The beginning of the end

Chapter 3

It was a different scene every time, every day of our lives spent in this place. With the smell of burnt food and blackened silverware ringing against the white plates, the food we were eating could not be called food anymore. It was only burned remains now which, together with the blood pounding in my head, seemed as if they were moving about, waiting to end my life at any given moment. With our simple grey clothing on our thin figures, and our black circles under bloody eyes, we spent our life in a cage of white, surrounded by four walls. Our life was often short lived. We wished for, although unreachable, a freedom like the birds we never saw, while the sky remained silent in shades of fire and ice. And the wind blew away the clouds that raged like the storms we've always heard of. 

I heard rain pouring outside and smelled the air- the rain always brought a different smell. 

We knew that we were safe inside, and that, even if we were to return to our old homes, we would only find memories of our past, facing the endless sky of our present. In the evening, as we go to bed, we would feel our soul crying out for a home. That cry, it never went away. 

I touched my worn out jacket, still holding the scent of smoke, and hung it up next to my grey shirt, which was now stuck together with my only pair of dark jeans. The black jacket had a single pocket on its front side, but as my fingers peeked through the other end, I realized there was no point in saving a jacket I couldn't wear anyway. I faced a half burned jacket with a hole in its pocket, thinking of absolutely nothing at all.  

I stepped out of my grey room in the middle of the hallway and, in the middle of the night, walked towards our great dining hall, feeling the evening air on my skin, in my bones.   

Walking, I leaned towards a table and pulled a strand of my hair as plates crackled under my bare feet. The smell of burned food and smoke lingered long after our meeting with Jacqueline. Before I reached for my chair, I had thought about nothing in particular.  

''Hey. Tell me something,'' he said. 

''Sure,'' I said, ''as soon as I stop the bleeding.'' I sat down and played with the pieces of a plate on my foot. 

''When was the last time you saw Simon Elwood?'' He said, his voice distant. 

''A month ago,maybe,'' I said, ''I'm not too sure.''

''I-I knew it,'' he said, shaking. 

''What's wrong?''

''It's strange,'' he raised his eyes and looked at me, ''isn't it?''

I felt like he was going insane, and his silence was only a sign of an endless cycle he was repeating in his head. His sanity was barely holding on, and he was fighting a war with himself. 

''Aaron,'' I felt like he was waiting for an answer, ''nothing happened to him. They said he got sick.''

''And you actually believed them?''

I gave myself time to think of an answer that would satisfy him enough to let go of the subject. 

''Of course not,'' I said, ''but don't you think they'll realize you're suspicious if you keep talking about it?''

He stared at me for a while and turned around, now facing the other students. 

''You're right,'' he said, '' thanks.''

''No problem.''

We sat, surrounded by a cool windy night.

I closed my eyes and there was only a faint smell of smoke, fire, and rain.