Misfit

Chapter 1

Her luscious lips parted in a soundless cry of sensual pleasure and he felt her body cambering underneath him. He touched her lucent neck and under his unyielding handgrip, her carotid thrummed with a wild cadency. Her splendid body scuffled for a moment between delight and pain, desire and fear and her black mane spilled over the white sheets. She broadened two curious, viridian eyes, like a cat and she smiled, raising an anxious hand and tossing off a fallen strand from his hair.

He woke up as the automated noise of the waking city made him wriggle in bed and a few drops of sweat slid over his forehead. He stood up with a painful erection, as the sensations from his dream were still present. He widened the window and quaffed the sharp coldness. It was still shady, and the algid air calmed his senses. He climbed through the wooden framing and just sat there, one leg hanging down, the other coiled to his groin. He scoured his surroundings and stopped to scrutinize the few lights cropping up in the still dormant Entitled neighborhood. Even the construction of the neighborhood on the highest hill placed them, the Misfits, below the Entitled. He scoffed in disgust and moved his attention on their street. People settled in a bitter silence at the queue for the daily ration. He tightened his jaw and turned back to bed, next to his wife. For a second, her slithery contingence caused him nausea, and he turned his back to her. Rachel stroked him with her bulky, wet hand and the gesture disturbed him.

"Are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

As an awkward silence befell them, he focused on the agitation in the room next to them. There was no sleep anymore, not now at least. He reluctantly got up, stumbling by all things tossed in the room. Stepping into the bathroom, a quick glance filled him with sorrow. The walls were dry, more scraped off than not and stained with muddy colors. Cracked tiles were laid down screaming in a corner of the room. The floor was greasy, and clothes seemed to have been flung around aimlessly on the floor He sighed heavily, as he walked over to the sink and turned the water on. A murky, wobbly stream began pouring, filling the small, coarse basin to about halfway. Leaning forward, he joined his hands into the bowl, and with a slow, tired movement, dipped them under and back out, splashing his face. With a damp cloth, he scrubbed himself as clean as he could and lifted his head. Facing the mirror, he took one hand to caressing his bare-stranded beard and his bony cheeks, observing them. Reminded of his desperate hunger, a bolt of acute pain gave him a flick, and he pressed his stomach.

"Steven, are you in there? Hurry up, I gotta go."

Unfazed by his brother's words, Steven started dressing, too lazy to reply. The door then creaked open slowly as the brother leaned against it. Standing there, Steven's exposed ribs drew Michael's pale, green eyes, and for a little while, he lost himself in a stare. He then placed his finger through a hole in his shabby sweatshirt, widening it.

"Are you coming with me tonight at the Resistance?"

"I can't, Michael. We don't have any food left. I need to find a solution for that first."

"I hope you're not lining yourself up for that garbage again today, Steve. How many more times do I have to tell you? That horrible, plastic food they give you kills faster than starvation does."

Steven looked at his brother, there was so much he wanted to say. Shaking his head in frustration, he added just "Ah, screw it. You wouldn't understand."

He shifted his body towards the mirror once more, placing his hands on either side of the sink below him, propping himself on it. His face turned darker and darker. In a fit of rage, he punched the dusty mirror that shattered all over, luckily sparing him of injury. The harsh noise startled his daughter, causing her to cry. "Damn."