Earth Can't Hold Us All

Hinge's POV: Don't Die On The Job

June 4th, 2080

Grandpa Calvin's face is set back, the lines in his face seem to have deepened. He looks at me sternly, even though I know he fears me when I am Raged.

"Hinge, take a deep breath," he says calmly, his dark skin is paled. "You need to sit down."

"Shut up!" I scream, my head pounds with every word he says. "Stop talking! It's hurting my head! You're hurting my head!"

"The Rage will pass in a minute, Hinge."

"I said be quiet!" I scream at him. Deep down, I know that I don't do this; I don't shout at Grandpa Calvin. But right now, all I know and all I feel is a pain in my brain. In my skull. In the skin on my scalp. It feels heavy, like my blood has thickened and what my head is made of has grown twice its size and is trying to detach its self from my body.

"Hinge, you need to go to your room before you-" he says quietly, but I cut him off by doing what he was hoping I wouldn't do.

I jump towards him, across the small living room, kicking a ball of yarn out of my way. I catch the image of his face; surprised and open-eyed. My fists pound on his body, my feet kick into his ribs. He falls to the floor, his body his skinny and weak.

I don't realize what I'm doing, it's not me doing it. Grandpa Calvin knows it isn't me. He knows it's just the Rage, a side effect after gulping Grit.

He knows I love him.

Besides at this moment, as I kick him and scratch at his soft skin, he knows I would never hurt him.

His breaths start to become jagged. He clasps his throat, pounds his own chest with a clenched fist. Almost like he's trying to beat his lungs into functioning again. Like how you hit a TV when it starts to flicker.

"Hinge," Grandpa Calvin sputters. "My lung-"

Suddenly, my vision starts to clear. As if I've been given back my eyes. My perception. Given back my control.

"Grandpa!" I wail, pulling my arms to my chest, holding my self back. "I'm so sorry-I...you know it wasn't me-"

"Call the doctor. I can't breathe," he hardly whispers the words from his quivering lips.

I reach out to touch my grandfather's trembling shoulder. How could I let the Rage overcome me again? I hurt the only family I have because of it; this isn't the only time I've Raged on him. A tear slides down my cheek and lands on my grandfather's brown knitted sweater, soaking into the cotton.

I run to the landline phone that's stuck to the wall. I grab the cold metal speaker, pressing a well-known number combination. A number I've had to call too many times.

"Doctor Sansa speaking. How can I help you?" The muffled voice on the other line answers.

"Calvin can't breathe right now. He's shaking on the floor. I think his lung might have given out again," I say, glancing back at my grandfather.

"His lung has been giving out quite a lot lately. I hope you're finding ways to pay for his cancer cure treatment...?" Doctor Sansa trails off, I can hear her flipping through papers.

"He can't breathe right now!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. You know what to do. Calm him down, have him focus on his breathing, and give him his meds," she says with a sigh.

I drop the phone, letting it hang from the cord; it swings back and forth. I dig through the junk drawer in the kitchen, frantically searching for the bottle of medicine. I find it and try to pull the cap off. The child proof thing is obviously teenager proof too. Grandpa wheezes, spit flies from his mouth. He lays on the floor, his fists are still hitting his chest, begging it to work again.