There now exists a world where the colour of your blood defines you; and there certainly isn't much room for different in the year 2138.
Suki Kione has known for a long time now that there's a clock on her life, one that runs a lot quicker than that...
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Rage Night was probably the best night of my life, but it left me with so many questions in the end. It made it so clear for me how very little I know about what's going on around me and don't forget the even scarier thing that could be happening inside me.
I don't think I'm getting any better. I froze again towards the end of the night. It was longer, more painful ... more alarming. I'd ask my mother for help, but I'm afraid she isn't much better off than I am.
Neave didn't really want to talk about what she told me earlier on when I tried to bring it up again, but she didn't seem to regret telling me in the first place. Or kissing me ... certainly not that. I guess it's still a little tough for her.
I walk through the walls of Air Kru, the wind blowing through the curls I've pulled into a tight ponytail, my eyes trained on the ground before me, with my hands tucked into my initiate jacket. It's a large, warm, navy-blue hoodie that I was given at the end of last night's events or this morning rather and frankly - it's one of my favourite items. It doesn't say much, just my last name in thick, bold letters on the back with the White Wind Bird symbol right above my heart, but it instills so much pride in me.
I pull up on the street that I know will lead me to my pod soon enough. The sky has darkened considerably since I started my self-tour of my new Division. I saw a lot of new faces, some greeted, most didn't, but it didn't bother me. I'm just about ready to walk into my apartment building when a noise catches my attention. It isn't much, any other sound could've easily snuffed it out, but the rest of the world is silent, so it's at the forefront of my mind. I rotate slowly, not sure what I'll turn to see.
A lone figure walks in front of me, moving in the opposite direction to where I was originally headed. From here I can make out the dark jeans on his slim, lean frame and a black hoodie to fight back the cold since it's a little chilly out. His hands come up once and then twice, rubbing at his eyes, soaking up what I imagine to be tears, but he keeps walking, pummeling his feet on the beaten up, concrete floors at an unbelievably fast pace.
I hear small, scratchy inhales that gently rap at the atmosphere and I soon identify them as sniffles and before I'm even aware of what I'm doing I'm following after him. There aren't many people out right now. Most of them are hidden safely in the comfort of their homes to protect them from the chilly, 7:00 PM, night azure. What I assume to be billions of stars twinkle overhead, adorning the sky with pretty rocks as I continue my silent chase, hoping that he won't turn around to see me staring.
I don't really even know why I'm following him, it doesn't make sense. I don't plan to speak to him, I shouldn't even really care that he's crying, but I guess I do. The sight is foreign to me, all the male figures that I do have in my life seem to be the kind that would never shed a tear, not even in solitude. I guess I'm drawn to the idea that boys can hurt too. That it's possible. Society hasn't allowed me to see that - ever.
