3.25.537 A.T.
District of Aewa, Terra.

It's March 25th.  

I attempted to move my arms, but they failed to obey me.

Six. Five. Four.

It was like I was being submerged in water. I tried to breathe but my lungs couldn't inhale deep enough. I was starting to panic.

What number was I on?

Three.

I started from my finger tips, slowly gaining mobility up my arm. I kept counting down, one number at a time. I tried again.

Two...

One.

I opened my eyes and quickly pushed myself up. I finally felt my heart beating, as if it had shortly escaped from my body. Blood stained the back of my hand; my flesh inflamed with red. I coughed and wiped the blood on my shirt, the most convenient way to get it off.

I leaned over my nightstand and opened the drawer. I took out a medicine bottle, and shook two tabs into my hands.

I swallowed them bare, then leaned back onto my pillow.

Hell...

It's was another nightmare. I hoped soon I would be able to fall back asleep, but I knew it wouldn't be possible.

I held my hand above my face, looking at the veins protruding out my skin. The symptoms came usually when my mental state was at its weakest point. I'm forced to watch as my body interacts unknowingly. The longer it goes, the harder it is to wake.

I sat transfixed until dawn, as I always did, trying to understand what the dream was. I couldn't, and it added more weight onto my dispirited heart. My immune system got weaker with each night, and at times I'd wake utterly paralyzed in pain. I needed the light to pull this hell out my veins, but the sun didn't answer my pleas.

Not today.

Not this year.

After hours of wasting sleep, I felt mobile enough to get up. Unhurriedly, I made my way to the private bathroom, turning on the shower head. My daily routine was ritualized, as vital as life itself. My father was a cautious man, and he made his mistrust very clear from the age I capable of harming myself.

Don't run. Don't touch. Don't scratch. Don't climb. Don't jump. Don't play.

He put a series of barriers over my every motion, denuded my absolute freedom; grounded me when he could. I tried not to object to it, I tried to think of it as a necessity and the consequences lethal if I did not abide. Even if he had made no substitute as to how I would overcome my grief, or how I will overcome missing out on basic enjoyments of life, I never complained. I never voiced my opinions.

I just had to deal with it.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower basin. I kept the water near cold to keep myself awake. I scrubbed my hair, face, and forearms with precision. Any loose skin needed to be removed, any evidence of my existence or anything that might stick to a surface. As I peered closer, I could see the coal colored veins pulsing underneath my skin, rooting down from chest to shoulder, dispatching into my arms.

The disease has done a great deal of spreading since I was a child.

Now that I've matured the pathogen has been growing more intensely, but I've come to terms with it. Unsuprisngly, my immune system hasn't improve at all to meet the needed standards, so my sickness consistently remains unrevealed like a parasite, hiding underneath an extra layer of clothing of some sort. The medicine keeps it dormant, and as long as I have it and my antibiotics, I will never die.

I kept exfoliating until my flesh turned raw. I tried not to break too deep, as bleeding of any kind is forbidden. If so happens I ended up puncturing or scratched, my father would go through an entire first aid process, wrapping me in bandages from wrist to forearm, lecturing me on how to be safe. So I always stopped, and waited for it to heal.

Once I was done, I walked to the sink to brush my teeth. Then I coiffed my hair, styling it into an elaborate comb over. As I placed a blanket over my shoulder, I hoped that my day would be short.

I wasn't allowed to stay in my room all day, even if I wished. My father was family oriented and wanted us to spend at least an hour in the White Room, socializing and bridging together.

Everyone tried their best to not be distant, but I knew it was challenging to not talk about bad things. I attempt to take no mind to it. We're all worried about the future after all.

I opened my bedroom door and headed towards the first level of the mansion. The large wooden staircases creaking under my footing, echoing through the seemingly empty home. I walked through the upstairs lobby, it's vast floors decorated with ancient paintings and marble statues. Roland adored art of all sorts, especially those with historical significance. They somewhat intrigued me too, but after seeing them a hundred times, I've lost interest.

