Her P.O.V.
I have been working since lunch and now it's supper. The aches and pains are now so familiar that I don't take breaks anymore. I word efficiently, almost effortlessly as I have done all my life. I act forgetfully at these times to lose myself. To better myself. To become mechanic.
I'm leaning over a cooking pan over my station in the kitchen. With my good arm I grab ingredients and toss them in flourishing the smell of green peppers and pepper jack cheese up towards me. Tonight we've made fancy grilled cheese for supper.
#2 is at her station next to mine. She disproves of my being here but I still work on. I know she can't touch me. Although being #1 doesn't make me the best. When assigned to this school the first couple workers, as I like to call them, got their tats through a machine. Even though I was knocked out during the process I watched #2 get hers. The machine poked a needle into the tear socket of the right eye. Almost as if performing a lobotomy. I turned away when this syrupy purple liquid started to be injected into her skull the man who told me he was my boss leaned over and explained.
"That liquid going into your co-worker is the healing salve. It helps the tattoo heal instantly with no side effects."
The almost magical healing salve is something given to normal people, not workers. I relate this to my experience now with being injured. I wasn't healed instantly by the salve because the hospital workers didn't give me any. I'm a worker so I must heal on my own like people used to about 20 years ago. I'm not really sure how it works except that the person given it is healed instantly without complications.
Suddenly I snap back to the present when #2 tosses some pans into the sink beside me on my right. I jump slightly and #2 mutters a sorry before returning to being in sync with me.
Once alone to my thoughts once again I return to standing in front of the tattooing machine. The first 13 workers were given unique tattoos be the machine. The last 487 workers were given numbers along the topside of the collarbone, on the left shoulder. Although the first 13 the machine decided what it was and where it went. #2's tattoo was put along her spine. I have only seen it a couple times but as far as I can tell it's a line of blooming flowers one on top of the other. She believes it symoblizes her coming of age because our boss told me that it was her birthday. I soon passed it along when she awoke.
If our tattoos symoblize something... what about mine?
***
His P.O.V.
I'm practically running towards the mess hall. I almost trip as I skid around the corner. I run to the kitchen and burst in but, there's a crew washing dishes. I look around and #1 isn't here. I run to the actual cafeteria and I see her limping towards another table. As she cleans I notice that she isn't using her broken arm. She probably wouldn't use her leg either if she didn't have to walk.
I walk up behind her so quietly that I startle her when I put my hands on her. I lift her up swiftly so she cant get away. I'm careful of her leg and her arm. I carry her as she struggles and I look to #2 and give her a fleeting glance. She slightly nods knowing I'm helping her.
#1 suddenly turns and glares at me. Her eyes not only are still stained red but they're getting brighter and I see tears. I look back up and try to ignore them. She turns her body into me giving up on being strong as soon as we get far enough away. I feel her body shake and feel her tears soak through my thin sweatshirt. I feel bad at first until I convince myself that I'm in the right. I bring her to her room and lay her on the bed. #1 doesn't protest as I wipe at a couple open wounds over muscles. I slowly rewrap all of the places that need to be. When I finish I stand up I sit in front of the door to make sure she won't leave.
With one last glare she turns over onto her right side with her back to me. At least I can still do something right.
***
