She hadn’t fought hard to save her life. 

She would have to leave things behind. But with every departure, things are lost, and that’s inevitable. It wouldn’t hurt for long – she was broken because she pretended that pain was temporary. But it’s not because humans have the capacity to remember and the memory of pain never truly goes. Some say it takes a long time to fix yourself after falling. But the truth is, you don’t.

Smoke choked off the air supply of the girl, and flames licked red welts upon her skin, which was otherwise visually untouched. Skin peeled back and flesh blackened beneath smooth fingers. She sighed deeply, slowly, enjoying her last breath as much as she could. She had asked for a private execution but the government had said a criminal had no rights. A girl like her had only the right to die burnt.

Eyelids slid downwards over bloodshot oculars and pale hair retreated in burnt down clumps from her soft forehead. She was beautiful in death, burnt out. As the fire died, the crowd diminished. A faint silhouette was left of the unjust. A backbone, curved and ash-like. A face, a skull, with some skin still intact. Wings, spread across a darkened sky. Membrane still stretched taught between fingerlike projections.

When the fire was gone and the body was all but faded and forgotten, only a dark haired child remained. The child had little dewdrop lips and little dewdrop tears and it knelt by the ashes and smothered its face in the dirt so the tear tracks were gone, then left like no grieving had occurred. The corpse of the demon would stay there until the rats ate even her bones.

FORGIVNESS

I’m going to tell you a story. It’s not like I want to, not really. It’s more like I have to. Because when you’ve finished this, I can guarantee you, I will be long dead. I’m saying that to make you read on. After all, who wants to read the notes of a dead girl? I wouldn’t. So let’s say this is the beginning of the longest suicide note. So that when they find me, at least a few people know why a fourteen year old ended up pulverized on the floor or something. Okay, so, there’s my explanation. I have to get this out of my system or no one will ever know the truth behind this place, me, my friends and Nyssa.

My name is Anna. I’m fourteen years old. Ginger, skinny, freckly, bespeckled. You get the image, right ? My eyes are very very green, and very very dark. I have thick black eyelashes and no parents. I live on the third wall, and I’m an unclassified mutant, training to be a doctor. I’m not religious or anything, but this should be a quick prayer. Please make sure that when they find me, and they will, let me not say anything. Let me die with them cursing my loyalty. Let me die alone so I hurt no one else. Let them keep living not happy, but boundless, like they wanted, and let me be the sacrifice for that. Let this end, and let me finish writing this before it becomes too late. That way, boundlessness is within reach.
Amen.

You see, I’ve sinned. I’ve done an awful thing. But in most cases, they get away with it, but I didn’t. Killing, I don’t agree with. But then again, what’s the point in saying that ? I’m wearing out the words. I’ve killed seven people. They found my red footprints and they sensed my bloody hands. I should probably do a Lady Macbeth and scream and cry about it now. But I won’t. I wanted to kill. Hell, I didn’t just kill. I murdered. And I savored every sick second.

I’m an idiot. A classic, ignoramus stranger to the cruel world of real pain. The pain that is not on the surface, but buried deep beneath all the screams of pain, all the heartfelt words, and there, it festers and bounces and gains power and energy, and then eventually bursts free, explodes in a bloody mess, and that’s called suicide.

I should tell you more, so here goes. The world, it sort of fell apart. About 100 or so years ago, the effects of global warming settled in. I’m going to skip all the petty details, but we ran out of water. Big industrial estates hoarded it and sold it for huge costs and poorer countries couldn’t afford it. The same went for food, crops, even animals. We lost about 2/3 of the habitable land we have, and most people died. But that wasn’t because of food lack. That was because of the bombs. Special nuclear bombs were developed, but according to the government the fallout is gone and where we live – safe within the bounds of the walls – there are no traces.

But there are, and society is divided up into two sections. Mutants – fetus with damaged DNA – and homo sapiens. The lucky ones, pretty much. Mutations happen on huge scale or tiny scale, it all depends on how badly affected you were by the fallout. Those on the very outside wall are the ones most affected. The ones who sprouted wings and grew feathers and hooves and the hind legs of a horse – No, I am not exaggerating. Then, the second wall. In it live mild mutants. The ones with only a few things up with them. Most have funny powers, like they’ve been sucked straight out of a comic and plonked into the real world. Wall three is for people like me, with only body mutations. Basically, ones they call ugly and leave at that. The fourth wall is for normal people and the fifth, the center, is for the rich ones who hold authority. The superior perfect beings, they call themselves.

How am I a mutant ? I guess I should tell you. I’m like Rudolph but ginger and fourteen. With a blue nose. At about nine years of age I sprouted a magnificent pair of antlers and my right eye went all black like a deer’s, so I wear an eyepatch. I’d pass as normal otherwise. Wall three has about seven miles from its beginning to the start of wall four and inside it is school.

It’s much better called a place to shove cracks so they can try and get an education and prevent the killing scale from rising any higher because that is pretty much what its there for. Gangs form, the worst being ‘Morte Ioca’ which means death joke or something, and the ascended. Nyssa is in both, but she’s not a bad person. She just has no emotions and kills without a heart. Ugh, I can’t make her sound nice, can I ? Just trust me. When she turns up, you’ll realize she’s okay.

I live alone, in a room that is eight meters long and four meters across exactly. I can walk along the length of the right wall in six and a half strides if I really stretch my legs. I’ve been doing that ever since I was planted there. I live in priority housing because I’m training to be a doctor and mutant or not, medical knowledge is my forte and they support me in the area. It’s got a toilet, and a cracked porcelain sink and my bar of soap is going to run out soon. I have a shower but no hot water, so I wash sparingly. My bed is small, cramped, and my duvet and pillow are flannel and thin, so when winter inevitably rolls around, it’s freezing. I have no heating, but a largish fireplace that I can feed with the wood storage that the mutants in priority get every other day. So there, that’s my introduction. It’s awful. You can stop reading now.

