Part one: Of Zealots and Mercenaries.
Chapter One.
I open my heavy eye lids then quickly shut them. Bright sunlight streams down on my face like a stern school master wanting me to answer a question. With a great effort, I open my eyes again, glaring at the window and the old bed sheets we use as curtains. Beneath the window, on the floor, my little sister Bethel is sleeping on a small bed made of old blankets. A golden retriever is sleeping beside her. I sit up, trying to rub some warmth into my legs. Its a Sunday: Day off, but I can't sleep in with the sun in my eyes. I watch threw half closed eyes at Bethel and The Dog, who's name is Daniel. He hears me sitting up and turns his shaggy head towards me. I hate animals, but couldn't reset Bethel's five-year-old eyes, begging to keep it. But its just another mouth that I can't feed. I pull my unraveled blanket closer around my thin shoulders. Daniel (or "The Dog" as I have called him ever since we found him three weeks ago) stands, accidentally stepping on Bethel. She doesn't stir. I watch her pale face sadly. She is so tired...
Daniel makes his way across the floor and leans his head in my lap. I grimace, repulsed The Dog's smell, but I don't have the heart to push him away. He looks as lonely as I feel. I am somewhat thankful for him. Last week, when I had absolutely nothing to feed Bethel with, the dog caught and brought back to us a squirrel. I can't imagine for the life of me where he had gotten it, but I didn't care as long as Bethel had something to eat. But today... I have nothing again except for a few crackers on the shelf. I stroke The Dog's head absentmindedly, as he begins to wag his long tail. I look down at him.
"What do you have to be sad about? That Bethel isn't awake to carry out your every wish?" I can't help smiling.
I stand up and walk over to a chest at the end of my bed. I open it. Me and Bethel's clothes are neatly folded in it. Bethel must have folded them. Careful not to disturb the nice and neat stacks, I pick out some clothes. A long blue shirt, jeans and a black leather jacket. I slip out of the dress I am wearing into the other clothes and buckle on my belt. I look at myself in the mirror overhanging the chest. The mirror has a crack running from one corner to the other. A reminder to me of my parents. I run my finger over the crack, memories flooding my senses. I came home one night to find that the mirror broken and parents taken, or drafted. I don't know which. It has been four years since my parents were lost. Three years since I was informed of there "Ill-timed and unexplained" death. Each year without them is harder then the last. If only I could get them back. For Bethel, for me. I wish them back everyday, and everyday they don't return. A sharp pain pulls me back into reality. I look down at my hand and the tip of my pointing finger is bleeding. I suck on my finger then press my thumb against the tiny wound. I look in the cracked mirror at tired, sixteen year old girl, who's hair hasn't been brushed in two days, and her bangs in her eyes. I sigh at my reflection. My blond hair and fair doesn't seem to fit me. My life is so dark and gray that my blond hair and fair skin seem out of place. I touch my cheek with my hand and it dawns on me that I'm a retch. And suddenly I almost feel ashamed that I haven't take time to brush my hair for so long. My mom's words she always used to say hit me like a nail.
"We may be poor but that does not mean we have to look like it."
Biting my lip, I grab a brush from the chest and begin to brush my hair fiercely. I look at myself in the glass while brushing. Why can't I just go on with my life and act like a normal person again? Then a question hits me: What are normal people? Are they the people who sit in office, discussing where all the drafted people will die next? The Uniformed? I push this from my mind and concentrate on trying to make my hair look presentable. Finishing quickly, I put my brush down with a shaking hand. I turn and walk to where Bethel is sleeping. Sweet Bethel, her reddish-blond hair in her face, The Dog laying on her lap again. They make such a peaceful picture and yet... To me, its a sad one. Poor Bethel's eyes had rings under them from not enough sleep and her swollen stomach was simply another reminder of how sick she is all the time from not enough food or water. And her thin shoulders shiver as wind blows in threw a crack in the window. I just watch despairingly for a moment. Why is it that a poor five-year-old has to endure so much pain when the people in Uniformed stuff themselves with the finest and choice food? As the Uniformed patrols the streets each day, the must see dozens of children, each more hungry then the last, yet they ignore them.
I kneel down beside Beth and gentle shake her shoulder.
"Bethel? Bethy?" I use her nick-name.
She opens her eyes and looks up at me dazedly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm gonna try to go sell mom's dress today, okay? Then maybe see if I can get food... Somewhere."
Bethel sits up, rubbing her eyes.
"Mel, I'm hungry."
I give one of my half smiles at how she says my name, which is really Melissa.
"I know... I am too."
I get up and walk over to the tiny kitchen and reach for a top shelf, pulling a small package of crackers down. I hand it to Bethel.
"This is all we have... Eat all of it, and don't give any to The Dog." I say sternly. "You need it more then him."
Beth nods.
"Yeah, but his name is Daniel."
I put a finger on her nose.
"And your Beth. Have you gotten the gloves you've been working on done?" I ask.
We have a lot of yarn in a big box because my mom used to make and sell things with them. Beth is quite good at it now and makes a little money when someone feels kind enough to pay for them.
Beth shrugs.
"Almost done with one of them."
"Well you can work on that and play with the blocks until I get home, okay?"
She begins to stroke The Dog's head. He tries to snatch the cracker from her hand.
"No." I say in a low voice.
He looks up at me with a puppy-dog face. I return it with a hard stare. I watch Bethel like a hawk, making sure that she eats all of it. After she finishes it, I walk over to the chest and open it again. Inside I draw out a dress. Its my mothers wedding dress. I know, even though its special, even mom would sell it if she was starving. I stand, and walk towards the door. Bethel is pulling out the half finished glove from a small box. I open the door and take one more look at her.
"I'll... Try to be back before dark." I say, regretting that I can't say 'I'll be back before dinner' because I don't know if we will have dinner.
Bethel smiles and nods. This makes me feel a bit better and I walk out, shutting the door behind me.
I'm not very sure if this is good but I like the story idea so I'll rewrite this and make it better. This isn't a whole chapter but I haven't posted anything in a while so I guess I'll go ahead. Hope you like it :)
No comments:
Post a Comment