“It’s not the end.” He said, playing with the last plastic fork they had. It felt fragile, and slippery between his fingers. “It’s just our end.” He added, pausing for dramatic effect. “Everyone and everything else will go on live in,’ we will just stop.”
“Depressing. That’s all I have to say about that, Quentin.” Rosa replied. Tugging the plastic fork from his hands abruptly and continued to bend the prongs back and forth, hoping they would snap off, so she could poke her brother with them after. They both sat angled on the floor, with their backs against heavy, velvet cloth. The room was filled with stark air perfect for Rosa’s delicate plaster skin. She’s made up of many things, after mother lost her original body.
The room itself was small, with a single rectangular bench off to the right side. Packed with the typical Guardian folded up, underneath it. It was a used model, but served it’s purpose. Quentin’s family couldn’t afford the new ones that came out last year, the material were to costly and the ‘XXX Guardian’ took up too much room, so his Father found an old one and fixed it up. Being that the new laws state that every living quarter must have one. Rosa thinks of it as a metal babysitter, where as her brother a conspiracy. But then again, Quentin was always on for a good conspiracy theory. The most recent one involving Earl of Londenq, who claims to have uncovered knowledge that the Carriers ‘accidentally’ lost.
“Depressing. It is.” Quentin finally replied, losing his thoughts of the latest conspiracy, however outrages the claims for new knowledge was. He sighed, turning to watch his sister for her sudden fascination of the fork. Her red skin glistening under the heat lamps. His sister acted as if she never saw one before, and ironically she was the one who found it. He remembers the day they both snuck off to find something odd and new to touch. It was dangerous, but he couldn’t help but explore the barrier. Give him a good chance of getting out, he’ll take it like the sick take to the medicine. Though he never knew Rosa’s reasons for leaving that day..
“Where’d you go? Lost in your head again, Quentin?” Rosa chimed in, scratching her nose before taking a stab at her brother with a plastic ending. He hesitated just long enough to give her the perfect opportunity, in her mind he was asking for it.
He knocked her hand aside saying, “And I am not lost. It’s just night-time in here, and I don’t have a flashlight to see around.”
“Su-re.” She said, laughing. “What are we to do today?”
“I am going to do nothing, as we turn to nothing.” Quentin said, glumly and plainly. Twisting his face into something awful.
“That’s a very old way of thinking.” Rosa replied, realizing that her efforts to make things more light-hearted had failed.
“But doesn’t it seem to fit? Were dealing with old issues, old ways…” He stopped, mid sentence. Eyeing his father who seemed to have just appeared into the little room.
“Quentin, your theories are growing more wilder by the days.” He said, pulling the cloth wall aside. “Everyone is a system, and with any system there is room for error, my dear boy.”
“So you agree with me, Father?” Quentin asked, standing up. Breathing in the crisp air that rushed through the open cloth.
Behind a yellow, steel kitchen with a sink full of silver oil and a dear Mother who was reading the latest news off the chalice.
Father glanced around, then settled on Quentin. Whose blonde hair was wrapped up in a tangled heap on the top of his head. However messy it was, it matched his pale skin and blonde eyes. Where as Rosa once resemble her mothers image, long, sweet and people-ish, she now takes to machinery. Her eyes a slate grey, her skin hard and her hair a mixture of yellow and blue wires.
“Did you read the news?” Mother asked Father her voice full of dread, not looking up from the page. Quentin always thought that being able to tell whom is in the room without seeing, is a talent to be reckoned with.
“No dear.” He replied with a smile, “What is it?”
Mother looked up. Her eyes wide and teary. “It’s about us.”
“Us?” Quentin said, feeling his brows raise in question. There is not reason for his family to be in the news. They were simple folk, that kept to themselves. Not unusually bright or wealthy – just average. He found himself walking over to his Mother, feeling the electricity buzz through the floor with each step. It always tickled his feet. Which is why he tried to stay out of the kitchen as often as he could. He stopped short of the table.
“Were leaving.” His Mother said suddenly, making great efforts to smooth out her shaky voice. “I’ll call to work, tell them I’m taking my vacation days.”
“Leaving?” Rosa mumbled, peeking through the curtain like a timid creature. She stayed where she was, “were not in trouble are we?”
No one replied, and the silence piled in masking the room off before Mother started screeching. “LOCK IT DOWN!”
And his Father started rushing around the home, as both Quentin and Rosa stood frozen, watching as the world spun around them – doing laps. Over and over again. But before Father could empty the chalice, Quentin got a quick glance and then watched as the words burned into his memory, ‘MAYARDS RESPONSIBLE?”
“That’s our last name.” Quentin breathed.
Written by A. Writes.
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