Invalid

One

Loading into the buses was never the hard part, I had done that enough in the past so I could go to school. The hard part was never knowing where they were going, or if I would make it out alive this time...

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Every year that goes by is just another burden.

It'll be three-hundred and sixty-five horrid days of doing God knows what so I won't go hungry, thirsty, or without some kind of roof over my head. And let's not even think about the last time I had a hot shower, or if i'll even get one this year.

Though, just like last year, i'll probably have to make do with less than half of what I really need, rummaging around in my flimsy backpack for the next six months in hopes of something i'll come to posses being a good trade, leaving the next half of the year up to luck if I can escape the yearly Government search -which includes any Invalids found- that takes anything I could be carrying as payment for them sparing my life all those years ago.

But of course, luck is never on an Invalid's side.

I hold a calender in my hands, singed from a recent gas station fire -one I may have started. It's one of the few things I was able the grab before every Official in the area showed up, this and a container of peanuts, a few granola bars, an assortment of other snacks, followed by one water bottle and a few lighters I quickly grabbed as I left the scene.

The calender seemed off in the building, not looking like it belonged around the assortment of postcards lying beneath it on the floor and those beside it on the rack. 

But that had been near a popular vacation site, somewhere I knew was a dangerous place for someone like me. So, I hurried, not questioning their reasoning for Hello Kitty calenders placed with palm tree souvenirs and other junk. But that was three days ago, today's a different day.

According to the calender, it was the first of January -something I already knew- and was a Friday. This meant it was only twenty-one more days, not counting today, until my birthday. I'll be turning eighteen, which is just another burden to worry about.

Many Invalids don't make it to nineteen.

Thinking about such thoughts made me swallow hard, my throat dry since earlier that day, me having to cut off the amount of water I was using to prevent future dehydration.

There are many reasons for the shortage in Invalid adults, the main one being the Officials.

Another is suicide, they can't take it anymore, so they don't. Starvation also occurs. Many people will give food to a helpless child, Invalid or not. But when adulthood strikes, it's as if a sign has been nailed to our heads reading, 'DON'T COME ANY CLOSER. I AM NOW OLD ENOUGH TO SURVIVE ON MY OWN'.

And let's not even go into the diseases caught by both young and old Invalids. 

Our entire title ensures death. It more or less depends on how old you are before you find out what the ultimate cause of it will be.

I suppose that's why my sister was lucky, dying during the bombing, never recruited for war, never forced to kill another.

Never knowing why, my mind always heads in the direction of Dekka. My sister; brown hair, brown eyes, nothing too special. But still my sister.

The crying I always assume will follow such thoughts never comes though. Just an empty pit of depression that will probably keep me awake all night, as it always does when it arrives.

A fire burns before me, not that big but enough to keep me warm on this cold January night that I wasn't able to break into an abandoned house for shelter. My new lighters came in handy for this task, just as my old one had when it burnt down the gas station.

I don't want to be this person, I tell myself. But even though I don't, I know I have to. I won't survive without committing crimes such as burning down businesses, or stealing. Thoughts like this still make me sick but I choke the feelings down and continue on.

A few minutes and a half eaten granola bar later, -one I will wrap back up for lunch tomorrow- I saw a site that was all too familiar, a little kid, dressed in rags with a runny nose.

He won't survive the night, my mind thought. Not with the start of a cold and clothes like that.

He was small, fragile looking even. His dark skin fading into the background that was night. When his eyes finally landed on me, and within an instant, the fire, they looked bloodshot. I could see liquid on his arm, faintly but still there, most likely blood. When he came closer, I knew my assumption was right. 

Not far behind was a girl, looking my age, and was probably his sister, -or in some cases, the mother. She too, I saw, had bloodshot eyes when they met mine, and a cold that was present.

She will survive the night, I reasoned. Unless the Officials get to her, they won't tolerate a potential virus outbreak.

I didn't have medicine, no help could come from me. Still, they both stared, the likely mother making her way closer and eyeing my bar. 

I had a choice to make; let them have the food, though they may die tomorrow anyway. Or option number two; save it for myself to prevent future starvation to my own body, because I know I at least have the possibility of waking up tomorrow.

My hand went forward, the food placed in it, wrapped in the decorated foil, handing it to the boy.

He seemed to internally question my motives before looking at the girl, her head nodding to him to accept my kind gesture. As he did so, I pulled another two from my pack, giving the boy another, and then extending the next to her.

I think I saw tears as she approached, caution with each step as she came, taking the snack in a swift motion and handing it to the boy.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked her, both of us watching as the little boy opened the second one and took a bite, the third one still closed. I picked it up again. "I hear starvation is a horrible way to go." 

"Not as bad as drowning, I hear that's worse." To some, she was saying a fact, a random peice of information she picked up on. But by the way her voice broke, the crackly tone she used, the sentence seemed more personal than that. 

"Yeah, well, I don't have an oxygen tank to lend you for that situation," I started. "But what I do have is an uneaten bar that I don't think you should pass up. Even if you are putting his needs before yours." I pointed to the boy.

"What about you?" She questioned.

"I'll make do." Even though it would be a hard task, I would have to. I'm giving up five meals here, that would cost, but maybe if they did make it through the night, they could help me build it back up. "Why don't you sit by the fire and eat? I'm trying to be nice." Something never given me when I was in her position.

She finally did so, sitting beside of me and the boy following, flopping into her lap. I opened the package for her, trying not to think about the loss of lunch I would be undergoing tomorrow as I did so.

While eating, she extended her hand. "Jane. My name's Jane." I took her hand, realizing she was worse off than I had thought as I could feel her bony fingers.

"Jen." I said. "And the boy? He yours?"

"Um, yeah, kinda. I found him on the street a few years back. Toward Eastfort, the upperside of it anyway." So, not the mom then, but a caretaker none-the-less. "I named him Wade, after my father."

"Do you know who the mother might be?"

"Yeah," she nodded, taking another bite and running her fingers over the top of Wade's head, smoothing the hair by the glow of the fire. "She was dead beside him. Robbers no doubt. The poor guy wouldn't have had a chance if we didn't come along."

I nodded as well. In the beginning, that's what most stories were about. Robbers harmed Invalids, stripping them of whatever they could, it didn't matter who they were. 

I suppose I could have continued the conversation, maybe ask who the other part of this 'we' was. Instead, I pulled an old blanket out of my bag, small and frail as it was, and gave it to her. "Ya'll can stay here for the night. Don't know how much help it will be, but you can also share this. I can use my jacket."

She looked at me with gratitude, smiling as she unfolded the blanket and covered the boy completely, leaving only a small amount at the end for her bare feet. "Thank you." 

Within an hour they were asleep, Jane apparently being a snorer. Wade was curled into her and drooling slightly on her chest. Only then did I think I should have offered water, whether my supply was low or not.

I could tell that midnight had passed eventually. Now it was January second. 

One day down, three-hundred and sixty-four more to go til next year.

One day down, twenty more days til my birthday.

How many more burdens to bear?