Awake. Pale blue eyes meet the chipped ceiling above, a breath falls between my cracked lips, as colorless as the walls beside. I lay, stiff and worn, just like every new morning; waiting. Contemplation, thoughts running, sprinting, tumbling through my head, but that's not allowed so I shut them off, try to wipe away the words as if I scrub my brain until there is nothing. Like a good girl.
A distant bell tolls, one chime after another. I count along in breaths, calm and collected. Now, I must rise, push the exhaustion away, and think of nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Physical movements. I drag my arms under me, supporting my small, bony frame. Nothing to eat; starvation stabs my flat stomach like it does every morning and as always, I push it away, push everything away. I jerk myself up into a sitting position, the room surrounds me with darkness, but my eyes can see.
Turn my body and my legs follow, my thin, wooden bed shakes under the movements and I hear a creak, a cracking of the lumber. It's getting weaker just as I am and I fear the bed might break all together. I would be left to sleep on the jagged ground like so many others before me. Shake my head, shake the thoughts, and stand.
My number is zero zero one three five two six five and I am Theirs.
YOU ARE READING
Sins of Our Past
Science FictionIt is a well-believed truth among the citizens of Section One and Two that without the Harbinger, the leader of the new world, they would not be able to live. What lies beyond the safe boundaries are unknown, a secret more guarded than the Harbinger...
