Blood Bag

Drained

I stand on the edge of the roof, looking out across the sea of buildings. From here I can see the great wall that rings the city and I watch as the birds flock over it. Envy builds within me, poisoning my good mood. To be able to come and go so easily. I want that, need it, being cooped up here is driving me crazy. Caged. Unable to escape, Lavort is my home, Lavort is my prison. 

I look down at the sidewalk below me, it seems like a big drop, but would it be enough to kill me? Perhaps not, and the consequences for trying would be worse than the broken bones, and ripped flesh. Suicide is illegal in Lavort, those who fail at dying are punished greatly for their attempts. Sighing, I turn away from the edge, leaving all suicidal thoughts behind. I find my way to the door that leads back down into the building. It was pure luck that I found this place, most roofs are out of bounds, likely to prevent jumpers, but the door to this one is always unlocked. I come here often, so that I can see beyond the wall. It is easy to forget sometimes that the world exists outside of Lavort.  

As I descend into the building I make a conscious effort to walk softly, wincing every time my feet slap too hard on the steps, listening uneasily to the replying echo's from the bottom of the stairwell. The building is unlit, but there is just enough light  from a single broken window to see that the paint is peeling from the walls, and make out dark stains on the steps. It is not unusual for a building to stand barren, Lavort has a fairly small population, although it has been steadily growing the last few years. 

As I reach the bottom of the stairs the room opens up before me, this place was probably grand in its time, with a high vaulted ceiling, ornate banisters, and a chandelier still hanging from the ceiling. But the room is thick with dust now and smells faintly of mold. Cobwebs smother the chandelier and the glass panes of the huge front door have been spray painted black, leaving the room so dark and gloomy it strikes me as something out of a Gothic fairy tale. 

My throat begins to tickle from the clouds of dust that rise up, dancing away from my footsteps. I cough quietly as I can into my hand and slip through a door to my left. It wouldn't pay to use the front door someone might see me leaving and report me. Nowadays anybody might snitch, especially if they want to get in good favour with the higher ups. This room is even grander than the last, a huge dining hall, but I pay it no attention, I'm late. Hurrying to a thick curtain I pull it aside, ignoring the flurry of dust and focusing on the window I have revealed. One pane is broken, my exit.

I squeeze through the gap, tumbling unceremoniously into a back alley. I hit the floor hard, biting my tongue.

   "Shit" I mumble, through a mouthful of blood, squinting upwards at the sky above me, giving my eyes sometime to adjust before I heave myself up.  I lean down and spit, watching the bright red hitting the concrete before I straighten up. My eyes dart around, surveying the alley, it's empty. I glance back at the window I tumbled through, staring defiantly back at the reflection in the few remaining panes. The girl looking back at me is tall, her dark hair spills down past her shoulders, her face bent into an angry frown, her eyes meet mine, big and blue. Christ I look like hell.  I peer down at my clothes, they are filthy but they will have to do, I have no time to change.

I half run down the alley. I can see the street appearing ahead of me, a few cars are on the road today but mostly people travel by foot and the sidewalk is busy with people. I slow as I step out into the open, surprising a couple as they walk by. The woman stops to shoot me a filthy look before hurrying off to catch up with her companion.

"Screw you!" I yell at their retreating forms, generating more scathing looks from other pedestrians. I step out onto the road, without looking, I never look, just listen, the cars here are noisy, they run on a crude mixture that the engines only barely cope with. The cities stores of real diesel dried up years ago.