The Trouble with Tiaras

Chapter 1- Talia

Chapter One - Talia

Shouts and the thunks of heavy boots smashing against the bone-dry stone chased me through the crisscrossed streets. I hurled my body sideways, choosing spontaneously to go left at the intersection. I didn't care where I was heading; I just hoped my sister, Morgan, was keeping up. I didn't have time to go searching for her if she took a wrong turn.

The boiling summer heat scorched my skin, compelling our long, frenzied run to be even more laborious. My exhausted legs screamed at me to slow down, or better yet stop altogether, but I couldn't. While the sapphire blue sky suggested that it was a pleasant day for those who weren't fleeing possible captivity, it spelled torture for my burning, sweat-slick skin.

I sprinted along a few more streets before I realized that the reverberations of the Tracers pursuing us had disappeared into the dust. After careening around one more bend, I thudded to a stop in the middle of a lifeless boulevard. I didn't know where we were, but it was just as well. Getting ourselves lost was the surest way to certify that the Tracers couldn't find us either.

As I regained my breath, I glanced around for my sister. There was no sight of her dark hair, no flash of emerald eyes. If she was here, the silence gave nothing away.

"Morgan?" I called hesitantly, not sure if anything louder than a whisper would alert any passing authority. Nervousness bubbled in my stomach. If I couldn't find her, or if the Tracers caught her, what would I do? I had never lived without my sister. It had always been me and her, no matter what. Throughout all the various lifestyles we had lived, from foster children to runaways, she was the one constant.

Now she had gone and gotten herself lost.

"Morgan!" I hissed again. She was always the one to strategize when we had a problem. Unfortunately, the clever gene had skipped over me and gone straight to my twin.

I swept light blonde wisps of hair from my sweaty forehead and brushed the dirt off my hands. I sat down on the back doorstep of what seemed to be a bakery. Decadent smells seeped over the threshold and made my mouth water. I raked my fingers through my golden locks. God, it was so complicated. The Tracers, the city, the system. And my sister and I were caught up in it.

Shaking my head, I pushed the thoughts away. They could wait. Now I needed to find Morgan. I hoisted myself off the small, wooden step and looked in both directions. Good, there were no Tracers in this part of the city. I slowly took in my surroundings. All of the buildings were grouped close together, as if huddling for warmth. Undergarments of varying sizes hung pinned to towering clothes lines that spread across from building to building. Somewhere in the distance, dogs barked ferociously and a group of rowdy, drunken men were arguing over something trivial. The shutters on all the buildings were closed, and no children were found in the streets. But then again, children were never found anywhere in the city. Sludge coated the dirt ground and refuse occupied the gutters. I was in the Lower Districts.

The Lower Districts were the city's wasteland. Grime and mud clogged the narrow streets and crime was rampant. Tracers didn't even bother to patrol this part of the city; it was considered a lost cause. A few shops here and there were the only cheerful points of the area, run by impoverished individuals struggling to make a meager living. I hadn't even realized we had entered the Lower Districts. No wonder the Tracers had ceased their pursuit. And now it was even more imperative that I find Morgan, and quickly.

I wandered a little ways down the road, scanning my surroundings and casting scouring glances down side streets and alleys. I didn't see a single person, let alone my sister. They weren't pretending when they said the Lower Districts were just as lifeless as they were disgusting.