To-Do List: Find Me.

Play - 2

It's nighttime now. The sky is Black and dark Blue, littered with White specks. Red won't stop gawking at the tiny lights; she didn't see them in the door of the Child, so this felt new for her.

"Those are stars, Red," she heard a woman's voice beside her. She turned to the voice, meeting eyes with Michael's mother, June. She smiled softly, Green eyes glinting through bright Red bangs. Out of all the family members, June was the most accepting and kind of them all. She listened to Red with a great level of attention as she told her about how she arrived to this area.

Of course most of it was made up: Red knew she couldn't possibly tell anyone about the hallways and the rooms and expect to be taken seriously. She felt guilty, but June seemed to believe it anyways, so it didn't really matter.

June was also extremely accepting of Red's inability to speak properly yet, and was very patient when she tried to teach her a little, just like what they're doing now. Her company made all worries wash away. She was so...

Huh. Red didn't have the word for it.

"June?"

"Yes, Red?"

"What word to say nice, but very very nice?"

"Hmm... all I can think of is 'kind', but that certainly isn't the word you're looking for, is it?"

"No. Another word." Red fidgeted with the papers in her hand. "Like, very very nice but only people like you have that kindness."

June thought hard for a moment, then shook her head. "Sorry, Red, I can't find it yet. I'll tell you when I do, though," she said, placing her hand on Red's head gently. "Go to bed, now, it's late." Red groaned, but obeyed. It's got to have something to do with the way June said it -- if it were Ian (the father) Red would've rebelled against him.

Red went to the bathroom to wash her face. She came face to face with a shiny, reflective surface. The mirror. Her fingertips caressed it, met with a cold yet not hostile feel. June had helped her conquer her fear of mirrors earlier that day, showing her that as long as she doesn't drop it the glass won't pierce her skin.

Red admired herself in the mirror. June had lent her a set of clothes -- a soft, cotton cloth shirt and skirt, coloured Pink and dark Purple respectfully. June even said she could keep it -- mentioned something about it "not going to fit as well on her once her second came through". Red didn't understand it, but took the offer nonetheless.

Red walked out of the bathroom. She glanced out the window one last time, making notes about the shiny freckles on the sky's dark face, and proceeded to the room the family provided for her.

It was an average-sized room, but for Red it was huge -- especially compared to the rooms from the door of the Child. The wallpaper was a creamy colour and the bedsheets were pastel Green.

"How lovely!" she exclaimed. "If only Brother was here to see it..."

Red thought of the little butterfly that ceased to accompany her and her expression fell. Is he okay? Where had he gone? Why did he leave her?

Now saddened by her thoughts, she slumped herself onto the soft mattress and tossed around until she sank into a deep sleep.

***

Red was woken up by a sweet scent that entered the room and seemed to be getting closer. She blinked her eyes open to see what was happening. Michael walked towards her shakily, holding a large, rectangular piece of plastic. Grey steam and sweet scent came from it. She sat up to get a better view.

"Oh, good morning Red!" he chirped, setting the rectangle on the bedside cube. "Mom made breakfast. I hope you're not allergic to anything."

Red cocked her head when she heard the new word. "Allergic?"

"Ah, it's like, if you eat something your body can't stand you'll get really sick," he explained. "Though, seeing that you ate everything we offered last night's dinner, I think you don't have any allergies."

Red nodded. She looked at the plastic rectangle to see what her breakfast was. Round ceramic -- plates, June called them -- were packed on the rectangle with little to no space between them. No wonder Michael was struggling.

"What is that?" she pointed to a plate with Yellow and Red pieces on it. It smelled salty.

"That's eggs," Michael replied. "Scrambled eggs. Mom makes the best scrambled eggs in this neighborhood." He puffed out his chest as he said that. A sign of pride?

"Smells good."

"Tastes good too! You'll love them."

Red nodded, then pointed to another plate. This one had something familiar on top of it. "Bread? Toast?"

"Oh! Yeah, I made that!" Michael's face beamed. "Dad said I was old enough to make toast, so I made some for you! You'd be the first to try it!"

Red took a closer look at his toast and tried not to grimace. It was Black around the corners and on some parts of its surface, with a soggy puddle of butter slightly off-centre, and smelled extremely bitter. She felt as if she had to force a smile, and that she did.

"Thank you, Michael. I am happy that you made this for me."

"No problem!" He set the tray on the bedside table. "Now eat up! I hope you enjoy your breakfast!" And with a cheerful smile on his face, he rushed out of the room and shut the door. Red let out a sigh of relief and picked up the toast, crumbling off the blackened corners onto the plate and folded it in two before taking a bite.

Red punched her chest in attempt not to choke. Well... it had somewhat of an okay taste, if you ignore the extreme bitterness and saltiness it had. Which still isn't much, honestly.

"How can someone mess up toast this badly?" The thought sparked something in her gut.

Red laughed. She didn't have a reason to - she just found it funny. A warm feeling rang through her body and tickled her brain. Her blood was starting to rise again, but only to an extent. Her body shook from the laughter in a way that felt new to her. It was different from the previous feeling she had - anger - it felt much, much better. No muddiness in her mind like anger gave - her head felt as light and clear as the sky - but she felt a buildup in energy that might even exceed her rage.

She wanted to jump out of bed and laugh, and run around a field while the grass parted beneath her feet and the sun kissed her Red hair.

Michael, on the other hand, had his lips curved downwards. "Is it that bad?"

"No," she lied, but Michael seemed to know anyways. He sighed.

"I'll get better," he grumbled, pouting. It was cute.

"I," she said, poking her chest, "support you." She pointed at him, then pumped her fists. Michael laughed at this, his Red hair bobbing as he did.

"Thanks, Red."