Fallout Cures

03: Ambiguous Reason

I jogged dully in a way I even bothered if Tate half-drugged myself on the floor or was I rather doing a splendid job of trotting. Not an easy task it was to walk down flights of spiral staircases and eyeing everyone with an easy impression for the way Tate walked briskly had cut my little feet short of complete and confident strides.

He smiled brightly enough everyone unnoticed another figure behind his broad back for he was way taller even though I had collected memories of squinted-eyed people being small in stature. By great possibility, I might have originally came from the southeast. For I was small, the diminutive one among the four.

"Tate, why am I small?" I asked in a hush to Tate who seemed too gobbled of leading the way.

His head angled, answering without much thought, "Because we need someone small."

I scorn at the vulgar answer, "How am I helpful in this bit-size?" As a spot of heat rose to both my cheeks.

"My dear Nadia, you ask such baseless questions. Am I not capable of answering much queries of profound basis?"

At this, I stopped his long strode.

"You sound like Cato."

"I know," he laughed aloud with huge antipathy, "you know well that I don't like his—" he made gestures with his hands. "That guy is such a brain-show."

I shut my lips straight, observing his actions a bit deeper than a while ago. "But without his reasonable opinions, unfathomed questions, and—" Tate slashed me midway.

"—Cato is still a brain-grow. Can't you see he's a robot? Always doing whatever who's running this Bloc commands him to?" And he had said this with much distortion on his facial features.

"Your voice suggests dispute over the way of things around us." I carefully said. Speculative of the way his usual smile truly meant. It could have just held his abysmal thoughts of resistance and questionnaire of how to defy authority in the best way possible.

Tate walked a zippy pace toward me and brought my hand—in nonetheless—inside his until we walked forward to a room where we mostly play of what they call were board-games of older eras.

We abruptly sat where two mats with funny string places where protruded in all four sides and the gold line running along the square mat looked knitted; a red patch in the middle balanced as the boring plain design contrary of the elaborate ends were.

Tate picked the game then and it set up before our pair of sight as it lifted out of mechanic depths and the wooden square built showed brown and red wood in alternate rows of smaller squares. Pieces of the game then was brought thereafter and Tate had placed it rightfully where it had to be for I often don't play.

"Okay! Do you remember what's the game called?" he asked then with delight across his thin lips could reach apart from each other.

I shook my head, forgetting it all over once more.

He frowned deeper as he might have thought beforehand, my answer, "CHESS. Try to remember. Please!"

I smiled at his plead, gleefully stretching my lips. Gesturing thus for Tate to continue with reiteration of what I had called as him genuinely teaching... seriously as it could be.

Tate started his move as a small pawn then moving twice the block. "Have you ever wondered why this little guys are always the first to move out?"

Tate hands a gesture for me to make the meekest move. I followed without such called profoundness when I moved my black pawn the same way Tate did. "You're getting into something, are you?" I asked.

Tate stared hard, irritated. "Let me explain it intellectually through play. Can you just wait? You barely put yourself into solitude around me."

I nodded then, taking his move untimely to what expectation I had as he moved a bigger piece of unjustly carved horse.

I rubbed my chin vigorously as the thought of why would he move the certain piece when there are still a row of the small ones. Shouldn't the tiny things go finished first?

"Everyone in here besides Cato,"—The spite in Tate's voice drew me back—"Emory, Orianna, and Linnea is the horse. Four steps as always before we, two of us, could catch up. And of course, the prince is Cato who is always beyond steps than the horse but is appreciated, loved, and cared because he thinks he's too smart to—anyhow, he is the prince. And the other princess, obviously is Linnea who is always the cheer of town. Queen, as she moves, is always our two heads or leaders; which are both Emory and Orianna."

I stared at the wooden pieces and had put a good thought about what he's trying to make of the game. Therefore concluded that he came here not to play silly but to make illustration without pair of sights watching over. When I thought about it, no room has ever had the clear of sight except where the board games play. Maybe it was the game itself that defines what it could set. And it was silence filled with solitary moments of yourself and one's opponent with chins brought up by thoughtful gestures of hands.

Tate moved the game deeper to unfold the scheme of the talk, but I, on the other hand, had no moves left for Tate deemed the set atmosphere of the game as an illustration of his unraveling conspiracy against the Bloc itself. The only place he ever spent his ever growing years of life was beginning to be as a protective shelter too unbearable.

"If this plan (whatever anyway) was to fail, we are both the pawns who are first in line for something I'm not sure. But certainly terrible the King itself is cooking up in his mind—and that's whoever is he who controls all of the people here and us."

"We are not to speak of defiance against the only place we've known since birth." I resisted gently.

But he begged in a cry, bursting words in a riot, "Nad! We have parents! And out of the four—including myself—you know very well of what is outside. They don't define our destiny, someone Higher Above had already defined us. We just have to seek for the will given to us even we haven't had known it yet. I'm tired of feeling like an egg in it's shell. It's time. You and me, we are both capable of being the King and Queen as well. Never the pawns."

He stood up in a rush. "It's time for us to runaway. Together. Let's find who we truly are, the place of our birth and our parents. We need to find for ourselves what's outside."

Tate lend a hand out to take his expected hand in his. I clenched terribly in the shade of shadow the small table gave. Unable and frightened between the simplest of nod or a shook of disapproval had more loss than gain in either way I choose...

And that's just the beginning of the ever growing speculation of my confused mind.

[end of chapter]

too long have I gone to mdc (multimedia designs club) of Wattpad. never thought that it was so much fun... and disappointing all in all. dedicated to the readers still tuning in for this story. ppologizing for the lack of updates. But nonetheless beyond glad to tell that I'm back then again. Look forward for more chapters this season! 

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