Trey
The rising sun is the first thing that grabs your attention the next day. It's waves of heat wash over you and ease your chill bumps. You'd fallen asleep in the shin-deep snow. Next come the birds. The chirrups and cries of hundreds of birds fill your ears and lifts the heavy fog of sleep from your mind.
The stinging cold is what finally gets you to your feet. You clutch your arms to your chest, desperately trying to collect enough body heat to thaw out your frosted clothing. You spot Casey's gun buried in the snow at your feet. That sight is what summons a massive recollection of the past twenty four hours. The weight of it is almost enough to bring you back to your knees.
You wince, a migraine stabbing itself into your brain, and bring a hand to your head as if it will stop the pain. To your dismay, it doesn't. You heave a sigh and pick up the gun. You haven't got a clue what time it is but you don't want to hold onto this gun for any longer than absolutely necessary. It's almost as if the mere sight of it could bring on another Sirena song. You drop from the balcony to the forest floor and sprint towards Casey's flat.
The lack of people bustling through the streets lets you know that it's still too early to wake Casey up again. You silently make your way to her shed and return the gun to its holding place, careful not to touch it too much.
You find yourself back in the deserted traffic-ways with no destination. You can't bring yourself to go back to your flat and you certainly don't want to have another 'talk' with Mordecai. You aren't particularly fond of the idea of going back to the woods so you decide to roam.
No matter how long you've lived here, there is always some place that you haven't yet been and something that you haven't seen. The phrase "if walls could talk" is more of "when walls talk to you" around here. The walls in this village tell you so much, they practically CAN talk. Besides, they'd tell you a hell of a lot more truth than you'd be able to get out of the people.
You run your hand over a heavily painted brick wall with words covering the surface. Most of them are blood red. It's barely legible in this spot, so you decide not to strain your tired eyes by trying to decode the chicken scratch. You let your feet keep shuffling down the alley.
Music and all sorts of complicated rhythms are the usual background noise in this part of the village, but only the sound of your shoes scraping against the gravely pavement can he heard for several blocks. You don't like the feeling of isolation. You're so used to the constant interaction with at least five people all at once--loud voices and expressive body language--that its almost nerve wracking to not have it overwhelming you. That's what you've always liked about this place: there's always somewhere to be or someone to talk to. It's like a huge, diverse family.
At least, you assume it is. If you're going to be completely honest with yourself, you have absolutely no idea what a family is supposed to be like. Your parents sacrificed themselves to the Immortui only three weeks after you were born, in hopes of achieving eternal life. You ended up being raised by the whole community. The closest thing that you have to actual family is Casey. She was the one who found you in the forest. She was the one who ran back to the village and told the others that you were there. There's never been a time when Casey wasn't there. That, you think, is what family is supposed to be like.
You kick at small clusters of pebbles with the toes of your shoes as you walk. Your fists are shoved to the bottoms of your pockets and your head is held high. The sun isn't completely up yet, so shadows follow you as you wander down the alleyways, making you feel as if you weren't actually alone. The thought comforts you. You smile and make a right, facing the tallest and widest wall you've encountered yet, completely covered in bright red spray paint.
You can actually feel the smile drop off your face as you scan the wall, reading one-stanza poems and clever but depressing phrases. This isn't the first time you've seen this paint-- hell, it's not even the second. Mordecai did this. This must be the long term effect of the Sirena. A small shudder goes through you, but you continue scanning the wall, reluctantly taking it all in.
You step up to the brick and place your palms against the cold, rough surface. You feel as if your hands will be able to read the meaning of the words better than your eyes. You close them to test the theory. To your dismay, it doesn't prove true. You're still just as clueless as you were two minutes ago. You think about going back to Mordecai's booth to ask him about it but decide to give him a while to cool off from your last encounter.
Before you can head off to your next destination, you feel a strong hand clasp tightly over your right shoulder. You spin around, preparing for a fight, but you find a beaming Zeke instead of an attacker, arms raised in mock surrender. You relax and smile back at him.
"Have mercy!" He yells, a grin still cutting across his features. He drops to your feet as if begging.
"I'll spare you for now." You say, crossing your arms and looking down at him. Your eyes smile brightly even though you've successfully controlled your lips.
"Thank God!" He says, jumping to his feet and slapping you on the back. You watch his smile dissipate as the wall captures his attention.
"Dude, what the hell is that?" He breathes. He raises a limp arm to point at the writing and his jaw goes slack.
"No idea." You lie. "Let's get out of here, man."
"Sure thing. I know just where to go, Hot Shot." The familiar nickname calms your nerves and you allow yourself to smile again. He turns to walk out of the alleyway and you follow after him without question.
Your eyes have just begun to adjust to the dim lighting. The air around you is thick and you feel like you are breathing in fog. You're hunched over, following the sound of Zeke walking in front of you. He doesn't hold conversation, just curses every now and again when he hits his head on the low ceiling or stubs his toe on a rock large enough to cause pain.
When you start to hear the static of water crashing onto rocks, you decide that its time to start asking questions.
"So, where are we going, exactly?" You ask, narrowly avoiding a sharp looking rock attached to the ceiling.
"It's a surprise, man." His voice answers somewhere in front of you.
"Right." You bite your lip and keep quiet.
Then, you see it.
The passage in the rocks widens into an expansive cavern and a stream of water crashes to the slick, rocky ground from the ceiling. The area is lit by a large opening in the high ceiling that displays a flowering meadow on the surface above you. The falling water collects into a wide, deep pool. There's a small, wooden rowboat carelessly dragged onto the shore with two paddles spilling out of the side.
"Woah." The word finds its way from your being, to your lips, and out into the sweet smelling air, finally reaching Zeke's ears.
"I know, man. It's beautiful." He says, draping an arm over your shoulder.
"How long have you known this was here?"
"A few months now. Me and Liyra found it while we were scouting the area above the grate. We jumped from that hole up there and landed right in the water. Shit's freezing, man. I do NOT recommend." He walks over to the pool of water and plops down on the slick, crimson stone, crossing his legs and looking up at the water splashing to the rocks a few feet in front of him.
You follow him, dipping your feet in the chilly water and make little waves with your toes. You feel the urge to jump in, although you know you'd get pneumonia. You chew on the inside of your cheek.
"This is what home should be like, Hot Shot." Zeke whispers. "It's what everyone's home should be like."
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