I continued to the second level, already exhausted by the pills. I paused to stare outside the view, the whole east end of the house dedicated to viewing the sea front. My eyes were engulfed into a illusive gray, as the water reflected its iridescence onto the manor. An early fog was rolling in, like tangible hands rolling onto the tide break.

Whenever I looked here, the manor would feel like a panorama, as If I was drifting off with each wave. It wasn't beautiful, but I couldn't think of anything else more realistic than this. I used to go outside and stand on the broken edge, letting the breeze sweep through my body like a flag in the wind. Roland would be watching me closely some distance away. It was a part of my childhood that I still enjoyed, and had access to whenever I needed it.

Right against our cliff is where the sea would visit, tainted with the smell of alkaline and sulfur. It's was clouded with debris, and when the tide hit the shore, it seemed to crash more fiercely than before. I could feel the water rumbling the foundation of the mansion, sending a mist of cold water in my direction. It accumulated on the window, leaving behind its poison.

Today the sky resembled the water in its somber appearance. A few gulls here and there soared through the sky, hunting for washed up carcasses on the beach. The sea-grass was growing wild, and native flowers stretched as far as I could see. No other animals were present. They probably won't be for awhile.

Past the horizon I could see Edon some distance away, it's enormous castle breaking through the clouds like a caliber. It was white, as pure as pearls, raw from the deepest ocean. They've separated themselves from the presence of the lower class, building a wall of wealth and gold around them. They could care less if the world plunged into darkness. Light was manipulative, and as far as they were concerned, they were gods of the earth, moon and sun. If need be, they'd create a new one.

A large tower stood in it's center, a single ray of concentrated light beaming between two pillars. It remained on at all times, so that Edon would never see the glimpse of night unless it wished for it.

Taking in one last glimpse, I went back inside and continued down to the living room and its ivory vastness. The curtains were draped over the patio doors, dancing whenever the breeze would creep through the crevices. The fireplace was roaring in front of me, and the flat-screen surfed through commercials above.

All of these I've seen a dozen times.

I got me a cup of gingerale from the kitchen, something to lighten me up. I gazed up at the window, my reflection showing against the colorless landscape.
My hair was sprawled about my chiseled face, like a winter's bird nest. The way my ash-blonde strands fell over my eyebrows, it nearly made my eyes look luminescent, even in the face of daylight.

My eyes were unfortunately the better part of me.

I noticed attention never sparked on my thoughts. No one ever asks me questions...

And I believe people found pity in me for all the wrong reasons.

But I ignored it.

When I returned to the living room, my biological brother Silas was sitting unresponsive on the sofa, watching the TV. Even as I approached, he didn't even turn an eye towards me. He seemed utterly deficient of my presence.

I sat down next to him, keeping my face impassive as if his disregard didn't pain me.

There was no hello. No good morning.

I briefly glanced at the right side of his face. He had a deep scar running down from his left temple, to the side of his cheek. He received it while deployed on a mission last year in Ferro. Having been injured by flying debris from an explosive, he came home that week with stitches and bandages covering his face and body.

It could've been much worse, so I were told, but he shouldn't had left in the first place. I remembered clearly how I felt when I saw him that day. For a few seconds I was petrified, frozen by the damage he'd endured. I was also scared by the other possibilities he could have embarked as well. The thought that he might have taken on a scar somewhere deeper. Whenever we interacted, he carried with him a more disciplined edge. He wasn't enthusiastic, or optimistic like he used to be. He was cold towards everyone, and towards me.

It left me distant

We didn't share conversations anymore, our words were brief, and short. We were no longer compatible, and even as I sat there I couldn't seem to get into what he was watching. It was the sports channel. I didn't understand sports; no one taught me so there wasn't a reason for me to focus on it.
I tried to interpret it to the best of my abilities, making side comments when I believed our district team had scored. I didn't know who was winning.

Eventually Silas looked at me, and said, "You don't understand any of this do you."

I paused, shifting my gaze towards him. His voice felt foreign, like something I didn't know was there. My breath felt frozen, as if I was shielded in ice; forcing me still with grievous yearning. "No." I replied apologetically.

"It's fine. We'll watch something else okay?" He suggested, his black hair shadowing the sides of his face.

"Okay."

