Sweet Liberation

“Next!”

The line’s tail didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. Though, I could have felt my breath was. As I gulped the parched air, hoping for its unfiltered and dusty contents to revive me, all it revived was a measly cough. 

“Hey, move it girlie!” my eyes drowsily shot back at him as to imply that both him and his battledress meant not even the grains of desert sand beneath us.

My feet staggered to bridge the weight of the wheelbarrow, sinking my incentive.

The tactless heat wasn’t helping my case either. Retracing my goal that lied just a few meters away, I picked up the pace of the weary ants in front and continued trothing away with my barrow, some crimson petals escaping the said two-wheeler. They galloped in the wind with their neighboring counterparts that came from the other carts in line.

Their airy dance felt so inviting, liberating – as though they were luring me to join in. Alas, such a thing would be of sweet violation to this domain.

The elderly man before me had just completed the conundrum of a survey, dealt by the front guard, and was finally up and ready to proceed towards his destination – as with the rest of us. Scribbling nonsensically on his dilapidated notepad, the guard glanced up at me like an alligator craftly rippling the water.

It was my turn.

I thrusted forward, palms slipping spasmodically from the worn handles and the wheels jumped with every hump it could take, until the barrow tipped the man’s knee.

From his surly eyes, an eyebrow was elevated, “Name?”

“Yuliana Braithwaite,” my words were clear.

His eyes were busy following the jottings of his pen on the pad, “Birthplace?”

“Area 131.”

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

He ceased writing, firstly surveying my tattered attire and then the mountain of flowers that filled my barrow to the brim.

“Carnations,” he remarked, self-evidently, “And red too. Are these their favorite?”

His sudden sympathy triggered a crack in my vocals, “Yes, they were,” I averted my gaze, “My brother adored them.”

“Who are your parents?”

I bit my lip and kept my eyes buried to the ground.

“…Then can you provide your brother’s name?”

“Mathias Braithwaite. Age fifteen,” I sullenly glanced at his pen skating around the paper, “Same birthplace.”

Resting his writing instruments, he returned his attention to me, “I’m sorry for your loss, little miss,” he peaked his olive-green hat, “You may proceed to the gravesite. Another soldier will be with you shortly.”

The anxious belt, that strangled my chest, finally unbuckled.

With haste, I was led the way by the perpetual tire tracks engraving the sand. My heart leapt, my mind lifted in pure excitement. I tried to hold back a smile from the carnations before me. Maybe this was it. Maybe liberation still wanted me.

Then, a whistle was sounded. I stumbled in my hungry tracks, too stubborn to ascertain the addresser.

“Little miss!” the familiar voice drew nearer. My body refused to turn with my head. Surely enough his brash call was of good reason.

The soldier’s stocky fingers held out a little black square, which matter resembled the family of clay – I gapped, instantaneously recognizing the object in a quick swipe of the hand. Oh, it was for a good enough reason! I thought, a great one.

“You dropped it back there,” he carried a hint of concernment, “Wait, that’s –

Looking up from the jewel buried in my chest, the light feel in my hands became as heavy as lead once I witnessed the man go near my wheelbarrow. My heart took a step back.

Through the bowls opened within the heightened carnations, a bare leg peaked through.

I suddenly wished I dropped what was in my hand rather than the wheelbarrow.

My tongue was at war with suspense, the soldier reached towards the pale leg, “No worries, little miss. I’ll tuck him right back inside for you,” his hands grazed the air of the limb.

I bit my tongue, “No – wait! Don’t touch –

And as if my words blighted his movements, a crimson liquid seeped through his fingertips. In what felt like greying seconds, he numbly looked to his hands, then to the body and then back to me, terror eating away his dimmed face. I saw his chest rise.

“A Thorn! We got the body of a Thorn here! All units – ! Requesting all units!”

It didn’t take a second for the nearby soldiers and the cries of the people in line to come flooding in. My legs tremored like earthquakes wailing for sedatives.

In my stuffy vision, I looked over to the trampled carnations. My savior had already taken me by the hand.

The soldier yelled once more, “The Thorn! The Thorn’s alive! Go after him!” But by the time his screams could reach me, they were muffled. We were already quick on our heels.

His faint hands wrenched my shirt, the back of his head guided me, silver locks acting like ribbons of a girl during playtime.

“Mathias, I’m so, so, so sorry,” I sniffled, air tightened in my chest during the vigorous escape.

He in turned panted, still leading the way without so much as a glance toward me, “You – You’re so – stupid!” he spat, in between breaths.

We finally arrived at a seemingly harmless breathing grounds, littered by giant scraps of corroded metal and tires, hidden by the amateur security of a wired fence. It would seem our runaway ended up in Area 132, the junkyard division. We caught some air in what was left of some sort of vehicle.

He sat in the driver’s seat, while I in the passengers. As he wheezed, his foxy eyes shifted to me.

“I told you that was a dumb idea,” his palm sponged the beaded sweat on his forehead, “How will you learn?”

“Through trial and error!” I finally caught my breath, “And that’s what we did.”

His breath gave in like his head on the chewed-up seat “Liana. This isn’t a game and even if it was, I still wouldn’t want you in any part of it.”

Even with the trinkles of sweat intruding his upset features, I still felt a stranger to the charm and intriguing essence leaking from his looks. He was in every way what “foreign” would look like. Ivory skin with an undercoat of azure beauty peeping through like the blue sky behind fainted clouds. And eyes light enough to whisker your deepest anxieties away. He mesmerized me to the core.

My eyes crept to my twiddling thumbs, still clenching the small clayed tile, “I just wanted to help get you back to your station. And the gravesite was the safest route,” I shrugged, “Then again, masking you as a corpse really was a silly plan.”

