29 December 2012
This is a shorter one. Hope you enjoy!
We stumble on in the darkness, over big stones and through large puddles, along the one road leading from the camp. The accompanying guards keep shouting at us and driving us with the butts of their rifles. Anyone with very sore feet supports themselves on his or her's neighbor's chain. Hardly a word is spoken; because the icy wind doesn't encourage talk. Hiding his mouth behind his upturned collar, Zay, who is marching next to me whispers suddenly: "If our families could see us now! I do hope they are safe and don't know what is happening to us." That brings thoughts of my own family to mind. And as we stumble on for miles, slipping on icy spots, supporting each other time and time again, dragging one another up and onward, nothing is said, but Zay and I both know: each of us is thinking of our own family. I want to look around me and at the sky, where the stars are probably fading and the pink light of the morning is beginning to spread across the sky. But no, my stupid eyes won't work. Finally, we stop for a rest and sit, the rain pouring down on us. I like rain. I don't have to hear it or see it to know it's there. I huddle close to Charity and we shiver together, wishing for better. Soon a guard reaches down between us and puts a hot bowl on our laps. I pick it up and realize there is no spoon to eat with. I give Charity the bowl and she grabs it, soaking up its warmth on her cheek. I hear slurping as she tries it, then hacking. Great, now I know it's disgusting. She quickly passes it to me, trying to put as much space between her and the gruel. I anxiously bring it to my mouth and can feel the warmth of the steam. I reluctantly drink it then gag. It tastes like arrowroot and rainwater with a mixture of cardboard, death, and children's tears. Well, maybe Charity did cry in it. I set it down and let my hands warm over it, but it doesn't work for long. Suddenly, the rain becomes colder and I realize it's snowing. Darn. It blankets over me and nips at my toes. Charity cuddles closer and her breathing becomes slower as she falls asleep. Her curls tickle my fingers and I wrap her in my arms, doing anything to keep her warm. The clanking of chains arouses me later from a light slumber and Ailill starts screaming again. I can almost see her in my mind but even the sight of her has slipped away. I can hear groans as the people on her side are pulled back and forth with her. "Really, Ailill?" I hear a voice shout over the howling wind. Not a good decision. The guards soon find her and I hear a whip crack. Ouch. I sit there for an hour, my head huddled next to Charity's, hugging her and rubbing my hands on hers to keep them from getting frost bitten. The crunch of snow causes me to lift my head. The sound is coming toward me and I stand up. Sargent yells about getting a move on it, followed by groans. I bend down and whisper to Charity to wake up. She doesn't move. "Charity," I say gently. She still doesn't respond. I bend down and turn her over. She falls limp. "Zay?" I say, my voice filled with worry."What's wrong?" he asks, his voice concerned. "Look at her for me," I hear a sharp breath. "What Zay, what?" "Her face is stark white."
Gemini Chapter Four • Opuss № I