You little desperate slime. I’m not a talented letter writer, yet you’re sat here reading my long and extra extended death note. I’m thanking you, but please. This story, someone needs to know, otherwise they are all going to think that everything I did was in loathing, but it wasn’t. Trust me on that.

 Annabeth Grace

Kidding me

I don’t have a lot of friends. I met my sister Camille first. Just a note, she wasn’t actually my sister. We just became closer than kin, to say the least. I don’t know why people thought we were related though. There was little common ground for us to rest on – at least, for physical appearance. She had these amazing sea water eyes and when I first saw her I kind of imagined her to be a mermaid. She was from the third wall. Naturally, and the only thing off about her was her hair. The same vibrant blue of her eyes, and it danced around her wide tanned face like feathers. If you touched it, it glowed, and at primary school where you learn to read and write and count and also do Latin – which, being it a dead language, is pointless - people used to call her ‘Glowly Girlie’. We met in the doctor trainee class, the very beginning of the year, and we had collided in a way, because I was late, the only thing I did reliably, and she was too.

My books were heavier then I had thought them to be, and my hands were aching from clasping them so tightly to my unfortunately flat chest. She had clearly dropped something and had knelt over to get it from the floor, which resulted in me tripping over her leg and smashed into her back. “S’cuse.” I’d muttered into her flannel jumper –which, by the way, smelt like burnt bacon and held the faint aroma of rubber. It wasn’t a nice smell to have your unknowing nose thrust into, I tell you now.

She laughed at me, stood up and then pulled me up after her. “I’m Camille Hutchinson. Sup ?” I had stared at her glowing face and the way she got dimples in her cheeks. Every part of her exuded love and I grinned right back at her.
“Annabeth.”
“Ginge. You’re late.” She flicked my nose, then grabbed my hand, pulling me through the door to the training room and then guiding me to a stool at the back, funnily, right next to hers. “Friends ?” She whispered to me as the teacher began to write stuff down in chalk on a blackboard. It made that disgusting high pitched whine, the noise that puts you on edge and makes you want to strangle the vertebrate making the kinetic energy reach your ears.
“Friends.” I confirmed under my breath. I had thought I was lying back then, but ever since that word passed my lips, she had proven to be the best investment I had ever made. We got on like a house on fire, and were no longer allowed to sit together after an incident with magnesium oxide sent a classmate away with rubbish sight and the classroom a large burnt corner.

That’s the thing with words. They pass your lips too easily. She had asked me a question, and it could have been any question, and my answer was both unhesitant and not entirely true. Such a deed surely marked me off as a bad person? But I always comfort myself in thinking, she liked me, and when one is liked by another in such an infectious way, they cannot help themselves ; they want to appease the other. That, I assure you, was my primary role at first. I was there as a comfort blanket. But time morphed that role into another, and soon, she was my life, and everything I did, she did too. Inseparable, and happy as birds are in July, with their delicate wings spread out as wide as they can go. 
 
I was her ginger friend and she was just my friend and everything was okay, even though she passed me gum wrapped in a sweaty sticky piece of paper and wink at me and stuff. It didn’t matter that she was an idiot and I was smart because we held each other up, like legs to a table. What the table was there for and what it had atop it, we didn’t really know. We were there to support it, and at the time, we really didn’t care because we had one another and the contents of a table held above our heads really didn’t matter to either of us, which was another reason everything began to get thrown off the delicate scale and what not.

I was fine when the two of us were held back after school because I had no parents to lecture me at length after. Cam glanced at me once when we were sat outside the office and her eyes, for once, were much more severe and genuine. “Your parents are dead ?” She questioned me. I bit my lip. I don’t like to talk about family much, you see. I just bobbed my head up and down aimlessly for a few seconds, but didn’t actually say anything. “You seem distant, Ginger.” She turned and stood directly in front of me, her lower jaw jutting out. She hated thinking. “Mine are. I think. Hope, more like.” She said, and sighed.

I didn’t talk. Most people had dead parents. They all had stories, but no one had actual parents they could smile about. Kids get sold off and such by adults who simply kept the species running. “My mom left me alone and I don’t have a dad.” I told her, and she didn’t respond. That day, we were both a little off.
The head teacher had promised a severe punishment this time and we both knew he was a man of his word in this area of speech. It was more we were waiting to be struck then having a heart-to-heart – which, I have to add, is the strangest term ever. First, hearts can’t talk, so the organs would have to be able to read the self-impulsive movements and change those into syllables and then again to a language the brain could comprehend. But they’d have to have brains themselves, and they don’t. Second off, I always imagine the hearts popping out of ones chest, splashing fat seeds of crimson all over the ground, and then its host becoming pale like undercooked pastry and them dying because their heart was desperate to communicate with another. Perhaps that is what real love feels like. A true heart-to-heart.

But even after our punishment, the topic was somewhat stale, the air between us starved of carbon dioxide as even our breathing was still and each breath was long after the last. I remember kicking a stone, and then moaning slightly as the sky had suddenly been darkened by the gathering of condensation, and then the rain began to tumble down from above with eager, curious arms outstretched towards the ugly, cobblestone road upon we both stood. I bit my lip. I liked rain, because it made me feel alive. Like the liquid got in my skin and kicked my heart, as if to say, ‘Hey, you’re alive. Live !’

