was crying for me, doing all the mourning and weeping I had not found the time for. I felt my eyes well up and I looked for Theodore, for a shoulder to cry on. He was asleep-dozing on his bed. I was all alone. For who else was I supposed to go to? I didn’t know where Hector was, and Nathaniel would never be any help. I grabbed my towel and ran into the shower-there I could be alone with my thoughts.

            The cold water almost soothed my skin, washing away the coal marks and my scratches and all the memories. And no one can tell when you’re crying if you’re in the shower, I thought. The water ended after five minutes, but I stood in the stall, shivering underneath my towel, for another ten.

            I walked out, freshly changed, to find that dinner was under our beds-a dry pork with carrots and green beans. I swallowed the food as quick as I could, and turned as I put the plate under my bed to find that Nathaniel had fallen down onto his bed, staring at me. His hair, skin and clothes were all flawless, as always.

             “So how was your day, Ginger?”

            I grabbed on to my bed rail. “Why did you save me this morning? From, you know, being Changed and stuff? And don’t give me any of that you-were-so weak crap. I stood up for myself at the end there, I’m not useless.”

            He looked towards me, with a fresh look, trying to tantalize me. But he stopped. “It’s hard to keep up this act much longer,” he sighed. “Listen-I saved you because I admired what you were doing. I’ve been here for three years, and no one has come up with a creative solution like that-until you came. I knew there was something special about you. You’re not afraid to think out of the box. It’s great.”

            I gasped. I was expecting a little song and dance from Nathaniel, not a confession. But I smiled. “I think I’ve lost my creativeness already,” I sighed as I told him of my time at textiles. He grabbed my cheek, but with a softer, more gentler touch. He parted my hair behind my ear. “Listen-I know we’re not friends, or even friendly with each other. But no matter what happens, I want no one to oppress you, no one to stop you from being creative. We’re stuck here in a labor wasteland, being slowly turned into dust and ashes, leaving nothing behind. You haven’t been here long-you’ll figure something else out. You can’t be Changed. It would be a loss to the world. I know.”

            “I like this softer side much better,” I whispered. “Thanks,” I paused. “….Nate.”

            I could see a smile form in the corners of his mouth. “You’re finally calling me Nate,” he said.

            “Yeah,” I laughed. “As long as you stop calling me Ginger.”

            “Well, what else am I supposed to call you? You’re too good for a long, stuffy name like Annalise. What about…Anna?”

            I smiled. “That sounds perfect, Nate.” The lights flickered off and I slinked into my bed. We were still holding hands, across our bed rails, into the little part of our boundaries that overlapped-our shared space together. He whispered to me.

            “Can I tell you a secret?” I nodded. “I’ve never told this to anyone here, so bear with me. How do I put this…. I’m not like you. I’m not like anyone here. I’m-I’m from the Empire.”