We collect our rations but we can't leave. We must complete our duties before we leave. Our duties are registered once you enter the site, and after you leave. The timings are also recorded, and the state of your hands are recorded. To determine whether the work done is worthy for a simple piece of stale bread and some cheese. If you're lucky, you get a soup. A murky, cold soup. It looks like watered down mud and a few unidentifiable chunks.
I saw someone die.
A child crying for her.
Soldiers kicked the child.
And the other people just walked with their heads down. Eyes down. Just like me. But they were hiding their fear, whilst I was hiding my pitifulness.
I don't think the Mr is going to report in for his duties. I don't know what his plan is. But we're walking along a narrow path behind a compound, along the wall separating hell from freedom.
Before I know it, it's night fall.
Before I know it, the Mr is kneeling and signalling me to get up.
He wants to climb the wall.
I don't think he's sane.
The are soldiers patrolling, and about a hundred cameras following the move of every organism.
I point to the cameras and he understands.
"We just run."
He's crazy. He's lost it. They're going to shoot us. We're going to die. He's insane.
"Don't worry, just follow my lead."He knew what I was thinking. Perhaps it's because he's a fortune teller. He has a way with reading people.
I think I trust him.
His eyes are firm. Determined. He's not smiling. But he's reassuring me with his body language. Come he's saying.
I trust him.
I step onto the thigh he had turned into a platform. I'm scared my weight would hurt him, or force him to lose his balance. But he's steady and his leg feels like a rock. I grip onto a bit of brick out of place, and I suddenly feel him stand up. He's under my cloak, and his breath against my bare stomach. His hands slipping up my hips, landing on my waist. His fingertips, delicate, as his thumbs dig into my skin. And it burns. I can't breathe and his hot breath against me is killing me. I've never felt this feeling before. The butterflies engulf my stomach and my heart is beating so loud I can feel it up my throat.
He's looking up at me so innocently, so unaware. His head is just below my chest and I know he can feel what I'm feeling. He can hear it. He knows what he's doing to me, unless he's a fool.
Which I know he isn't.
He can read me so fluently.
He's doing this on purpose.
My cheeks feel flushed and my lower stomach feels like a heavy pit. I shouldn't be feeling this towards another man. But he's so gorgeous he should be named a rebel for his looks.
I want him to touch me more.
He's helped me up and I climb up the uneven cracks, and he's climbing up.
The alarms have gone off and he's jumped off this 50 foot wall.
He signals for me to jump.
And I do. For reasons I cannot seem to understand. I do.
The world's gone silent.
I can't hear the soldiers shouting, ordering.
I can't hear the alarms.
The buzzers.
The gun clicks.
The footsteps of soldiers running.
All I can hear is the Mr's voice telling me it's okay.
I'm falling.
I wonder what it would be like if I just splat onto the ground right now. How nice it would be to die. Maybe I could beg the Gods and Goddesses for forgiveness. For another chance.
But his arms are held out, and his hands are reaching to take me into his embrace. Within this sandstorm, this fog of sand, his eyes are looking directly at me. And he catches me.
One arm wrapped around my back, his hand on my shoulder. The other around my thighs, tucked in my inner knee gently squeezing my thigh.
"Good job Priestess." His husky voice melts in my ear and I might die.
The validation I need. The first time I've ever been praised. I feel the tears flooding. Soundless tears.
He's carrying me over his shoulder. He's running through the sandstorm. He moves the hand from my shoulder and digs into his back pocket and throws out his pass, only to wrap his arm around me again, but tighter. And he laughs so angelically as his chest vibrates with adrenaline. My hood falls off and I lift my head to see his face. He's glowing like a firefly. His ocean eyes are a brilliant blue and I can see my face reflected in them.
I'm smiling?
When was the last time I smiled?
I'm enamoured with him.
His coldness on the outside. But in this moment right now. He looks like he had just found a new reason to live. I think my reason to live is for him now. I want to heal him. I want to be there for him. I ruined his life. But I want to save him.
He's looking forward, running, and I'm staring into his eyes, and we make eye contact.
"What's wrong Priestess? Cat got your tongue?" He chuckles sarcastically, satisfied by his little joke. And I laugh silently.
My arms around his neck and I hold on tightly. I don't this Kallias ever gave me this kind of security.
I want to know his name. I need to know.
"You asked my name before.
Caelestis.
You can call me a tug on my clothes."
And he chuckles again.
His name is unusual, but fitting for his enchanting appearance.
Running in this midnight sandstorm, I've realised I want more from him than that I first sought out. I want friendship.
But then again, he might still hate me, and this all might be an amusing play for him.
I can't read him at all.