Through Glass(44)

I wanted to make this permanent.

I wanted to always carry the memory of him on my body.

I ran my dirty fingers over the skin as I finished, the dry ink staying still on my skin. Part of me wondered if years of tracing the same lines had made it permanent, but I wasn’t going to wash it away to find out.

I couldn’t risk losing it, so a tattoo it would be. That was if there were any tattoo parlors left in the world I was trapped in. Maybe a group of survivors would have one. That was if I found anyone. I guess, worst case scenario, I could ask the Ulama to do it.

Yet, someone had drawn rules on these walls. Someone had survived the Ulama’s attack and knew enough about them to write the rules down. To warn me. To warn others.

Somewhere, someone might be alive. I looked from word to word, almost expecting the Tar to burst through the door at any minute.

I hadn’t heard a sound since the ones who had tried to attack me yesterday fled from the light. Everything had been quiet, even the usual crackle of the fire seemed quieter than I would have expected. The darkness swallowed up the sound since it couldn’t steal the light away.

I pulled one of the packets of food out of my hastily repacked backpack, careful not to cause any more damage to my family’s portrait than I had already caused after my frantic fire lighting last night. I ripped the top off the packet and the putrid smell hit my nose like a wave of vomit. My face curled up in disgust and I sat back, my stomach tightening in fear of what I was about to put inside of it.

I hadn’t bothered to eat last night, the jittery nerves had sloshed inside of me and taken away any hope I had of eating, not that the packets of moldy food sounded even the least bit appetizing. I was actually starting to regret thinking about eating right now.

“Well, Lex, here’s to a breakfast of bacon and eggs.”

I knew that no matter how much I tried to get myself to believe that, it simply wasn’t going to work. Besides, I wasn’t sure I remembered what bacon and eggs tasted like anymore. So, either way, it was worth a try. I could be pretending it tasted like sardines for all I knew, it would still have the same effect.

It would taste like vomit.

My lips pressed against the brown paper, pressing the sludge into my mouth just as my eyes lifted to the words that were smeared onto the wall in black ink. My mind replaced the missing letters instinctively.

Do not eat the f…ood

I froze as I stared at the large, jagged letters. My whole body went numb at the words of the instruction manual, the rough edges of the letters cutting through me. It was nothing, it was only words.

I tried to tell myself that, but my brain didn’t want to listen. The words of every warning ran through my head as I stared at the five words in front of me.

They were only words.

Did I believe that? Could I believe that? They didn’t feel like words. They felt like warnings.

Rules.

An instruction manual.

I repeated it to myself, the same thought that I’d had last night rang clear in my mind. I tried to tear my eyes away from the jagged letters, tried to move my fingers to push the food into my mouth. Nothing responded to me; my fingers wouldn’t move.

I tasted the rancid taste in my mouth of what little I had pushed into my mouth from the packet. The bitter taste on my tongue as my stomach worked to reject it. I could feel the churning in my stomach as the bile tried to rise.

Do not eat the food.

Everything in me began to shake, my body and mind revolting against the very idea of swallowing what still sat heavily on my tongue.

I couldn’t do it. I threw the packet across the room and then my hands clawed at my tongue to get what little was left inside of my mouth out. My hands shook as I clawed it out of me.

The taste only seemed to grow the more I battled against it. The bitter flavor growing until I couldn’t control the bile anymore. I threw myself to the side, falling to my hands and knees as I tried to keep the vomit inside of my stomach, the muscles already convulsing in warning.

I fought it with each deep breath I took; the smell of smoke shuddering through me. I focused on the smell of burning wood and the pleasant memories it brought back. I focused as I breathed, my eyes closing as the nausea began to subside.

“Do not eat the food. Then what am I supposed to eat?” I almost laughed at myself, the absurdity of the question irritating.

I fell back to sitting, my eyes opening to the cluttered room around me. I could look through this garbage like I had searched my house so many timed before, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t find anything.

Broken dresser, bits of mattress; my eyes dragged around the trash that towered over me, not really caring, not really seeing until a small circle of silver stopped me.

A can.

I looked at the cylinder from where I sat. The laugh I had so recently restrained was now bursting from my chest.

“Really?” I scoffed, my voice scratchy in the silence, “I ask for food and it magically appears. What kind of a room is this?”

I sat up slowly, moving toward the can as I carefully weaved my way through the piles of trash I was surrounded by.

“I should have asked for a damn gun,” I growled, my legs slipping on some papers as I reached for it. “Or a time machine…”

I reached out and grabbed it, the silver can ridged and familiar in my hand. I looked at the can as I spun it around, looking for some indication as to what would be inside. Even without a label I could see a million possibilities in front of me.