Author Games: Age of Rebellion

Task Two - The Citizen - Females

DISTRICT ONE - Pyrite Mendelax

Frantic knocking rang throughout the building. Everyone was in the main dining area of the seafood restaurant we had commandeered, either planning attacks or just talking. We all had frozen, though, as our group’s self-appointed leader Iliana loaded her pistol and gingerly crept around a corner to the entrance of the restaurant. I had been talking to Amelia Mae at the time before, who was then only staring at me in shock.

“A citizen?” She mouthed. I nodded in reply as Iliana practically dragged a man in by the ears.

“We need you to medic now!” Iliana ordered, pointing to me and storming through the dining room into the kitchen, where we had set up a first aid room. I quickly followed in.

The kitchen was large and well spaced, and its shiny metallic surfaces fitted in well with the ‘hospital’ feeling the room now had. Along the centre of the room was a long table, half covered in supplies and half empty to act as a surgery table. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Iliana, after seating the man near the table, turned to me at the door.

“He’s ‘injured’,” she whispered, raising her eyebrows. “Please deal with him.” The emphasis on the word ‘deal’ made her point clear.

“Got it,” I nodded, starting to smile.

“Great.” She left and I walked up to the man.

He was a burly man of about thirty. He was tall while he walked in, although he had a limp in his left leg. His shoulders stooped low, like he hadn’t slept in a week. So did his eyes. His hair was wiry and black, short but messy around his crown. Grey dust and dirt caked the creases of his face. His cause for concern, seemingly his arm, was curled up close to his body.

“Eleanor,” I greeted, holding my hand out to his uninjured arm. Lie.

He examined me with narrow eyes before allowing his lips to curl up and eyes to crinkle. “Acanthus Antonius,” he replied in a thick Capitol accent. His grasp was firm and assured.

“Nice to meet you, Acanthus Antonius. Could you show me your arm?” I asked. He gently unfurled his arm, and as he did so deep purple blood started oozing out. The wound itself was long and ran lengthways down his arm, with puckered edges.

“Lengthways. I can’t stitch it, but I can try to stop the bleeding,” I sighed.

“Whatever you can do, Doc,” he answered with a wink, to which I replied with a giggle. I reached for the pads and bandages.

“Oh, I’m no doctor! Certainly not me. My father was the best healer in District 1, so he expected me to follow his footsteps. I never had a penchant for medicine, though,” I insisted. Lie. I pressed the pads to his wound hard and he winced.

“Why not? You’re a smart girl, I can tell,” he said. His Capitol accent was so stupid. I started rolling the bandages around the pads.

“You’re too kind, Acanthus.” He waved his good arm in dismissal.

“So, how did you come about a nasty cut like this?” I asked.

“Bombings. Rebel attacks, I would say. Wiped out my home, and, ah…” He faltered, looking down and rubbing his neck.

“Family?” I asked quietly.

“Not anymore,” he whispered back. There was a moment of silence.

“So,” I interjected, “A bomb, you think?”

“Uh, yes. Shattered glass sliced my arm open. I’m lucky this is all!”

“You certainly are,” I replied. “I would definitely expect more from a bomb.” That question might have been a bit too pointed.

“It was a different bomb than I’ve ever seen in the movies!” He swore, holding his good arm up in front of him. “It was specialised. It only affected a small area.”