Fanfare

Curiosity

When she reaches the sight of the bomb, the sun shines light into the far corners of the alley from above, while the fire lights the perimeter. The flickering light and the pure, streaming glow of the sun create a heat that's almost unbearable, sweat making her hair stick to the back of her neck. She twists the long, unruly strands into a bun and secures it with a small, sharp piece of metal that she pulls from a small pouch attached to her belt. Inside it lie more small pieces of metal, wires, and an old but reliable set of pliers she found in a jewellery store, small and precise. No matter how hard she tries, her curiosity never leaves her, and neither does her pouch. Every now and then, she finds things to add to her collection. Sometimes, she finds enough to make something.

Fanning herself, she walks warily towards the bomb. There is not much left of it. The metal that used to shape the box has exploded, so that the silver flakes outward delicately, like the somewhat jagged petals of a flower. There's a scattering of wires and some black shards of plastic and glass she suspects came from the screen. She crouches and examines a few wires, deems them salvageable, and tucks them into her pouch. She scans the metal with her eyes, lightly running her fingers over the smooth surface, delightfully cool beneath her skin. There is nothing worth taking from here, unless she needs any metal and is inclined to spend the time bringing it close enough to the border to melt and shape into a useable material. She is not.

She stands and surveys the area one last time before turning and walking in the direction she last saw Pierce, jogging through the alley with the other rebels. She would have liked to have seen the inner workings of the bomb, some clue as to what made it tick, but wires, metal and plastic were not likely clues. There had to have been something else inside of it, some sort of chemical cocktail. But where did they get the chemicals from? And who knew enough to create such a specific weapon? Surely the council would have approved the attempt, maybe even recruited the makeshift chemists and combined their causes. She wonders why these people are working under the radar, what makes it necessary for them to swear themselves to this sort of secrecy. What has made Pierce feel as if he is safer when believed to be dead? She wonders if any of those other people have faked their own deaths, if she knew them, in another life; one where she was a child, where she was young and free of responsibility. Mostly, she wonders about Pierce.

They'd been friends for years. Ever since they were young. Trenna couldn't remember when they'd met. There had been three of them; her, Pierce and Molly. There had simply been the days before Molly and Pierce, and the days after them, but the time between was blurred, and she couldn't recall when exactly one ended and the other began. She and Molly had shared a birthday, and Pierce had been her older brother. When their fathers had been away at work, they had had the run of the streets. Molly had shown Trenna all her favourite hiding places, where they would stay til Pierce found them, frowning and angry at being left out. And Trenna would show Molly how to make small clockwork creatures, things she could wind up that would chatter at them with small clicks and whirrs, rattling around on the ground, making them laugh. Molly could never make them; she only played with them. And Pierce watched with narrowed eyes at the small, clever movements of Trenna's thin fingers as she brought the metal to life.

Molly had been loud. She had been the most talkative one. Outgoing, not at all shy, but friendly, and just a good person. Molly had been kind. But where she was talkative and friendly, Pierce was quiet and standoffish, and prone to jealousy. They were both tall and thin with long, graceful limbs. Trenna had learned to keep up. Molly did not wait for the world to catch up to her, and Pierce waited for no one but his sister.

Then, one day, things had changed. Molly had gone missing. They had searched and searched, but to no avail. And then Trenna had found the body, charred and smoking, near the flames. She still hasn't ventured to the east of the city to this day. She can still remember the rotting, cooked meat smell. Sometimes, if the memory is strong enough, she is sick from it. The image haunts her dreams.