The smell that arose, too, was nice. Wet pebbles, and the thin darts of rain sizzling in the now somewhat humid atmosphere. Cam didn’t say a thing. At the time, I had made the easy assumption she was a little upset by those cold and uncaring words that had been thrown at us. Maybe she wanted a little time alone – so I’d decided to leave her, there in the rain, like a castaway. My one eye had looked at her, then I’d smiled. “Bye.” I had called, dancing away on light feet. I was good at that – getting away real quick. It didn’t matter the situation. She’d once told me I’d be the best coward, but I’d protested. Cowards wouldn’t be noticeable like I was. They could blend in – I stuck out like a rusty nail in a bowl of silver.

You don’t need to know lots about Cammie. I mean, she hates me, hates me very much. But there’s little I can do, and God knows, I’ve earned it. What I did, and what I’m doing, right now, is proof that I alone am some detestable alien presence that entered her life with a lie and departed from it with another. Bye until the next time I can get a pen, person-I-don’t-actually-know, because this one’s running out, and I need to leave too.

I'M NOT LAUGHING
 

I guess you’ve been waiting a while for my next entry. Well, you can wait a little more. Because of the way executions take place nowadays, I have to keep hidden, and stay put. Why ? It’s none of your concern. You’re only a few pages in and I don’t trust your ugly mug.

After I’d left Cammie, alone in the rain she was, I’d gotten a little lost. The area between the walls, known as the general territory, was split into districts, as such. Housing in the walls was for members of authority, ones who worked for either the ‘law’, ‘government’ or were ‘slaves of the people’ aka the medics – people who struggle through training without any credit for their works. In the housing districts for usual people, they aren’t exactly split, but those of us who live here do have our names for them. The slums are for those really poor people with unimportant jobs and around those areas are a bunch of waste piles and piss pits where the egestion goes. Then is the areas that are far more risky. The houses are tall and in between each house is an alley about a meter wide, where people usually just don’t go down. These alleys are the way around the gangs and going out down them after dark is like asking to be hurt. The other areas, nearer the walls, they aren’t so bad. As the walls get closer to the middle, wall one, the living conditions also improve somewhat, with better hygiene and housing. The first wall is just wooden shacks because freaks can’t get good jobs or education. They are often selling off children to the rich for toys until they get to old and are put in freak shows and made do hard labor. Those that go to the school though, they aren’t really so bad. It’s the wall two mutants that people are wary of. They aren’t visually impaired but they use about 73.86% of their brain and because of this they are super weird. Like I said – comic book heroes gone off.

My feet were clad in sneakers, the kind made of frayed leather and were far too small. The kind that squish your toes and blister your heels. The kind that make a clink clonk noise as you walk down alleys in the dark. I’d flipped up my eyepatch, my deer eye shining strangely in the dark. I could see better then others because of my animal eye. Ha, there. An mutant advantage, right there. I wasn’t wearing anything to great, either. My skirt was too short, rising about midway up my thighs and it had about seven coffee stains to boot. It had once been light grey but it had long since lost the delicate shade. My top had its sleeves rolled up halfway and was teal, save the ketchup and other numerous stains. And there I was, all vulnerable in nylon. The walls were high and stooping, leaning like men over my head, their gaping windows like gummy jaws and their pointed roves like hats, hiding their faces. I shivered inwardly. The rain had seemed pretty until it changed from falling feathers to tiny knives.  I remember pressing my nails into the palms of my hands, feeling the skin stretch and splinter away eventually. I exhaled then.

I remember now hearing the steady rush of shoes, the gruff whispers. Not the soft feathers that brush the throat, but the harsh, course sound that the voice emits when one is trying to stage whisper without water. My eyes had widened slightly, and I’d angled my head differently, but then suddenly, a sack was over my head. The material was rough and scratchy and over the enclosure a hand snapped over my mouth, pressing the material down on my tongue and pushing my jaw backwards. I’d kicked out with my feet, but I’d been easily lifted. There must have been three people there and I wasn’t heavy, not really. They’d flung my legs away and my head hit the wall and little black fairies danced in my vision. Breathing was hard and my chest felt tight and my heart was most definetly half-way out of my ribcage.

The kidnapping crew stopped walking after a while. I knew it had been a suitably long time because the rain had stopped and the sky, from what I could see, was lighter. I’d been unconscious for a while. The sack was pulled off my head and my pupils dilated messily as they adjusted to the light. Infront of me, I remember clearly a girl. She was wearing a short black skirt, cut off way too high, and a baggy flannel jumper, almost the same length as her retarded skirt. I had bit my lip. Hers were painted red and she was clearly smoking a substance usually forbidden. Her hair was fastened in a ponytail at the base of her neck and petered off in messy blonde dredlocks at about her waist. Seeing me awake, she’d smirked and then spun around on her heel to face me fully. “’Sup, love ?” She’d snorted, and I noticed instantly how her accent was deliberately over done, it seemed, and that she had pointed teeth visible under her fake lips, with canines like a wolf, not a human.

“My names Dolly. And you, my love, are in shit.” She’d giggled, then walked away. To the door, which was seven of her strides, so probably nine of mine. She was about two feet taller then me, I should add. The pole I was tied to stuck into my back and the rope was cutting into my wrists. That was when she came. Her hair was pure white – like almost silver, but not quite. Her eyes were so blue, but so empty. She was pale, her skin was flawless. Her cheekbones were chiseled beautifully into her face, and her lips were painted black. She wore a white blouse and short black skirt, equipped with black combat boots cut off a little higher then her ankle. She had huge black bat-like wings protruding from her back. She was perfect. Everyone knew the description of the most wanted girl. The demon.

Nyssa.

