TESMOE
—-Book—-
—---------------------Chapter 1—--------------------------
"Marcel two-o-o-nine," the speaker stationed in our room crackles, swelling whenever the recorder speaks. "Thank you," it gave one final ear-piercing screech before falling silent. It's March 9, 1962. Another day of nervousness, probably shame, and a little bit of pain. But it's not like that, really? At least that's what everyone thinks sometimes.
Today we were taking our health check, and my palms are sweating - mostly because being close to one of the authorities sent me shivering, though I gotta say that the nurses are quite nice.
Barely noticed, Marcel peels away from the shadows of his corner and walks to the check room.
I take a deep breath and watch him go, a hoodie around his head, before snatching the violin from under my bed.
One of the things that soothes me.; my heart aches with warmth and the fear vanishes.
I slowly wave the chapmen stick above the strings, running it down smoothly, making them whine, before closing my eyes and subtly loudening the tune.
The song starts with a menacing melody before it turns to something urgent - then soft, great enough to make an audience melt.
I rise, twirl, bobbing my head with each strike of the stick and fiddle of fingers. My feet submits to the music, moving me around the place as I dance with my invisible maid.
The song—Daisy Spring—fills the room.
Who made the song? Why was it called Daisy Spring?
I don't know.
That was a time long forgotten.
I slice the strings with the chapmen stick—they squeak—and the drop of tune sounds like a piano key being pressed. I take fainter swipes, the edge of the chapmen stick just touching my eyes, before the music dwindles to a stop, and the announcer calls my name.
"Everret two-o-o-one."
I sigh.
"You're quite the musician."
I gasp.
Mark swipes his arms over his body, removing the blanket of his invisibility.
Darn him!
His power awakened a week ago, and he made sure to live up to it. I have yet to discover mine.
"And you're quite the freak," I retorted.
He yawns. I assume he's been sleeping for a while. "Looks like he's back."
The door behind me hushes, inviting smoke into the room. I look over my shoulders to see Marcel entering.
"Everett two-o-o-one!" the voice screeches again.
My footsteps echo in the great steel hallway. Hands buried in pockets, my eyes lower under the weight of my furrowed brows.
The number of my blue clothes—two-o-o-one—are the same as my last name. I never touched grass before, but I'm not dumb enough to not know names are not numbers. I've read so many books that talked about sunshine and far away lands, yet to uncover what daisies and spring meant. The roofs wrapped above me aren't my only limits. The sky…blue as my shirt, envelopes the globe and you can never run from it. Water - the only ones I've seen are the ones in cups. But there's bodies of them, covering things called land, and there's something called the ocean, which never ends, filled with salt. All the water we drink are 'sweet', yet I have yet to discover any sweet water.
But I can't…because the tracker embedded in my brain keeps beeping, and when I cover my ears with my hand, I can hear its faint beeps, as if it was submerged in a tub.
I stop in front of the door to our lab and it opens before me, icey-cold smoke tendrils touching my face.
The smell of chemicals tightens my lungs with anxiety, reminding me where I am.
"Hello Everett," the nurse in front of me says, smiling above her clipboard. "How are you doing?"
She still acts like I was in day care.
"I'm good." I force my fear down my throat from betraying me.
"Oh, look at you! You've grown so much from the kid I remembered you as."
She beckons me to lay on the bed before she checks my blood. Every year they take a bag of blood just in case we're in need of any.
"How's your diet?" She asks as she checks my height, which is 175cm.
"I'm feeling extra better now," I say in a calm breath, smiling.
She smiles again and forces a mouth-mirror into my mouth, before noting on her clipboard.
"You're looking really healthy today Everette! Keep it up, and you may now go."
I return her a smile before I left.
I place my hands into my pocket again and lower my eyes.
When I was 12, I discovered people could kill themselves.
Death, I've seen it everywhere.
A fly being crushed under my hands.
A human could die too, after all, we keep aging.
If I committed suicide right now, what would they have done?
After all
, they really do take measures we take no harm.
But the question is:
Why?
A smirk tugs at my lips.