I remember the sun on my face.
That's one of the only good things I remember about my time in the Outside- and the only thing I miss. In the City, there is no sun; the dark clouds that cover the city prevent the sun from breaking through and making an appearance. The only light comes from the LED lights in the houses and lampposts and the fluorescent lights in the hospital. But I remember seeing the sun for the first time and feeling its warmth. It was a new experience for me- light could actually be warm. Light could be something other than just something to see with. And what was more, the sun lit up the sky in such a way that there were no lampposts in the Outside. The sun gave them all the light they needed. And when the sun went down and night came, they found other things to light their way.
But I remember more bad than good. I remember the fear. I remember being forced to stay in a tent until they were sure I wouldn't try to run away. I remember crying for days on end. I remember the fear I felt for Skye and the confusion about where she had gone. I remember missing her so much it made my chest hurt, and I remember asking about what had happened to her and never getting an answer. But most of all, I remember a tall, lanky, dark-haired boy coming into the tent and assuring me that everything would be okay. But how was anything going to be okay when I didn't know where Skye was and I couldn't go home?
The only other good thing about my time in the Outside was when the Cardinals finally came to rescue me.
Most of my memories of Skye and my time on the Outside come to me in the boundary between sleep and consciousness. Whether it's just as I fall asleep or just as I wake up, that's when the memories are the clearest and most concise. I don't have many memories of Skye, and most of the ones I do are shrouded and compromised by time. Some have been hidden from me completely.
Like the memory of the day she disappeared. I can't remember anything about that day- only the aftermath. Only my time in the Outside as a consequence of it. I keep thinking to myself that if I could only remember what happened that day, I'd know what happened to Skye. I'd know what they did to her and why they took me. But the Cardinals never told me what happened to her, and truth be told, I'm not sure they know. All they know, and therefore all I know, is who was responsible for it.
As I slowly wake up, the memory of my rescue is the one that my brain conjures up. But even that memory feels blurry and disjointed, almost as if there's something wrong with it. But I attribute that to time. I remember the tears of joy when I saw the Cardinals, and I remember running to them. But I also remember the people who took me holding me back, trying to keep me from going home.
I sigh as I fully wake up and the memory fades. So many fuzzy memories I have, and so many questions to go with them. I wonder if I could just remember things clearly if some of those questions might be answered. But, for now, the memories can wait. For now, I have a job to do. A job revered here inside the City, but more than that, a job revered by myself. A job that I dreamed of even as a child, orphaned and alone, with nothing to cling to but dreams and memories of a sister I would never see again.
I pull the blankets off and sat on the edge of my bed, stretching my arms above my head and sighing in contentment at the satisfying crack in my back. Feet on the floor, I stand and look out the window where the lampposts haven't yet brightened. During the night, the lampposts are dimmed as a way to signify night and are only brightened when most Citizens begin to wake up. Of course, I'm awake much earlier than most of them, but that's just part of the job.
Most of the other Citizens get to sleep in until eight and don't have to show up to work until nine-thirty. Not me. I have to wake up by five so I can report to the hospital by six. Most of the other Doctors can wait to wake up until five-thirty, but they all live by the hospital, in Belial's district. Most Citizens live in the district that they work in, but I'm one of the few exceptions. Maybe one day I'll move to Belial's district to be closer to work, but for now, I'm just fine where I am. And where I am is having to get ready for work.
On a hook by my vanity hangs my grey coat, one of my prized possessions, and on the vanity itself lies the matching armband with a red cross, signifying my position as a Doctor. That being said, I don't really need the armband to show that I'm a doctor. The grey coat would be enough. Most Citizens wear the same clothes with only minor variations, and the grey coat is specific to Doctors. Very few professions get special clothes. As far as I'm aware, there are only three. Judges, Newscasters, and Doctors.
That's what the armbands are for- to show what profession each Citizen has. On each one is a symbol related to their profession. Teachers have a pencil, Judges have a gavel, Messengers have an envelope, etc. Once I'm changed into my day clothes, I slip into my grey coat and secure the armband around my bicep. Almost ready. I just have to put my hair up.
Once sat in front of my vanity, I don't look in the mirror. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. Not with the black tape I've used to cover my reflection. Rather, I look at the three pictures I have taped to the mirror. My other prized possessions, more prized to me than my Doctor's coat. Pictures aren't common in the City, seeing as someone's Death is worth more remembrance than their life. So to have three is something rare and special, and I cherish my pictures with all of my heart.
The one at the top is of my parents, taken only a month before I was born. The parents I never really got to meet. Sometimes I place my finger on my mother's pregnant belly, marveling at the fact that I was in there, still growing and developing. Below is a picture of Skye and me when I was just a few months old. Skye's face is partially obscured by her hair, but not obscured enough to see her smiling down with complete adoration at the baby in her arms. At me.
The bottom one, and the most important to me, is of Skye by herself, smiling at the camera with one hand in her hair. Her headshot from her days as a Newscaster. For four years before her disappearance, Skye had arguably the most revered job in the City. It was hard for her, I imagine, all of the early mornings with a toddler in tow. But from what I remember, she made it work.
Like us Doctors, Newscasters wake up long before the rest of the Citizens do. After all, they have to be ready before the morning news goes on at eight-thirty. Everyone watches the news. In fact, that is one of the few times that all of the City is doing something together, and at eight-thirty, you can almost feel everyone breathing together as the news come on. To not watch the news, at least socially, is not accepted. I and the other Doctors even time our rounds so we can retire to the breakroom, get a snack, and watch the news. For some people, the morning and evening news is the most important part of the day.