Her face didn’t change in the slightest, and she could see my fear. She knelt down a little, so her face was close to mine. “You’re a doctor.” She stated. Her voice was flawless, like glass. It was clear, smooth, and completely without emotion. I saw a flicker of something behind her eye, and this, trust me, is how I saw the human. Nyssa wasn’t a robot, because behind the marvelous façade she pulled, worry danced behind the curtains. I’ve never been talented at reading people, but I can tell when they care. “Someone’s sick. You help them.” She commanded. I swallowed, which was hard because I had no spit and my throat was dry, dry like that other girls hair had been. Minus the grease – I don’t sink so low as to not bother with hygiene.

My green eye was probably the one that would be any help to my cause. Hers were so … dead, but forceful. “I..” I’d began, but before I could even start, a cold hand stung across my cheek. “Shut your pretty little mouth darling. I’m not asking a question.” She said, untying the ropes and grabbing my arm and I remember in that moment thinking, is it possible for someone to be so brutal.

I’m stopping here, my adoring reader, because I can hear someone. And that means not okay stuff might go down and well, I’ve got to get this all down. Fast.

Tick Tock Goes the Clock

I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Times up, tick tock. Times running out.

My heart’s a clock.
Tick.
I can hear footsteps. And I can’t breathe, the air is stale where I’m hiding.
Tock.
My heart’s risen up my oesophagus and I swear to God, my minds shut down.
Tick.
I’m crying so the pages are going to be a little tarnished. I’d planned to write so much down, so much more should be able to be told. I’m going to tell you now about Nyssa.

My arms had hurt because she’d been pulling them a while. When we reached the door, I was confused. The door was heavy and wooden but the hinges were tired, the lock had been smashed out of shape and the paint had peeled with the rotted, pockmarked wood. The thing hung off the doorframe like it was dependent on the structure that hung to the stone, but it was also clear that the contraption should have long ago been burnt as firewood.

My green eyes had picked out through the gaps in the stone work that this was where Nyssa seemed to reside. She kicked me through the door, and my body smashed roughly against it. I should rephrase that. She kicked me up against the wall, and the hinges gave way, delivering me gracefully to the floor, all pointy elbows and skinny legs. There, I saw the child. She’d be pretty, but her leg was the opposite of the meaning.

Her face was shaped like a heart – not literally; more the cartoon version – and it was framed by coppery gold ringlets. Blue eyes peered at my face, and her little pointed nose arose above flushed cheeks, as if embarrassed. Freckles were splattered ungainly over round cheeks, and her thin form lay neatly on the sheets. Then, her leg. From the hip joint, it was twisted, and the knee was seemingly shattered. The ankle looked twisted and the skin was bruised and cut. Her eyes met mine, and I bit my lip.

Sorry about my Mum.

I jumped. Ah, gotta love the mutants with funky minds. Telepathy. My thoughts were pretty cynical, and she’d pulled a face.

Piss off, mate. At least I don’t have freaking antlers.

Debatable language for a young kid. She shot me a look like daggers but kept out of my head. Nyssa glanced at me boredly. “Some shit helped her mess up her leg. Can you fix it ?” She asked, her voice tinted with concern. That was when I noticed them. A wiry boy with a mop of straight black hair, pale skin and long, skinny limbs. His cheekbones were chiseled and his eyes were like storms, all flecked with blue and green and grey. Then, a tiny child. She looked young – perhaps seven, maybe younger. Her hair was long, and straight and dark. She had huge blue eyes with dark lashes and little dewdrop lips. She had a fringe and she was slender, by both nature and probable lack of food. “Hana, Duck …” The voice of a male called. He was pretty decent, by the way. Dark skin, like caramel, and black hair hiding green eyes. I looked away. Clearly, it was Twisted – no one actually knew his name, or if they did, they weren’t public about it.

I approached the injured girl, who blinked, in clear pain. “I’m Roxy.” She introduced, her voice a little hoarse. “I need water. And a splint. Pain relief drugs.” I’d called.

The leg took a long time to patch up, and the ‘family’ unit clearly were upset. Roxy seemed in pain, and I was exhausted. Twisted led me to the pillows on the floor, and Hana curled up on his chest. They both looked so young, but they had three kids ? I probably looked shocked, so Twisted had quickly explained how him and Nyssa had got together a few years back and adopted the three kids because they probably wouldn’t live long enough to have kids and well, these three needed help. I hadn’t understood exactly what was wrong with Derek – Duck was Derek, if you were wondering – and Hana were, but this is actually the truth.

Derek was like Roxy, but he could also morph his body into any bird – Duck makes sense now, right ? Hana was an angel. Haha, joking. She had white wings and she could grow flowers from her fingers. She had something else up with her, but Twisted clearly didn’t want to explain what. Nyssa appeared later on, and she smelt like alcohol. I was too scared to even react. Now, this failing family unit lived in the second wall. Their house was larger then mine, but they’d built it themselves. It had stooping walls and it was cold, with even less delivered supplies then mine. But the parents were wanted and they stole and scavenged and clearly, murdered and ran gangs to get what they wanted and needed to get by. The gangs from wall 2 are the worse because of their virtual normality. You don’t know what’s gonna hit ya till it hits ya.

Dolly looked disappointed that no blood had been shed when she pitched up, her pout off putting. “She’d be fun to cut up, Ness.” She’d snorted, and Roxy had grunted. “Talk for yourself, Doll.” The kid had a lot of guts, and she healed a lot quicker then an average human. When Monday rolled around, Twisted laughed. “We should go to schoooooool.” Which turned out to be a bad idea.

And look. At me. I have to go because I have to run and when I stop running, I’ll write again. Hana is not exactly who you might think.

