Prologue
From across the room I can see her leg shaking. My best friend, Thalia Peters. The sterile white tables, the shiny, particular tools glinting in the hot lights, it adds to the suspense of our situation. Thalia has never been good with blood. In second grade a girl in our class cut her finger. Thalia fainted and it took them a while to wake her up. I hope she doesn’t faint now. We can’t fail. Honestly, if we’re in the trial, we’re winning. She promised...
Scars line my arms, accidents, choices, shards of shattered dreams. White hot lies searing my fingertips and leaving burns as they leave my lips. Decaying skins wafting off of me as I move, becoming dust particles that I will inhale later, but never register. My eyes are clouded but clever. I blink and tears of depression, hatred, anger, and fear dissipate. Emotions that were never there.
I sit in my matchbox room on my cardboard bed, the walls growing mold and speckled with bullet holes. It hasn’t been long that I’ve stayed here, and I won’t be here next week. Always moving, always running. Sounds from outside aren’t scary, the violence and bright lights are familiar.
I’m just outside what we call the Hell District. Entertainment and food, ratty but not overwhelmed with the disease wiping out people in the cold. Everyone spends a fortune in Hell. I won’t. I’m there to learn. Nursing is a valuable skill now that earth is so dangerous. Now that thirty years of war diminished the population and destroyed resources and cities. Rusty signs outside the gates warn of a new virus sweeping our power hungry people.
I lay down on the mattress, my dirty blond hair tied up in a viciously right knot. My eyes, knitted cobwebs blocking out the light, search the coiling, twisted mass of rope that makes up the crude ceiling. Through tiny gaps I can see the night sky, brightened by neon advertisements. Dressed in black leggings and a purple shirt, I blend in nicely to the patchwork quilt beneath me. At least I get a blanket. It’s cold outside of Hell, but it boils inside from the venders with their portable stoves and fryers and boiling vats of drinks. My skin tingles with anticipation for the heat, tired of being frozen by the bitter air persistently. Loud music starts shooting through the air. It curls around me like smoke and I fall asleep.