He turned the channel, trying to find something more engaging for me to watch. It was difficult to do so. A lot of the channels were off limits in the house, due to the harsh patriotism and violence.

I saw flashes of news events here and there, images of the hazmat squadron cleaning up remains. A helicopter flying over a desolated city somewhere outside of Tara, buried under ashes. A firing squad cornering pedestrians on the street, in case of possible contamination.
A man in an elegant suit stood on a stage, circling an infected individual under the spotlight. Its body was under a series of chains, allowing it mobility to move around in safe range.

The crowd of dark faces observed, and were wooed by its animalistic behavior. They were going to kill it right after. It was only to give people a rush of excitement and fear; hatred towards the race they created.

Silas had to dig further, and soon I heard an aggravated sigh escape from his lips. It made me uneasy.

"I'm sorry." I apologized.

He paused and turned to me, his brows knit in confusion, "What?"

"We can watch sports. I don't want to see anything else." I muttered.

"Why?"

"I just don't."

"You're lying to me."

"I'm not."

"But you are." He repeated softly, his eyes studying me considerably. I turned away, looking down at my feet. I didn't want to argue with him.

"I'm sorry." I withdrew, standing up from the sofa. I needed to get away.

He stood up behind me, grabbing me by my arm. I jolted back, frightened by his sudden touch. He let go of me quickly in surprise.

"My bad. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine. Just don't." I trailed off. His expression remained dour, as if he'd been slapped in the face."Did I do something wrong?" He asked.

"No."

"Are you scared of me?"

"No." I hesitated.

"Kaur." He breathed.

"What?"

"Talk to me."

"Its okay."

"It's not okay."

"I'm sorry that it's not okay for you then-"

"Stop apologizing and talk to me already," He broke in, "I'm trying to be open with you."

"We're speaking now." I shot, feeling a bit bitter towards him.

"Why are you upset?"

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Don't act like you're concerned." I slipped.

"What did you just say to me?" He retorted in disarray, stepping towards me. I retreated back a few steps, unsure of what he would do. I felt my breath tremble. I watched him, like a scared animal being cornered by a dog. He saw me, and slowly shook his head in guilt, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to approach you so quickly. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that right? You know I wouldn't do that."

I didn't answer directly. I nodded my head slightly, not meeting his eyes. Silas exhaled and rubbed his face. We were both silent for several moments. I didn't know what else to do. I wanted to go back to my bedroom, but I knew I couldn't. I felt as though I've done enough trouble in this house as it is.

"I worry about you." He finally spoke.

"I can worry about myself."

"You shouldn't have to."

"What else did you expect."

"I don't know," He confessed, "But, I didn't want this."

"Well, now it's here. We can't do anything about it."

"I don't see how you can just give up so easily. As if it doesn't matter." His voiced lowered. I knew this statement wasn't about me.

"No, I haven't given up," I broke in, "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."

He didn't believe me, although he could if he set himself to it. But his mind wouldn't let him convince himself that I was truly selfless.

In the midst of our distance, Silas protected me dearly. I suspected it was not because of his guardianship, but because he wanted to see if I truly appreciated what life my mother had given up for me. To ensure I recognized her presence even when she wasn't there. To ensure I never forgot who put me here first, and that I took her away from him. He loved her, more than he loved me. But whether or not he detested me, he needed me around, because I was the last bit of her he had left.

Now he studied me gravely. There wasn't much more to exchange between us. Once the tension fell he quietly sat back on the sofa. I proceeded to sit in the recliner across the room, with my legs propped on the armrest. He didn't stop searching until he found a reasonable channel.
But it didn't matter now. Nothing was pleasurable at this point.

I finally felt like I could breathe once the rest of the household appeared.
Roy came into the lobby with his backpack, followed by Yonic, Soren and Tina. I could see them dropping their bags by the white washed pillars, that welcomed the entrance to the rest of the household.
"We're home!" Roy announced, his cheery voice echoing through the mansion. He came around the corner, first his footsteps, then his maroon hair which was styled in a timely cut.

He was younger than me by a few months, slightly shorter, and the only best friend I had. He patiently spends a majority of his free time with me, even if I disregarded it. I never showed my appreciation towards him openly, but he knew.