LITTLE THINGS

The day to follow my meeting of Nyssa’s family was fated to be somewhat different to my regular school days. Usually, I’d pick my way along the dirt road track, the thin soles of my shoes proving only that they were bad at supporting my feet as they let every bump bruise the bottom of my bony foot. My leather satchel, stitched up in its glory, was usually digging into my shoulder, bouncing loyally at my hip like some unshakeable puppy, spewing papers and spitting books like they were expendables and it didn’t matter that they would burst free. Usually, I was alone, and my walk was taken in silence, my eyes downcast, my mouth sealed shut. But that day, my bag was in worse shape than me, and it hung limp from my shoulder – a dull reminder that no matter what I did, my most important books had left me to go elsewhere. I was followed by the limping Roxy, her curls bouncing on slender shoulders, her eyes, though tired, shone bright like mini stars. She looked fine, but her knuckles, white on the makeshift crutches, were a giveaway of her pain. Hana was silent, holding onto Nyssa’s hand loosely. Her hair was long and black and shiny and it swung behind her as if it were her soul and it was the only thing tying her to Earth, because she seemed so distant. Duck flew, as a duck, behind his father. None of them seemed to care that we were going to be late, or that despite all the rules, they were wanted and their kids were going to school with them.

Nyssa kicked the doors down. The main doors to school, which were usually boarded up – on reflection, it was probably because most of the students had the habit of either smashing through the windows or the doors – fell forward, and they entered. “Run along, antlers.” Roxy said, waving. Twisted angled his head, then nodded. “You’re part of our gang, now, Annabeth. Talk, and you die. You’ve been pulled in against your will, but you can’t get out now.” My mouth was dry. I remember it now; the meltey feeling, like someone had poured hot water on my head and it had rolled down my body, paralyzing every nerve it touched. I was tense, stuck in the headlights. It probably doesn’t seem bad to you, but it did to me. His eyes, dark and cold and empty. His voice, clear and decisive and severe. Their faces, solemn and sad and true and pure. The way they all knew I would die if I failed to answer, the way they all knew I had to agree. I nodded. “I get it. I understand.” Any emotion I might have had, died inside my chest, inside my mouth. No matter what I wanted to feel, no matter how much I might’ve wished different, I was caught in the web of the gang. I was caught and I couldn’t escape. Ever.

I arrived late into class, sneaking into the back row with my eyes downcast. The teacher barely reacted, and the only person who reacted to the sneaking ginger was Cammie. Her bright eyes met my green ones, prying, interrogative. I was four seats away from her, next to a boy named Fleck. He had a straight nose and tanned skin with a fair share of freckles. His eyes were framed with thick black eyelashes and they were dark, tawny, flecked with golden sparks. I bit my lip, pulling out a water-ripped notebook and a pen. I suddenly wasn’t Anna. I was a girl, a girl in a gang. Nyssa’s gang. I was a girl with secrets and a girl that had to start cutting strings and breaking free now.

When the lesson finally chugged to a halt, Cam ran to me immediately. Her hands found my shoulders, squeezing. Her nose was too close to mine and I bit my lip. “Anna, Anna, Anna, Annie, Bethy, Annabeth.” She shook me, and I noticed she had tears in her blue eyes. “You weren’t in your flat. You hadn’t been there all night. Where were you ?” My own green eyes couldn’t focus on her pleading oculars. I couldn’t speak, and if the situation were to ever occur again, I doubt I would open my mouth. I’d spoken a sentence to Twisted. I’d sold my freaking soul to a bunch of demons and now, now I wasn’t allowed to be Anna. I had to be a medic. I had to be silent. “I was home. I just got distracted.” I said, pressing my lips together and turning, walking back. “ANNA !” She cried and my retreating form, my retreating shadow. “ANNA !” She’d tried again, and I felt bad for her. Her poor throat, it must be raw. I sat alone, writing in my notebook. I’d sketched what I could remember of Roxy’s leg, labeling it up and then writing an in detailed paragraph on how exactly the break was. How it might have happened. It looked like an impact smash, and then a deliberate twist, which meant only one thing. The child had been tortured. I felt a lump reach my throat, and open in my mouth. My lips wobbled, my head fell forward. I moaned silently, tears racing down my cheeks like they’d never fell before. Maybe they hadn’t. Everything was blurred. The pain, the blood, the gore, the family, the names, the facts, the acceptance, the new friends, the letting go.

“Annabeth.” I looked up, my eyes red, and met the face of Hana. Up close, she was beautiful. She looked a lot like Nyssa. They had the same wide, cold blue eyes. The same pale skin, the same flushed pink lips. The difference was only the hair. Hers was so rich, so dark, unlike Nyssa’s. White like bleach, white like the suns light on a winter morning. White like light reflected on metal. I wiped my eyes roughly with the back of my hand, roughly. “Hey Hana.” She pulled my hand over, holding it. Her hands were cold and smooth. She sat next to me, her other hand growing small flowers on the benches roughhewn surface. She looked at my drawings, and then smiled thinly. “Thanks for fixing her leg up.” She murmured, then paused. “I can heal it now.” She blinked. I paused.
“Really.” Lucky kid. Having a quietly determined sister. I had thought that. I still kind of do. But it’s a different kind of respect, different a kind of scared.

Hana isn’t who you think she is. Please, please, please, please, please forgive me. I’m hiding in a tiny cupboard. It smells of damp, like mold and mothballs. It also smells faintly of straw, which is comforting for me. The floor is lined with cobblestone slabs and the floor is made of rotting wood. The walls tower at my sides and carve about 15cm over my head at a peak. I have a thin cloth flannel and a thick jumper, made of wool. It’s stolen. Someone brings me water in a roughly carved water bowl and a little spare stale bread and cheese, occasionally accompanied with a small lump of butter or something. I’ve been here a few days and I can tell you, it’s hard to pee in the bowl in the dark. I’ll move on soon, but the policing is so tight now. I have to be careful. Bye, oh so faithful reader.
- Annabeth Grace

                                                                     GOOD INSIDE BAD

You know about my hiding place, right ? Last night the rare falling of rain made a plank from the ceiling fall down and it’s now standing against the wall, near my shoulder. It has that humid smell of rotting wood, with a more unpleasant smell of bugs and hot rot. I can see the pockmarked faces of the beetle larva moving sluggishly in their revealed home. I’d long since stopped caring though, because my house hadn’t been much better and the rain falls are pretty few and far between due to our lovely climate.

