SOJOURNER (III): tmr gally

31: I should bleed him

Michelle 31

I stare out the window at the clouds as they roll back through the sky. The menacing grey gloom hanging over head moves back further and further. In just an hour, I'll probably be able to brave the storm.

I scan the building around me. There are Cranks in here; I can hear them running around on the floor above me. As long as I stay quiet, they shouldn't bother me. It's got to be closer to a dozen up there, and I doubt I could take them all at once. Death is creaking against the ceiling above my head.

I mean, they could be nowhere near the Gone. It's not likely, given the likes of the ones I've already encountered. People keep talking about the Gone, but I've never met a Crank who wasn't already there.

I lift my shoulders up, cracking them behind my back. Then, I crack my neck, twisting my head to the side. My chest moves up and down, slow breaths moving in and out of my body. I shake my arms, trying to get the feeling of the storm out of me. I don't let myself blink. Instead, I choose to stare at my blank reflection in the glass.

I have a split lip, and a cut on my forehead. Not quite sure how I got those. Not quite sure that it's really my reflection, in that mirror. My hair is so messy, sticking up in so many directions from countless nights of tossing and turning. Slept on, or my best attempt at sleeping, has created knots that I doubt will ever escape my head.

The cuts on my left cheek are familiar though. They have scabbed over, and finally seem to be disappearing into my skin. My left eye seems fine, but I see nothing through it.

David wouldn't want me to look like this.

I place my hands against the cool glass window. Burning up. Sweating. My forehead sticks against it, my breath fogs it, until I can no longer see myself. When I close my eyes, I picture the cold room, the night they got Dave.

My eyes fly open, and I take a step back. Quickly, I rip my hammer out of my pocket and throw it at the glass. It shatters, passing through it. I move to the door, stepping outside into the air. My feet drag through the sand until I get to the glass window. The hammer is heavier in my hand now. It's stained with blood. So are my hands.

I kick at the glass shards, looking back up at the sky. It isn't quite safe to keep walking, but I've got nothing better to do. I'd rather risk death than stay inside. Besides, I can almost guarantee those Cranks are more than aware of my presence.

I begin walking away, tucking my hammer back in my belt. There is a chance I'm going to go insane, from the absence of people to talk with. That can happen to people, you know. You isolate them, and then they go crazy.

Maybe I shouldn't have left Rose behind. I am not entirely sure why I did anyway. Probably because she was annoying, and nothing else.

I rub my hands together. My skin is coarse. I try to scratch at the dried blood on my hands, but none of it comes off. I can't entirely say I'm surprised, especially since I'm not supposed to be.

The sky rumbles above me, and I duck against the building next to me. For a second, I think it might rain again. This desert could use it. If it rained everyday here, it would still be dry. My skin would still be cracking off in flakes. Sometimes, the sky needs to come crashing down for everything to be washed anew. That's something Dave would probably say anyway.

The wind begins to pick up, pulling sand off the ground. It blows around my feet, further and further up. It swells in the air, before settling back down. Another gust sends the sand flying off into the wind.