That was why Skye was considered one of the most important Citizens- she was one of the two people presenting the news. That was also why her job was so irregular. She had to show up at work twice a day rather than only once. I still remember Skye waking me up early in the morning and carrying me to the news station because there was no one else to watch me. She'd lay me down on the couch in her dressing room and let me sleep while she got her hair and makeup done. And when the morning news was done, she'd practically run to get me to school on time. I remember her picking me up from school and running back to the news station, laying me down on that couch for a nap while she got ready for the evening news.
That's one thing I miss the most; waking up to the introductory music and rubbing my eyes and seeing Skye's face on the screen in her dressing room. And even after she disappeared, Skye's position as a Newscaster meant that nobody forgot her. For a few years, at least, until the new Newscaster took up their minds and faded the memory of the Newscaster that was once called the most beautiful woman in the City. That was one of the worst things about her disappearance. Everyone knew who she was, and so everyone knew who I was, and even back then all anyone could talk about was how much I looked like Skye. How I could be a Newscaster when I grew up because I was just as beautiful as she was.
I don't know about all that. I know I look like Skye, but not just like her. She looks just slightly more like our mother and I look just slightly more like our father. Not enough for people to not compare us, but just enough that we're not identical. I'm not sure I could stand it if we were identical. I already can't stand seeing my own face and seeing so much of Skye in it. Besides, I never wanted to be a Newscaster. From the time I picked up my very first children's book on medicine, I wanted to be a Doctor. I wonder if Skye would be proud of me if she was still here.
I turn away from the vanity. If I go down this rabbit hole of memories and self-reflection, I'll never get to work on time. I throw my hair into the quickest, but most put-together, bun I can manage and stand up to put my shoes on so I can start my walk to the hospital. The cool morning air will clear my head, I know that for sure. It does every morning and is one of the only things that allow me to keep my head on straight sometimes. And as a Doctor, I need my head on straight.
I stand by the window to slip my shoes on, but as I do, something catches in my peripheral vision. With only one shoe on, I look down at the street and my breath catches when I do so. A man is walking along the street, and even through the glass, I can hear him loudly slurring the words to a song that exists in only one part of the City. His clothes, unlike the other Citizens', are brightly colored and look to be falling apart at the seams.
An Invalid.
What is he doing so far from Salvia Street? Invalids seldom leave Salvia Street, and when they do, it's exceedingly rare that they venture outside of Beezelbub's district where their home resides. Salvia Street. I've never actually been there, and I hope to never do so. The rumors spread throughout the City don't paint a pleasant picture. A street of colors so bright that it's blinding, a street where only Invalids and Musicians live. A street where the Invalids do nothing all day but sing and dance around and smoke the plant that keeps them so far from reality.
It's also said that Salvia Street is dangerous, not just because of the colors or the plant from which the street got its name. It's said that if an Invalid sees someone not from their street, they'll rob them in order to pay for their drug. I'm not sure what they do to get it when they don't have any money, but that's not something I'm willing to find out. They can keep that secret for all I care.
How dreadful life must be for Invalid. How purposeless. I wonder if that's why they are so dependent on their drug; it's the only way to escape the reality that they failed one or both of their purposes in the City. Most, if not all, Invalids only become one if they lose their job or fail at their Death and injure themselves so badly that there's no shot for redemption. How awful life must be for them. When I think of that, I can almost start to understand why Salvia Street is the way it is.
I finally look away from the Invalid on the street and pull on my other shoe. But before I can leave my apartment for work, I hear something strange through the window. It sounds like the Invalid is calling for someone, but the window distorts the call so much that I can't tell who he's calling for. Maybe someone he lost when he became an Invalid. As much out of curiosity as out of pity, I look back out the window. My breath catches in my throat when I see the Invalid staring straight at my window. Staring straight at me. I freeze, unable to move except for the shaking of my hands as he begins to sing again. But this time, even the window can't distort his words.
"Princess of Versailles, Princess of Versailles,
Why have you forsaken us?
Princess of Versailles, Princess of Versailles,
Can't you hear your people call?
Where have you gone?
We call for you, but you can't hear
They keep you so far in the dark
You can't find your way home again
Princess of Versailles, Princess of Versailles,
Won't you come back to us?
Princess of Versailles, Princess of Versailles,
Won't you lead us to the promised land?"
I step away from the window slowly. The Invalid's song has both confused and frightened me. How high was he? How far from reality had he slipped to look up at a random woman's window in a district that wasn't his own and sing a song that made no sense? A song that might not even make sense to other Invalids? His voice starts to move further away, and I spare one last glance out the window to see him continuing down the street, still singing to the "Princess of Versailles". I only wonder who the song was really meant for, or if the "Princess of Versailles" only exists in his delusions. As far as I'm aware, no such place as Versailles even exists.
After a few calming breaths, I walk out of my bedroom, grab a banana for the walk, and snatch up my keys. I wonder if I'll be seeing the Invalid soon. The only reason Invalids wander from Salvia Street, from what I understand, is because they need help. Even if they are too far gone in their own hallucinations that they don't consciously know it. Maybe that's why he's here in Lucifer's district. It sits in between Beezelbub's and Belial's. In between Salvia Street and the hospital.
Well, if he does appear at the hospital, I'll do my best to heal him. That's what I do. I heal Citizens and occasionally bring new life into the City. I can't let the interaction with the Invalid cloud my judgment. I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it. With that thought in mind, I exit my apartment, lock it, and start the walk to the hospital. The walk to my job.
The walk to my very life and soul.