I guess my current situation doesn’t bother you though. You’re quite uninterested in me – let’s be honest though, I’m not interesting – you’re interested in those in my story, those around me that played a part in my life, that part of it. I have a splinter in my middle finger from the pathetic excuse for a pencil I found wedged in the far right corner, and after hard work, I’d dislodged it and had given myself a splinter as proof of my hard work.

Okay. I’ll continue where I left off.

In the school, gangs are forced together. If you ignore the many numerous members of Nyssa’s gangs, often identified by their cold eyes and cruel smirks, there was one other important gang whose members were not to be messed with. I didn’t know their name – they weren’t the type to berg about petty things like names – but the gang leader was called Mason. He had two ‘right-hand’ men, one who was known as Arthur, who was so immersed in his good looks and the amount of hearts he broke to care about the Ascended’s hatred of him, and Lee. Lee was quite pretty. She had wide, blue green eyes and long dirty blonde hair. None of the three had anything visually wrong with them, but each was a dangerous cherub, masked with innocence.

It was those three I saw traipsing down the corridor. Lee had her arm linked with Mason’s, and both were grinning. Arthur was laughing along with them. The three were like siblings, but none were related, as far as I could tell. Mason had grey black hair, dark eyes and he was wearing a red top, flung open, so the scar across his chest was clearly visible. Lee had her hair tied in pigtails, wearing a tiny white blouse and black pleated skirt with thigh-high black socks. Arthur looked perfect, with floppy whitish hair brushing through his blue eyes. They ignored me, the wallflower. Or mostly. Arthur looked at Hana, clearly recognising the child, and then his eyes narrowed as they fell on me. I could tell he was clearly thinking something along the lines of “who is she ?” which was expected. I was just a plain old medic trainee, with no scars or anything to remark on.

Hana had squeezed my hand, then pulled my head down so our faces were level. “Let’s go.” She said, forcibly. I let her go alone, because I didn’t feel safe in her family unit. The rest of the day – the week – dragged on, accompanied by my usual lonely walk featuring a new face. The gang had a grand total of twelve significant members, including Nyssa and Twisted. There were so many names to learn. Dolly usually helped me get home, as we both lived on the same wall. She was a pleasant character once you got over her sadism.

It was a dark evening on the Friday, the day that marked the end of the Week My Life Changed. She was walking next to me, laughing about the telling-off one of the teachers had attempted to give her, because they’d found her with a gun. She was waving the weapon around, shrieking with high pitched laughter, when suddenly, a loud gunshot rang out. We both froze, eyes scanning the area. “No way.” She’d muttered, heading down the nearest ally. That’s when we saw the body.

A man, older than us – perhaps in his thirties – laying splayed on the floor. He was roughly shaven, dark hair retreating away from his forehead. His forehead had a near circle through it, had blood was still fresh, thick and almost appeared to still be oozing from the wound. He looked like he’d simply slipped. I’d dropped, hands shaking, to touch the wound. I could feel the heat leaving the corpse, dropping a degree every heartbeat. I didn’t know him, but it still made my heart thrash against my ribcage. Dolly grabbed my shoulder, her breathing hard. “Anna. Anna. We gotta run. Now.” That’s when it occurred to me. First, we were by a corpse. Second, if he was still losing body heat, the killer would have to still be here.

I felt my own pulse quicken, my breathing hasten. I could see eyes. They hung like fairy lights, pale green and hateful. Pale green and piercing. Dolly didn’t give me the chance to see the attacker because she’d flung me over her shoulder and she wasn’t a girl any more. Her face had elongated, jaws snapping and eyes glinting into the dark. Her arms grew and her hair sprung to cover every square centimetre of her body. She was a pale hued wolf, but a lot larger than the usual. She was like what you might have read about. Werewolves, do you call them ? Huge, salivating and running with me clinging onto the fur around her shoulders desperately, eyes closed. I could hear the killer moving away, and I imagined her highs swinging jauntily, lips making a smirk, eyebrows raised slightly. Yes, I was almost certain that Lee would be satisfied with her kill.

My only question was yet to be answered – who was that man ? Why had she killed him ? Every heavy footfall made my urge for answers more and more demanding.

I have to finish now. You know why ? Because I can hear foot steps. They aren’t the usual pitter pattering of light feet that usually greet me, and there won’t be the sound of wood scraping stone soon after the noise dies. Because these steps are loud, heavy, suggesting authority, suggesting my end. The hole in the ceiling is probably big enough for me to worm out of, so I’m going to. Then I’m going to run like the wind is at my back, aiding my flight. This has been fun, but I haven’t confessed yet. Lee isn’t bad. Well, she is, but still. She’s not, and she needn’t be hated. She’s a girl of loud voice and smart decisions. The unlikely brains – the fallen angels. She’s gone to hell now. Okay, I’m leaving, living this pen, taking this book. Until I’m alive and breathing and pen-ful, I’ll be running.
- Anna, xx

HEARTBEAT

I was in Camille’s flat once, and she’d pressed her hand against my chest. “Your heart beats so fast.” She’d informed me. She’s right, by the way. Being slightly deer, my heart beats quicker than yours, hence my life will be shorter anyway. But with the way it’s gone, it clearly seems inevitably shorter. But Cammie was saddened by it. The date had been 24th of December, and she’d wanted to celebrate the old customs by exchanging gifts the next day. I think she had planned to do it with me until we were old. My short life must have gotten to her more than it got to me. I can remember the way something died in her bright eyes, the way her hair seemed to dim. “Anna… Promise me. Promise that you won’t leave me alone.” I’ve failed her miserably.

