𝔸𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞𝕒. [WRITING PROMPTS]

#5

Death Day

I wake up like it's any other day. 

Laying here for a moment, watching the red sun rise in harsh yellow waves on the off-color stucco ceiling. Listen to the crush of the acidic ocean on the shore, sucking at the tropical gulf. Lulled into temporary torpor by the melodious singing of ridged, clinking seashells against one another, of teether gulls ragged cries, of the briny breeze lapping at the walls and open windows. Curling my toes beneath my comforter, running my hands sleepily through my tangled and unwashed hair. Feeling fatigue ebb away, until I push myself to a sitting position and swing my legs off the side of my bunk bed. Clambering down, I peer briefly to the shadowy bed beneath.

"Morning, Crank," I say. He groans and shifts, pulling his duvet over his head. 

Grabbing a towel off the door and a random assortment of clothes from the wardrobe, I walk down the quiet hallway. On either side, there's nothing but faint snoring, and outside the beige walls, teethers chorus loudly to one another. Yawning, I step onto the frosted linoleum and close the door softly behind me, locking it. Dropping my clothes to a heap on the floor, I throw my towel over the silver bar and begin to undress. And just as I'm pulling my rumpled shirt above my head, exposing my torso and chest to the frigid AC air, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

And freeze.

Time seems to stop so suddenly it gives me whiplash; and I seem to have forgotten how to breathe.

Because, spreading like the vague stains of pooling blood, is what looks like a vast, splotchy birthmark. Up my ribs, flowing over my chest, and trailing onto my cheek where it comes to a rest.

It's the Mark. 

I stare at it for a moment, unable to truly decipher what this means.

That I'm going to die today. 

I start to shake violently before I can calm myself.

"Okay, okay, calm down, Jesse, everything's fine," I whisper to myself, leaning against the wall as I grasp my head, as if fighting back a pounding migraine. "Okay. You can figure this out. Just figure this out." Balling my fists, I screw my eyes shut. Level my breathing until I'm no longer quivering like a leaf in the win. 

I straighten, inhale, and let it out through my nose.

Okay. Okay. All I have to do is get dressed - eff the shower, there's no time - pack what little I can before everybody wakes up, and escape.

But where? Where the eff can I go? Nobody will take me - anybody who sees me will have to kill me, no questions asked. And are there even any ground control bases are here? Any civilian settlements I can get to before the horcs get to me first?

No. 

But I have to leave. I have to be anywhere but here.

Because I can't stand to force the people around me to kill me.

And honestly? I don't want to die.

I just don't.

I'm thrown into action by banging on the door.