“And I feel sillier for entertaining it,” he eased his tone, “To make matters worse, more people are now after me.”

I gazed up and studied him. A slight tug of the chest as I did so. The stagnant air hushed my concerns from brewing up whatever in depth thoughts he relentlessly saved me from approaching. He liked keeping me at a distance. In his eyes, for understandable reasons, yet, cruel in mines.

“Liana,” my name only felt safe in his voice, “Don’t make a move.”

On impulse, my head inched to the right where the windshield stood.

“Idiot – what did I just say,” Mathias’ stifled temper stroke not even a cord as I spotted the well-known figures patrolling beyond the haggard fence.

The soldiers had returned. About five of them. And with beastly company.

“Little miss,” the previous soldier wandered around the area, “I brought a friend for you and your “brother”. If you come out nicely, we promise he won’t bite.”

I was amazed in his callous attempts of negotiating that he would ever refer to that thing as friendly. What the troopers braced back with leashes was not no ordinary household pet, that is, if household pets were known for devouring their residences. They were canines, yes, but a crude and pitiful mixture of what was left of a dog; a mutation.

However, other things dwelled in my mind, “You don’t think they actually believe we’re siblings, right?”

Mathias grew accustomed to my trifles, and I to his exasperated sighs.

He edged out of the front seat and landed over to the back, “Follow me,” he ordered in a hush, then glanced back and added, “Make sure not to touch my skin.”

“I know, I know,” I puffed my cheeks and watched him skip across the seating and into the trunk area. I carefully followed suit.

In the musty darkness, we awaited the men’s footsteps to grow pale. Our relieved exhales, however, seemed to trigger an even bigger tragedy. The whole vehicle cradled us out of our soothed lullabies and into a bed-wetting nightmare. I took the split of a chance to peep through the beehive cushion and solved that the culprit was the mutant, arched onto the vehicle’s bonnet and abhorrently drooling.

His slimed encrusted spit bore holes into the hood.

“Acid?” Mathias spoke my thoughts, “That’s new.”

Our eyes met in brevity and my view encircled his defined lips. He continued, “Now, on the count of three, Liana.”

I nodded, feet preparing the air.

One.

Two.

Three!

The trunk’s lid bulged open in the heat of a kick. We wasted no time in our pursuit to freedom, but I made the hopeless mistake of looking back.

The mutant charged at us in a merciless force that spoke “death.” Its tongue hung out like a glutton, eyes (three in total) beady and bloodshot, and if Maths did me any good…was that six legs I counted?

I gulped. We were heading for a truly dead end at the wired fence. And to worsen matters, I caught a glimpse of the soldiers cruising through a nearby path amongst the rubble. Mathias looked drained. I had an inkling his kind wasn’t meant for any kind of physical labor.

Approaching the fence, I took the initiative, “I’m sorry Mathias,” I gasped, “I’m going to have to disobey you.”

Before he could add another vowel, I snatched him by the hand, leaped onto the fence and started climbing all together. I was used to balancing people, so it took no extra sweat when I tossed Mathias over the fence and then myself, striking the perfect landing. Not stopping for any applause (although I felt my performance deserved one), we left the soldiers and their mutant in the dust.

Without realizing, we had arrived at one of the temple ruins. Area 128, I presumed. While I steadied my breathing, Mathias looked like he was on the verge of collapsing, which he eventually half-way did when his knees gave in to the ground.

He breathed heavily, eyes wearily looking up at me, “Your hand –” he began, “Let me see your hand.”

I tentatively revealed my hand, hidden behind my back. From a look of shock, to anger, then guilt, his expressions could’ve been turned in pages.

My hand resembled a worn scratching post, but in every seam, blood seeped through. I didn’t know which stung more, the pain from my hand or the expression on my Mathias’ face. This is what he tried to protect me from, the justification as to why him and his people were known to us as “Thorns.”

“I told you not to make any skin contact,” somehow his habitual phrase wasn’t delivered in its warning tone. It felt glummer, and a little ashamed.

I knelt to his eye level and furrowed a brow at his features, “Hey, there’s something on your cheek.”

He lifted a hand, “Where?”

“Here.”

I knew he wouldn’t like it, but my lips just had to.

A kiss, short and sweet, stealthily grazing his forehead.

I knew he wouldn’t like it. I hoped he didn’t. I’d rather he just called me an idiot and carried on like he usually did.

But the look on his face afterwards only pined me up and down, all around. His face stood in confusion, and pity. Like I was bird with a broken wing.

My lips stung, the taste of iron lingering on my tongue.

I inhaled, “Mattias. From the beginning, didn’t I promise to help you get back to your territory? From the beginning, didn’t I know what you were? From the beginning…” I shivered, “didn’t I like you?”

I refused to look at him, taking another deep breath, “My point is, none of that is going to change. No matter the circumstance or difficulties we face, no matter if my people turn against me or if this world tumbled down more than it already has – I will keep my word to you.”

A new kind of silence swept across the cool evening breeze. One that I think we both needed.

“Liana,” I jumped upon hearing my name, “Let me see your face.”

Gingerly, I rose my chin and my eyes emulated. Never before had our faces held this close a distance. Our breaths collided, forming an icy-hot sensation and his hair tickled my nose. He invaded the space leftover and tenderly led his lips to mine.

In an instant, the taste of blood vanished and all there was left was the taste of passion.

He released his soft lock he had on me and mapped out my eyes.

“Thank you, Liana.”

I fell frozen, though my lips still dreamed of a sequel.

I cleared my throat, “Sh – Shall we continue our journey?”

Liberation never tasted so sweet.