Heaving and puffing, I unload big cardboard boxes from the back of the truck. Sweat, ever so carelessly struts down from my temple, splashes into a puddle of the same cooling liquid. The polyester gloves which were designed to protect my hands, often did quite the opposite and pricked at my palms.
I rip the gloves off hastily and scratch at the insides of my hands. Along with the tingling sensation of burn, I wipe down my watery palms across the rough texture of my jeans.
I clock out of the job, and eagerly collect the coins and papers awaiting me at the end of a metal gray chute. I stuff the money into the depths of my pocket and make my way out of the factory.
The pavement crunches and crackles beneath my feet. I jab my earphones into the ear canal and let music flow in through radiation. My eyes fly to the brochures bunched up on a stand, which read the letters: 'STRENGTH OR STUPID?'
My pupils contract and I hurry to cross the stand. What the hell is that man thinking?!
I briefly look back at the sounds of sudden clutter and disorientation, only to witness the man running the stand being injected with a violet luminescent serum— one holding him still and the other pushing the strange liquid into his body.
The man grunts and and writhes in the arms of the soldiers. All the muscles in his body twitch and jerk, his veins are clear to the naked eye— blue and green twisting under a thin layer of skin.
Is it the same one?
His body convulses and he starts foaming at the mouth— a thick, white, bubbly froth around his lips. His fingers and toes are dancing with a mind of their own. The dance plague of his fingers spread throughout his body, soon reaching his face; his mouth.
His mouth straps into a straight line, then suddenly an open mouth, stretched wide. His whole body goes limp.
The soldiers, remote and reserved, stood watching everything. They grasp the man's cold body, inching their fingers deep into his flesh.
One of the soldiers' eyes met mine. Adrenaline rushes through me. My pupils dilate. I avert my gaze and turn on my heel.
+++
I rush through the streets of Piphia. The wind whistles in my ears and throws my hair behind me.
The onyx night conquers the soothing glow of dusk. Cold air welcomes me with goosebumps and raised hair.
My not-so-humble abode stands tall over me, with cracks and leaks scarring its face. Tarnished yellow takes the centre stage along with different hues of dirty brown and black.
The keys to my lonely apartment jingle in my pocket. With much ease, I unlock the door and slip inside.
I place my daily wages in a patched up piggy bank, just enough to cover monthly rent. I slump against the wall and thoughts gush into my brain. Would they accept me? Would they discard me? What if I end up like that man?
These thoughts drive me to a precarious edge each and every day I spend in this dreadful solitude. Sometimes I even lose grip of the cliff and fall into the embrace of panic.
I drag myself to the bathroom. The mirror shows me a honey coloured face with splotches of dust all over. The hair she wears is uncombed and messy; split ends painted all over.
"I look awful." I sigh. The tap groans as I turn it. Water falls down into the sink, and I rush to catch it into my hands. I feel the water splash across my skin, carrying tiny molecules of dirt down into the drain.
I look into the mirror once again but this time I see my sister. She was sickly pale, and had freckles carefully delineated on her cheeks. She was tall, and had broad shoulders. The only quality she lacked among the many was her strength. But above all else, she was a beauty.
"She is a beauty." I say loudly to strike my thoughts.
For her weak mind and body, they had taken her away from me. Injected with a devilish serum, I saw her writhe like the man but never did I see her die. She must be alive.
She has to be.