"Do you have to be do loud?" Soren grumbled, his irritation rising by the minute. Being born lean and short, he had a mild case of little-guy-syndrome. His lengthy black hair and mint blue eyes didn't help with hiding the feminosity in his image.

"Please, If you want loud I can deliver." Roy dared.

"Please don't." He disclosed, sitting on the opposite sofa.

Silas turned briefly away from the television to ask how their day was at school. Roy carried on with some clearly exaggerated story, and ended with the same old phrase, "One of these days."

Cecilia walked from the kitchen, holding a platter of cranberry and smoked turkey panini sandwiches. Her short bob-cut brushed across her cheek bones, emerging her eyes and youthful visage. Cale followed up, holding dishes neatly filled with Alfredo fettuccine and basil.

"Guess what's cookin'." Cale smiled, lifting down the plates onto the coffee table. His tall and athletic size made Cecelia look petite. It contradicted with his personality, which was gentle, and he had an open love for cooking. Being the second oldest child, right behind my brother, he took a great responsibility over our nourishment. If you couldn't find him around the house, he was most likely in the kitchen.

"That looks amazing." Yonic mused, sniffing the air.

"It is amazing." Cale corrected, nibbling a bit of sauce off his thumb. Everyone was leaning forward, Cecelia's cooking putting a trance on them. They all complimented her, trying to grasp the biggest piece with satisfaction.

"Oh children, there's no need to flatter. Thank you." She blushed, proudly brushing down her white frill apron.

Julius stepped into the room. He'd just come from upstairs, and his brown hair was still wet from his shower. His ebony eyes lit when he saw the food being sat on the table.

"Glad you made it, I was just about to take your sandwich." Yonic smirked, leaning on the armrest.

"I'll break your neck if you do ." Julius threatened, grabbing his portion.

"Where's Leean and Isabelle?" Cecelia asked, looking down at the three extra paninis.

"Leean is with Safeara." Tina answered. My heart stuttered at the sound of her name.

"Isabelle already went off to work earlier this morning." Silas spoke solemnly. He was unsettled by her absence.

"Kaur?"

I hummed and turned to face the congregation over the sitting area.

"Are you going to eat?" Cale asked, picking up my plate.

"No."

"You sure?"

Everyone gazed back at me. Their expressions were unreadable at this distance, but I could get a sense. I heard a soft murmur cling into the air. I shifted in my seat, a bit unnerved.

"It's fine. I'm not hungry." I replied.

"You really should eat something." He urged.

"I'll eat later."

"Won't you come sit with us at least?"

"I'm fine Cale."

"Alright." He disclosed, eyeing me apprehensively. He took the dishes back to the kitchen; the sound of silverware amplified in the quiet room.

Cecelia tiptoed to my chair, and promptly began caressing my forehead. She laid her other hand over my shoulder, whispering her soft concerns in my ear. Her demeanor was kind and loving, and her warm features reminded me of a mother.

She kissed me on my temple and spoke to me. I tried my hardest to listen, but despite her affection, her words couldn't change anything. I looked into her almond eyes, but saw nothing but my own pity. There's no point in repeating things I already knew. I nodded to her satisfaction, but my heart remained grim.
She hugged me one last time. With a sad yearning, I watched her go. I couldn't keep her away from her job after all, even If I needed her the most. It wasn't her duty to support me. That was my family's responsibility.

                             ***

The minutes following after lunch, everyone was doing homework, texting or watching television. But whatever the occupation, they all sat close to him, shoulder to shoulder. Silas was surrounded by love. He always was. They looked so warm and relaxed, like some ideal family image. I felt envy begin to prickle under my skin. Everyone felt so comfortable around him..

His superiority. His privileged face. His keen knowledge. His blessed personality. All the things I didn't have, and couldn't compete against.

Once the hour was up I broke from the scenery without hesitation. At that point I was about sick of it.
I locked myself away in my room, and cleansed my mind with music to fuel the hatred. Anger always felt better than pain and deprivation. I laid on my bed, and allowed myself to sink into oblivion.

No one even noticed I was gone.