Lot 168

Chapter 5

 

Chapter 5

 

Blood. Everywhere. Nothing I see is pure. The green techno walls are now painted in pleading hand prints. I was lying on my back, near the wall, on the floor. The brown haired guy was the second thing that caught my attention. He had not one ounce of crimson on his body. He was walking without restraints. He was walking towards me. I stared down at my left palm and felt my stomach launch into my mouth before it covered the floor.

 

The hand prints were- no, are mine. The blood seeped out of my open wound. Half of my screen was no longer attached to me. I could see my joints. I could see everything that made up my hand.

 

Another puddle of acid erupted from my mouth. Just as my stomach clinched to let me know another round was coming, I felt a hand clamp down on my left wrist. Pain pulsated throughout my wound. As I found green eyes penetrating my open hand, my stomach rolled back to where it was supposed to be. 

 

He ripped his shirt at the sleeve before tying the strip around my hand. Smiling, he helped me to my feet and led me over to the desks we were once tied to. Curious about what had happened with me and why I don’t remember anything, I tilted my head and stared at him with a puzzled expression. He didn’t seem to notice my quizzical state.

 

"What are you in for?" He spoke as if he had been talking his whole life. I stopped talking at age six.

 

I just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. He seemed to realize that I could not speak and then stepped away with a disappointed expression. Shaking his head, he sat down and turned his back towards me. 

 

Confused, I decided to ignore him. After eons of silence stretched out, a piece of paper was slid in front of me.

 

What is your name?

 

-Milo

 

I looked over to my right and noticed he was watching me. Handing me a cylinder shaped object, I took it and remembered my mother doing something with it. If only I knew what. Still staring at it, Milo tilted my head up to look into his eyes.

 

"It's a pen. Do you know how to write?" It took me awhile to understand what he was asking before I shook my head.

 

"I will show you." And with that, he rearranged the pen in my right hand. With his hand as a guide, he started with the alphabet. It took a while for me to get use to his hand guiding mine as we wrote letter after letter. After I got over the fact his hand was covering mine, I started to learn something intriguing for once in my life.

 

***

 

Days drew on and nothing changed. I never wanted to think of what happened to the other person who was in here and I never asked. My hand was looking worse than before. It oozed pus and stank of rotting flesh. It surprised me when Milo saw the wound and never said anything. He just pushed me back to the desks and handed me the pen. At least I can write all the letters in order both big ones and smaller ones. I'm guessing they are for different sized font. Where Milo got a hold of paper and a pen, I have no clue. He seems like the kind of guy that knows more than he should. He seems like the kind of guy who would kill for something he loves. He seems like the kind of guy who won’t let anyone break him. He seems strong.

 

In a matter of a couple seconds the door was slammed open and before I knew it I was being dragged back into the very room I was in earlier this week. The guards threw me on the table making me catch myself on my left hand. Hissing, I glared at the surgeon next to me. Words popped up on the surgeon's coat.

 

We are just going to fix you. It was ordered by the Chief.

 

Staring at the words, I felt something burn into my left hand. Looking down, there was a small rod on fire being pushed against the other half of the screen. My feet were then attached to the table with the substance that hardens. My right hand was grasped tightly making my head snap to the guard slicing open the skin. Screams erupted from my lips as drops of sweat rolled onto the table. A shot was injected into a muscle in my neck.

 

Blood. My blood was pouring like red wine out of a broken bottle. No way to stop it until it wants to. As needles were shoved into my skin, I felt the weight of my stress being pulled off of me. It was like I was in a soaring jet. Soon I was in a cushion of oblivious wonders.