The story, I believe, I left off at Dolly and me running. Oh, and by the way, I’m writing to you in charcoal so I hope it hasn’t smudged too badly.

Dolly hadn’t ran to my house, she’d ran to a desolate shack like thing, held up by poles and the roof was made of corrugated iron. It had clearly been thrown together in quickly. She ushered me through the tarpaulin that served as a door, showing me the inside. The floor, which would have been dirt, had been roughly paved with slabs of stone, upon which materials had been thrown like rugs. Shelves lined the walls, backed with the iron, and the roof creamed ominously so I couldn’t forget it was there. She didn’t bother to explain the many books or papers lining the shelves, she just motioned to the rugs. Her face was stuck between canine and human and her body was taught, like a bow’s string, about to be released.

“This isn’t my house, it’s just a hideout. Made for the purpose of these types of occasion.” She explained, folding a few of the sheets and placing them with little care back on the shelf. “These are Bingo Books, so to say. Full of faces we wanna dispose of.” She continued, sitting opposite me so her yellowish eyes met my green ones. “What happened tonight. It’s a secret, love.” She said in a voice like death.

I had nodded, slow, like she was dumb and would not quite understand my intention. “Who was he ?” I asked, finally. Dolly pursed her lips, then stood, reaching for one book. It was made of flimsy paper and the pages were crumpled and stained. The writing was loopy and practically illegible. The fifth page in, I think, was stuck a picture of the man. “He was called Lukas. An ex-member of the Ascended. He fled two years ago, hoping to sell out all the gangs.” She said. Her voice was clipped and she was missing all the details.

“The little snitch got what he deserved.” Her voice was strained and she wasn’t looking at me. “Stay here tonight.” She said, and silence fell. I wasn’t talkative, not now. I lay on my side, but my mind wouldn’t sleep. The sky was dark. I remember staring at it, watching every little change, noticing every tiny noise outside. Dolly slept soundly, and on afterthought, it was probably because she knew I was not going to. At around 2am, a mouse got in. It had two bright shiny eyes and two long thin bald tails. It was ugly and mutated like us. A single tear raced down the hollowed out thing that was my cheek. I hated being this weak.

Even Hana could hold out better than me in a fight, I bet. I’ve never properly pinched anyone. I’ve never held a weapon and felt the desire to hurt anything. Until now. In that moment, after seeing the dead man, seeing the eyes, the cold green eyes, my own had lost their innocence; I hated being helpless, hated the fact I was a healer, not a fighter. I was, at once, loathing my own gentle nature.

I grabbed a loose piece of the floor, a smallish rock slab with pointy corners and I wrapped my fingers around it tightly. In a split second, I brought the rock down hard on the base of the rodent’s neck. It made a little tiny squeal and I felt a twinge in my stomach. Blood had gotten on the corner of the stone. I curled my arms around my knees, nudging the dead body away from me with my foot, in a shoe which I remember clearly. It was borrowed, made of leather and there was a hole in it, where the rubber sole had peeled away and pulled some of the stitching around the leather with it. The shoes were too big, but someone from the gang had snatched them and apart from the hole, they were good quality, with smart buckles and everything.

Morning was slow to come, and the sky looked pretty as it awoke. No birdsong. Not unusual. Most avian are kept in wall five, in pretty silver cages so pretty little children can stare at them, pull at their wings and gasp in pleasure as the little creatures open mouths of bone and sing sadly, of places that have long since died, of lush forests and bright sky and white clouds and freedom. Every place listed in their songs have long since been destroyed.

Dolly looked at me. I bet I was a right sorry sight. “You hungry?” She asked, and concern had crept into her tone, which was otherwise somewhat flat and still on edge. I nodded. I was always slightly hungry, partly because I was fourteen and partly because no one was ever well fed and happy with a full stomach. Such ideals aren’t granted to us. She queried a smile at me. “Come on then, no use moping around.” My head jerked up sharply. “We need to outside anyway.” She clarified. Taking a bag, she pushed a few of the bingo books and a file into it and pulled it over shoulder. She passed me a knife with a short bled and a piece of string, motioning to my leg. “Tie it on your thigh, where they can’t see it.” I obliged, tying the blade high, where no one should be looking.

The morning that followed was exciting, because we weren’t going to just shoplift. We were shop lifting fourth wall. Dolly knew exactly what she was doing. Reaching the wall, she indicted to the window. It was boarded up. Prying loose the plank with her fingers and a crowbar, she revealed a passage. “We dug this a few years ago, but it’s ideal for stealing.” She smirked, allowing me to go first. “Thanks.” I snorted. Reaching daylight, about five minutes after crawling, I was shocked. First, by thru architecture.

The buildings were made of clean, neat rectangular bricks in pale colours, the roofs were pointed and made of little black slabs of slate. Windows were cut neatly, made of clear glass with neat little painted shutters hiding the contents f each dollhouse - they even had their own front gardens, with slightly yellowed grass and a few had livestock. It was quiet. I looked at dolly, and she grimaced. “It takes a little getting used to.”

"Like hell it does." I'd growled. She helped me along, and we reached the area full of shops. There was a sweet store, right there, and another, full of baskets bursting with colourful fruits that must be grown here, somewehere in this godforsaken area. If they had so much for themselves, why didn't we get any of it ? I got limes, six limes and I was told to suck them, you know, so I don't get scurvy or whatever. All the fold made my mouth water.

I’m stopping now, again, because I’ve slipped and there’s a rock stuck in my knee and it hurts like hell and it’s hard to concentrate when one is bleeding for the country. Farewell until next time, friend.

