Blood Type-O

Chapter 2: V is for Violet

My seizures were getting worse. No one denied it except for my father who would only say it was temporary. But after ten years of the same words you'd think he would have donned new ones or at least attempted to sound up beat. That was not the way of my father.

Anise told me the truth no with words. She hadn't spoken in a good ten years it was another little gift the chaos had left me. But not even the chaos could keep the mirth or sass from her eyes. She had learned to talk with her hands and I had learned the same. My mother was the only who seemed to abhor the way she communicated insisting it was a way for attention. But her company was what made my seizures and lack of memory bearable in the beginning. She was something to latch on to. I loved her. She was my only sister and when I had laid in my hospital bed and in the bed of our new house she perched on a chair and read books. Only her lips moving. In those days I hadn't though much of it. I hadn't considered her voice.

My mother had been reduced to nothing but a heap of nerves and whimpers but that last part came in handy. And my father was reduced to a ghost who persisted home only for sleep and that was during the late day. It was another gift. We had been ordered to relocate the day after I left the hospital. So my father packed us up and moved us to the rock belt. It was the outer most part of Ring city and it was notorious. it was where all the dangerous Rabids were kept. And it was a very known fact through out the other rings that it's state of the art Rabid facility was known to 'accidentally' have Rabids escape. And it was the place where my father worked. He moved us faster than I could blink into a dusty rickety old house built into the side of a hill. He assured us it was perfectly safe from Rabids but the old revolver kept in the kitchen spoke louder. When he taught me how to shoot despite my conditions I knew it was a lie made for my mother. And this became my life and just like that I went into the unknown of the rock belt and all it's rolling hills and Rabid charms.

"Violet. Violet?" called mother from down the hall. I groaned and stretched my back. I had managed to become wound around my ratty quilts. I sighed and dip my toe onto the chilled wood floor. It was enough to send shivers down my spine. There wasn't any light from my window i was alone in the darkness of my bedroom with only the dim light from my room's open door. "Violet? Violet get up or you'll be late."

"Coming," I said though it came out as a stifled groan. I set to work. With the little light from the hallway I could see well enough.

My closet was just a small alcove with a poor excuse for a curtain. The curtain groaned sharing my inward annoyance at morning. I shuffle through the ten hangers trying to find something to wear. I settle on a corduroy pinafore dress. It's a dark forest green and a pair of darker green eyes flash in my mind. I snatch the dress, a black turtle-neck and, tights, ignoring my mind. It can't always be trusted after having it wander and disobey me for ten years I know what to do. I head into the soft light of the hallway. paint and what was supposed to yellow flower wall paper was peeling.

The bathroom door was shut and I banged my knuckles against it's abused wood. No one answered- Anise was in there.

"Just because you don't talk doesn't mean you can't hear me," I hissed against the withered grains. Anise still pretended not to hear me.

I lost my patience and opted to dress in complete darkness than wait for Anise to finish in the bathroom. When I'm dressed I comb my fingers through the wild dark curls of my hair. I grabbed my bag by the door and I headed down the narrow stairs and into the earthy scent of the kitchen.

"'bout time you get up," mother called from the stove. She was in rare form today. Normally she called me awake just as she was going to sulk in the comfort of her and father's bedroom. However today she wore a floor length broom skirt with daisy prints and her hair was tied into a thick braid down her back. She wore a long sleeve white shirt rolled up to the elbows. her hands were stained in flour and the kitchen smelled like a mill. Pots were bubbling on the stove and a plate of fried cabbage and eggs sat on the small circular table. She motioned for me to sits.