Crimson

Chapter One

|Chapter One|
Closer to Death

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"Cigarette or blunt?"

My hand flies to my imaginary beard, and I stroke it delicately as I deliberate which item to choose.

"Cigarette kills," Jécob states softly and I roll my eyes at him. Everything kills.

"We're already dying," Willow counters and walks over to his wheelchair. She places the blunt in his lap and ruffles his unruly sandy hair.

"Marijuana is good for your sight."

Jécob looks annoyed, and I try to hold my laughter in. "I'm already fucking blind Willow, that'll be of no help."

Willow glances at me, and we both keel over in an uncouthly fit of laughter. It's a cruel joke, but Jécob is acquainted with our blitheness.

"Lighten up Jéc," I admonish. I know how sensitive he gets about his disability.

"It's all dark here, Skye."

Willow hands me the blunt and lights it.

I take a puff and sprightly announce: "Happy Eighteenth Birthday Wills! You're one year closer to death!"

She claps her hand in glee and retrieves her music player. It's a small cylindrical device that produces a transparent screen when she covers it with her hand. I never see anything like that back home. Privileged bastards.

"Does it have to be so damn loud?"

Willow ignores Jécob's whines and pulls me up onto her bed. We laugh hysterically and dance until she tires.

"Pain?" I ask when we finally calm down. She nods and rubs at her leg. I think she notices the way I stare at the swollen areas, but she plasters a smile across her face nonetheless.

"Who's ready for some liquor?"

"I would," I sigh, "But we have to get back before seven."

She looks crestfallen, her thin lips forming a pink pout, but I know she understands. Tier Three is a good distance away from here, and Jécob and I have a curfew.

She hugs me, and lavender fills my nostrils. "I'll come to visit you guys next week," she promises. "I had a great time today. "

She hands me a small, transparent jar with her homemade liqueur. "Enjoy!" she gives me a cheeky wink.

Jècob cringes when she walks over and gives him a big hug. He's not a fan, but Willow is too much of a sweetheart for him to resist. She leads us out, and I'm still in awe of how grande her house is. It's as big as the Children's Home, just a lot homier; and I can't help feeling a selfish longing. Willow's dad drives us to the train station.  He's funny as ever and very kind. I can see where Willow gets her heart from.

"Be safe guys," she cautions and hugs me again. She leans down and gives Jécob a quick peck on the cheek.

He makes a fuss, but there's a small smile on his face nevertheless. Jéc is possibly the least affectionate guy I know.

I'm not oblivious to the stares Jécob and I get from the people at the train station. Two kids from Tier Three? Hide your purses!

Willow and her dad wave us off as I wheel Jécob onto the ramp and into the connecting train. It's much too late to wait on the Tier Three one to arrive, so this will have to do. I pull the collar of my jacket up to obscure the stamp on my neck (a small tattoo of the number three written in Roman numerals.)

Even covered, Jécob and I stick out like sore thumbs among the traveling Tier Twos. Blame it on our threadbare apparels, if you must.

I dip my head as Jécob and I take our places at the back, where Tier Threes belong. Poverty is pestilential, it would seem.

Jécob is uncharacteristically silent, and there's a deep scowl marring his features. He hates this just as much as I do.

The ride to Tier Three is without incident, and we get off as soon as we reach our station. We're again immersed into the familiar atmosphere of our home. Unlike Tier Two, the air is chilly and musty with smoke, and there's the looming stink of the nearby drain.

Jécob and I are reserved and occupied with our own thoughts as we make our way to the Children's Home.

The St. Michael's Children's Home and Hospice, the dilapidated sign reads.

"Had a good day?" The new lady at the front desk asks as we sign in. I nod and smile at her. She's young and of Asain descent, much like Willow.

I offer to take Jécob to our lookout spot to drink Willow's liqueur, but he declines, murmuring a quick excuse that he's tired. I take him to his room instead and tell him I'll see him in the morning. He doesn't answer.

I feel a headache coming on, and a few seconds later red, warm liquid drips out of my nostrils. I wipe at the blood profusely with the sleeve of my jacket. I've always had an irrational fear that if it fell to the floor, then it would someone spread and scourge the entire hospice. Irrational fears, I had many of those.

A wave of nausea hits me also, I'd been feeling weak since being at the train station.

Much to my displeasure, my room isn't as empty as I'd been hoping. My roommate Ellen is already settling in when I enter, and I throw all hopes of peace and quiet out the window.

"Hey," I grab my nearby medications.

She glances over at me with her curious, mousy eyes. She's sporting her cannula: some sort of transparent tube that wraps itself behind her ears then connects in her nostrils. I've always thought it to look quite uncomfortable and burdensome, especially with her having to carry her oxygen tank around.

At least she had something helping her, whereas I had to be saving nickels in hopes of purchasing my own electric cap.

"Hey. Where'd you go today?"

I pop two pills in my mouth and shake my head. Ellen is the literal envoy of inquisitions and gossip.

"I went to see Willow. It's her birthday today."

Her face sours. "Willow? Your goody-two-shoe friend from Tier Two?"

"She's not like that," I defend.

"She's from Tier Two. You're from Tier Three. You were friends with her doesn't make you any better than any of us. "

I have no idea what she's talking about. "Okay? She's my friend, and that's that."

Ellen shrugs. "Face it. We're poor, sick and dying."

"Thank you for that Ellen. I hope you choke on air and die."

She opens her mouth in shock, and I turn away from her. That was a depraved thing to say, especially given her lung issues, but she ought to learn to keep her mouth shut for a change.

She knows nothing about Willow. She doesn't even know that Willow is just as sick as all of us.

I suddenly feel really upset, and that rarely ever happens.

Way to spoil my mood, Ellen.

I secure the jar of liqueur under one of my pillows and retire to bed.

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