Anna, xx

SAVAGES

 Hello again, it's me. Of course it is, it couldn't be anyone else. There's a big cut on knee and it hurts a lot. The skin is blackened and there's puss coming out of it. I'm not trying to be off putting, it's just easier for me to write about it to distract me. I've ripped my blouse and used the linen to slow the bleeding. My bloods clotted fairly well anyway, so it's not like I'm in an awful situation - just not exactly desirable, I guess. I sort of want to cry and I sort of want to scream. I'm hurting. 

When me and Dolly breached wall four, I'd been insanely angry. Dolly smirked. "Think of it as a buffet for the smart ones." Her voice sounded excited. Small groups of people walked by. Little girls in brightly coloured clothing and rosy cheeks; little boys in smart clothes and dark shiny shoes; mothers in long dresses and fancy hairdos; bustling fathers with worried faces. I closed my eyes for a second and I remember breathing slowly, noting the muffled life and the plastic-perfect people. They looked so ... happy. Full faced, dimple cheeked simpletons. Her elbow smashed into my hip bone. "Shout something, distract them for me, will ya ?" She intoned, her voice losing the bounce it had a few seconds earlier. I had an idea. I ran forward, making a scene. My body appeared from the alley and scream hit my throat, loud and piercing. My body crashed to the floor messily, and my lungs had the air stolen from them. Gasping, I'd faced the gathering crowd. "SOMEONES COMING ! THEY'VE GOT A GUN !" My body convulsed and I rolled my eyes to the back of my head, letting my body go limp. I'd seen enough people pass out to know how to fake it. The crowd was tense, and I heard mutterings. Then, someone screamed. "She's dead !" And they fled. Well, dead hadn't been what I was aiming for, but it worked with me. 

I felt a hand grab my ankle and I pulled myself up. I was face to face with Dolly. She grinned, shaking her head. "Gold star, miss Annabeth. Please don't do that again, they'll call the cops." I blinked once, then smiled. "Jesus christ, I could've done better." She handed me an apple, and my smile widened even more. I can't begin to explain it to you, but let me say, it was so beautifully red and then skin was so smooth and taught and the shape so perfected, chiseled and flowing. I bit into in tentatively, my mouth uncertain to the sweet juice that burst from the taught flesh. I gasped, swallowing. It was sweet, refreshing and something otherwordly. I'd never eaten fruit beside limes, only seen apples in the hands of others, or next to the letter A in the alphabet. Dolly actually laughed at my surprised, flushed face. "Never eaten one ?" She asked. My mouth was full of the unfamiliar fruit, so I just shook my head, a trail of juice leaking from one corner of my smiling mouth. 

That's when I saw her. Her hair was chestnut and long, reaching her waist. Her eyes were an amber brown, and dark like voids. Her skin was pale, her clothing debatably ruined. She was thin, but she was also ... seethrough. A ghost. My breath caught in my throat, but she shook her head and then she disappeared. "Did you see her ?" Dolly inquired. I was somewhat shocked. The girl's face had been serene. She had been wearing a brown top and a dark denim skirt, and those eyes were haunting. "...Yeah." I said, my eyebrows closing in on each other as I thought more on what I'd seen. She must be from wall two, surely. "That, Anna, is Enigma Code. The most dangerous person alive." The werewolf murmured, her voice respectful and fearful all at once.  I hadn't responded. Dolly patted her bag. "We're done here." Her body was already moving away.

"HEY !" A loud, threatening voice rang out suddenly, and my body stiffened. It was male and it sounded like the speaker had authority. 

"Shit ... busted." I heard the voice of Dolly say, and the rest happened in slow motion. I turned, my body whirring into action. I saw his face, handsome but scary. His eyes like glass were empty, his hair was dark and his clothing was uniform and it was black leather. My eyes flew wide because he had a gun and my body wasn't good at moving quickly. I heard the gun go and it was then that I registered pain in my shoulder. I screamed louder than I had before when I was faking. It burnt, like fire. Fire, engulfing my body. I heard Dolly gasp, saw her body spin through blurry vision. Pain was making my vision hazy. I could hear heavy footfalls closing in on me; I could see light dancing off a blade. He was going to kill me, slit my neck, my wrists. I curled up as if it would protect my body. I heard him laugh and then I heard a roar. 

Dolly's body made contact with his, her pale fur bristling. I could only hear, but I could hear ripping. I heard a gun go off, but it didn't worry me anymore. Dolly's teeth clamped over my body and we were running quicker than I thought was possible. My body was hitting something wet, but I couldn't focus on what it was. My mind kept closing down. I can't remember clearly what happened next, but it hurt me. 

We'd slowed and my eyes flickered open. We had come to rest outside my house. Dolly had her right hand on her hip. "You're okay." She wheezed. She must be out of breath, I thought. "You're ... okay." She said slowly, kneeling to look into my eyes. Her eyes were a soft baby blue, and her greasy hair tickled my face. Her body convulsed then, and she coughed blood onto my face. My eyes flew wide, my body seized up. "Sorry .." She murmured, body collapsing onto mine. I cried out, pushing back against her. That's when I saw it. Blood, blossoming neatly from a bullet wound. It was where her stomach was. I shook my head. It was too horrible to think about, her slowly being eaten alive by her own stomach acid. All the memories of the heat and the apple and the juice faded. Even the sky seemed to darken. It took too long for tears to cloud my vision. "No ..." I moaned, flopping over her body. No sobbing happened, I just buried my face in the linen of her shirt, my eyes wide with disbelief. "Please, Dolly." I had cried into her dead body. 

I'm still sorry. Still sorry. I have to go because I'm crying now. I'm weak. A setback. 

Annabeth xx