ONE - Nostalgia: Exordium
Mutant Extermination Army had recently purged thousands of planets, hundreds of systems, freeing them of the mutant plague victims. What remained: people with disabilities and orphans.
The orphans were brought to random Districts, in random host houses or commonly, military facilities, newly equipped with areas meant for groomin-- pardon, meant for raising those kids.
In the old ACRYLIC District, the largest host facility owned a national park sized garden with very few synthetic trees on the premises. At the farthest one, two specific buggers liked to go. The kids rested under the tree. Their seventh chance meet at the pine-like tree that cycle alone. The initial finder of their spot, a ten year old with albinism and his old memories wiped, liked to read books on law, history, ancient biology and technology. The late comer, a nine year old black boy with lines tattooed from his ankles to the dip of his knees, loved to nap there.
These kids hid under that tree.
Cardamon, studying. Kinkade, sleeping.
The tree swaying dropped its plastic leaves over the two boys. Cardamon slapped away the ones fallen on his shoulders.
He turned to an eye crossed Kinkade, watching the leaf atop his nose. He smiled and moved his head left, right and front as to balance that yellow fake. Cardamon stared.
Kinkade leaned back, against his two arms; he blew the leaf into Cardamon’s face. Cardamon sputtered. Kinkade giggled.
'What's your name, anyways?' Cardamon asked, mainly to know who he would be cursing and cussing out for the rest of their lives.
Kinkade shrugged with a smirk: 'Guess, Cardy, dear.' His head rested on his crossed arms. Cardamon abstained from violence.
'You know my name.'
'And you shall live in my memory. I never forget.'
The book on cyber biology closed shut. Cardamon stretched his jaw. 'I'll chip in a favor if you tell me. Fair trade.'
'Oh, what should I ask for?' His index tapped his square jaw. Kinkade snapped his fingers. 'Should I ask you talk like a child?'
'You don't speak your age either,' said Cardamon.
'A waste, yeah,' Kinkade hummed. 'I know! But do not hate me.'
Cardamon leaned against the trunk. He exhaled: 'Do tell.'
'In turn for my name, my whole identity, you give me your affections.' Before Cardamon retorted, Kinkade added: 'Embraces and kisses whenever I inquire. The line will be to your desire.'
'That's far from fair, you cheat.' A little vitriol born from envy slipped through Cardamon's teeth. That boy always been a trickster, especially in combat training. Mischevious, nearly as much as a dirty mutant. Cardamon wanted the name to snitch on, to spit on, to curse, to use. Was his dignity worth the revenge?
'I really only have my name to my name, Cardy.' Kinkade smiled.
Yes, yes it was. 'Deal,' Cardamon said. 'I'm your doll.'
'Not a doll. Be my partner, instead.'
'Pish posh.'
Kinkade rolled over on his stomach. 'I'll be kind. For a start, hold my hand. Please, please, please?' He offered his own.
Cardamon stared at the blisters on it. He really could not wait to know who he was blacklisting. Who he would sabotage and second-hand expel. There's no other kid he hated more.
Their hands linked. Cardamon's soft, smooth and sensitive palm spasmed upon the touch of the rough palm of that kid, whose body visibly relaxed. Vulnerability prone. Good weak point found.
'Now,' demanded Cardamon.
Kinkade snorted, his umber brown curls falling over his face. He tugged on Cardamon's hand. The other lay next to him. They faced each other. Cardamon mirrored Kinkade's splayed out body position. At that, Kinkade bit his lip. Cardamon imagined spitting on his face until the other boy opened his mouth with a big gasp:
'You really, really wanna know!'
'Oh, go die in a ditch--' Cardamon started.
And Kinkade finished:
'Wanangwa.'
