The Fist

1

      Ava sat on her bed, her back up against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees. She stared out of the window to her left. Snow. That's all she ever saw out that window, the ground simply a sheet of snow, the trees wrapped in a permanent blanket of white. But she knew there had to be more to the world. More than she was allowed to see.

      Though it had been summer only a month ago, the impact of the meteor had created an immediate white-winter. As the rest of the world reported a sudden rapid increase in acts of violence, their frozen town had become a haven, a fast flowing river the clear border separating the next town from theirs. An area unaffected by the virus that had caused the crime, the virus that had taken the minds of the people and twisted them. The possibility of a cure was minimal, no one lived long enough to carry out the necessary tests and trials. The virus had a firm grip on the human race, which is probably why it came to be known as The Fist. 

      But now, Ava often found herself wondering if it would have been better to have been killed by The Fist rather than just exist, so hidden away. She had told her mother exactly that, just last week, and her mother had painted a red hand print over her cheek. She no longer wore the mark, but kept her thoughts to herself. She definitely wouldn't be telling anyone that she'd like to go beyond the river. Because, you see, that was just it. Since the meteor, she had been kept inside Smalltown, which got its name for obvious reasons: It was tiny. There was no forest, no park and no one had a big garden, which made living there very hard for an adventurous ten-year-old like Ava Hargrove. 

      This time, following the daily thoughts of what was on the other side of the river, Ava found herself leaving her bedroom and creeping down the stairs. Carefully avoiding the floorboards she knew creaked, she entered the kitchen. "Hey, Honey, didn't hear you then," came her Dad's voice. He sat tall in his chair, one leg crossing in front of him, his ankle resting on his knee in that weird way dads like.

      "Hi, Dad," Ava spoke calmly. She couldn't let him know-

      "You better not have been trying to sneak out."

      "Of course not," she lied, face twisted to make herself look hurt, hurt that he should think she'd do such a thing. It worked. 

      "Sorry, Hun. So, how are you doing?" He asked, putting last month's newspaper down on the table in front of him. She wondered if he ever got bored reading the same news stories every afternoon. He reached forward to take a sip from his glass of water, his glasses slipping down his nose ever so slightly. When she didn't answer immediately, he put down the glass, the clack of the glass hitting the polished wood rattled around the space between them. He lifted his head and then lifted his eyebrow.

      Concentrating hard on not rolling her eyes, she said honestly, "Not good. Staying in here all day."

      "Go outside then, just don't go further than the front gate."

      "Okay, can I take some food with me, please?" Ava did her best to widen her eyes, something her dad had always called cute, at least, when he thought she wasn't listening, which she hoped made it even more true. 

      "Of course," he smiled, a little softer than he usually did these days. 

      She mentally rewarded herself because the eyes had most likely made it for her. She silently shouted at herself for not using it sooner. She grabbed a couple of red apples, the green ones tasted nasty, a few chocolate biscuits and a bottle of water, putting them all in her school bag.