Clarke
My hands, soar and callused, run through scraps of bandages. I let the soft cotton wrap between my fingers, so that it looks as if I am doing my job, when really I am using it as an excuse to have a moment alone and away from doctors shouting my name for assistance. "I would kill for some coffee right now." I think to myself, practically tasting the rich, smooth taste already.
"Clarke!" I hear Dr. Parker call from behind me. His black dress shoes tap the floor, echoing with every running-step he takes. "Clarke! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. There's a little girl who was involved in a cooking accident." Instinctually, I follow Dr. Parker down the hallway, fumbling through the pockets in my scrub for purple rubber gloves, made small to fit my hands.
"What's her condition?" I ask, fear wavering in my voice. It's a rare occasion that we get children in the medical bay, and it's rare for children to be seen anyways. They are usually in school or tucked away in the rooms that are assigned to each family.
"Her upper body, mainly her neck and arms, are covered in third degree burns from grease that was spilt; must be a clumsy kid." His sarcasm followed by a snicker makes my blood boil. "I suggest that we clean, observe, slap some cream on her and swaddle her up in some wrap." I casually nod as we walk down a hallway filled with scrambling doctors and nurses, scribbling things down on their clipboards.
We reach a curtain and Dr. Parker pulls it back with one smooth motion revealing the little girl, sitting on a table. Her burns are awful looking, showing raw skin and blisters.
"Hi there." I say softly, gently stroking the little girls head. It isn't till I place my hand on her, that I cringe at the thought of touching her exposed wounds and causing her pain. "My name is Clarke. What's your name?"
She slowly looks up at me but I can tell that it's painful to lift her head.
"Hayden." She practically whispers. I smile as I slip on my gloves.
"That's a beautiful name." She grins and then looks down at her feet. "So this happened by accident?" I look towards her guardian. She looks worn and scary with her wrinkly skin and wiry, black hair.
"The stupid, little girl wasn't watching were she was going." Her crackly voice sends chills down my back. "Right, Hayden?" She grips the little girls shirt tightly and Hayden cringes.
"Yes mommy." She squeaks. Hayden's reactions catch me by surprise. She doesn't respond with guilt or pain; but she responds with fear. I get down on my knees.
"Well, Hayden, Dr. Parker and I are going to fix your boo-boos and get you home real fast." Dr. Parker hands me a canister full of white, cool cream.
Bellamy
"Bellamy, please," my mom continues. Her cheeks are rosy and glossy from tears. Anger is the one thing that keeps pushing me to leave her in our room. I am already late for work as it is. "Bellamy I need you!"
"You need me?!?" I yell with heat like the sun. "Oh so now you need me? After six years of abandonment and failure to take care of your son, once you get in trouble, you need me?" My voice is quivering now.
"I had no intention of getting pregnant again, you have to know that." She's on the ground now, gripping the shag rug and begging for mercy. "I can't have this baby, Bellamy. They'll float all of us!" She raises her voice. "We need to find help." I know that she's right. If the council ever found out she was having a second child, they would float all of us...including the baby. I bend down so I'm eye level with her, my voice now in a deep whisper.
"I don't respect what you did, putting our lives in danger." Her eyes are filled with guilt. "However I will do my best to find someone we can trust."
The princess. She's the first person I can think of. Except for one thing, I don't even know her. If I'm not aloud to talk on the job, that means that the only way I could possibly communicate with her, is have to pay a visit to the medical bay. I eye my mom. I walk into the kitchen. I eye my mom again.
"Bellamy?" She whispers confusingly. I open the drawer. I eye my mom. I pull out the kitchen knife. I eye my mom. "Bellamy, what are you doing?" I press the knife to my stomach and with one smooth glide, I push.
