Electrifying

Looking into the giant green orbs that were his eyes, I was pulled into the past. A day so long ago I had basically forgotten it. Four years ago, when the squad had only consisted of Nirvana and I, a young man was thrown into our cell. Just like us, he was named after his initial reaction to what was happening: Rage.

Named after a complete state of pure white and uncontrollable anguish.

:

Sitting straight up in my bed, suddenly alert, I listened to the footsteps that were echoing down the empty and bland hallway that lead to our cell. Two sets of footsteps made low thuds, one of them jingling with each step taken. A set was lighter than the other and I instantly knew what this meant.

“There’s fresh meat, Niv!” I hollered over to Nirvana who was still lounging in her military issue, plain white cot which was identical to mine.

She grunted as a response.

I glared at the only companion I had known for the past year of my life. He long locks of silken honey brown hair spun and tumbled in thick, glorious curls. The sprung out around the white of her pillow, making the hair look luminescent, almost as though it were glowing. Her thin lips were pulled into a scowl, her eyebrows furrowed. Her heart shaped face looked almost threatening as her giant moss green eyes locked with my own in a venomous glare. The paleness of her skin blended in with our surroundings and held no colour apart from the small splash of red that was constantly spread cross her high cheek bones. The girl looked like what would be the perfect personification of innocence. Her long limbs curled so that she lay on the bed in a self embrace.

Nirvana always became subdued when fresh meat came. When I first arrived, just a year ago, she was more than happy to ignore me for the first two months. After those long and agonising months, she turned into the outgoing girl that only I knew. It was like a flip switch, one minute the lights were off leaving you in complete darkness and the next, they flicked on and the entire room filled with such brightness that you had almost convinced yourself you were seeing ‘the light.’ She had explained that the others never survived past that time and since I had, she was sure that I would be sticking around.

After that, it was like the tween in her escaped. She gushed and talked animatedly to me. She seemed to assume we were best friends. Because of my independent nature, I didn’t adapt to that change so easily. But eventually, I became just as friendly as she did. Something about watching them all come and go really made us appreciate the reliability of each other. I could only imagine what life would be like without her presence and all I could see was a never ending pit of complete emptiness: Just a pitch black.

The first day I had arrived, I wasn’t angry; just sarcastic and bitter. They found this amusing and decided to name me Amara, – after the first month, of course – which meant bitter in a language I couldn’t be stuffed to remember. Nirvana was named because she was at peace with what was occurring. Apparently she was collected and calm, thus earning her the name that meant to be at peace.

She was right, over the past 12 months many children, all our age had been brought in and none of them managed to live past the first month.

She groaned, and rolled over in her cot, to face the wall; her back facing the bullet proof glass of the cell door. I shrugged, and swung my legs over the side of the cot and stood up, stretching my back in the process. I sauntered over to the far right corner of the cell and sat cross legged on the end of Nirvana’s bunk, ready to see what the newbie looked like.

As the cell door was pulled open, a young boy was pushed into the cell.

He was quick to turn around, not even noticing out presence.

“What the fuck, man!? This isn’t Juvie!” He hissed as he started to pound on the glass door that had automatically shut behind him. His muscle development seemed pretty progressive for a thirteen year old. He continued to beat against the door for another five minutes until his knuckles started to bleed.

As per usual, the luscious red liquid of life seemed to draw me in. There was always something about the symbolism of blood that made me feel comfortable. All of us, no matter how strong, intelligent, what race and or religion can bleed. Each and every one of us has the same weakness. And as I watched the scarlet drops splatter onto the cold white marble floors, I found myself a prisoner to them. Nothing could ever change how much I craved to draw blood.

It was like being sucked into a giant hole of emptiness.

“I’m not cleaning the blood off that door.” I muttered as I shook my head at the newbie, finally back into the realm of reality.

He let out a defiant hiss before turning around and finally noticing us.

His tall frame towered threateningly, his dark hair long and untended. I watched as his electrifying green eyes took us in. His full lips pursed in confusion. His olive skin looked almost too alive to be in this pale and utterly white cell. He sighed and plonked down against the door. There was something about his face. It didn’t belong in the environment. It was too passionate. He was too passionate to survive.

“She alive?” He asked as he motioned towards Nirvana.

“Oh, she’s fine. But you won’t be if you keep up with the way you’re going.” I muttered whilst Niv took the more simple response by just flipping him the bird over her shoulder.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He demanded as he glared at me, his eyes narrowing in the process.

“Kid, you’re bleeding everywhere.”

He looked down to his hands and groaned when he saw how bad the damage really was. I did my best to suppress the groan that was threatening to escape my lips. I threw my legs over the bunk, once again rising. I walked over to a small clear area in the centre of the room and pulled loose one of the many white tiles. Reaching down into the small compartment, I grabbed hold of the first aid kit.

“I’m Static.” I muttered as I replaced the tile.

“Gabriel.” He grunted.

I looked back at him in amusement. The name was far from fitting.

“Is it deep?” I asked as I kneeled down next to him.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

:

“Bitch, you broke my hand!” He snapped at me, pulling me out of my dream world.

It was almost too familiar, the way he was so angry.

“Does it feel like it’s broken, you dick?” I hissed back as I slapped his numb hand for emphasis.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know what a broken hand feels like?” He demanded as he swatted my hand away.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it would hurt.” I retorted back sarcastically.

At all costs I avoided looking into his eyes. Maybe it was Rage. Maybe he was just at the wrong school. Maybe he was just lost.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re a bitch.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to come up with a better comeback than that one.” I teased back matter-of-a-fact-ly. It was obvious this boy was not Rage. Rage had wit that even I could not tolerate.

I took a closer look at the boy. His tall, muscular figure seemed to lack the agile edge that always seemed to follow Rage around. His dark hair was slightly shorter and more chaotic, but his gem-like eyes were a complete match. He had the same lips and features as Rage, but he lacked the battle scar above his eyebrow.

“For such a pretty girl, you sure do have an unattractive attitude.” He snapped back. It was obvious he didn’t like being shut down in public. The small crowd that had gathered around us was slowly starting to whisper amongst each other.

“For such a big guy, you sure do have a rather small brain.” I chirped back. I lowered my eyes to his genitals “And you know what they say about small vital organs.” I added as I turned on my heel.

I was not going to allow people to think they could trample all over me. I was superior to all these people and I was going to make that evident. Perhaps I had played that situation too cool, but I will not be making the same mistake twice. I had spent a whole day learning how to talk and act like a typical aggressive loner and I did not plan on letting that annoyance go to waste.

‘Swear a lot, Amara. Make eye contact, but do not smile, Amara. Black. Make it look like you knew no other colour existed. Scowl, Amara.’ Blah Blah Blah, Amara.

It was tiring, and to say the least it was not going to waste. Sure, I had said I’d live a normal life, even for this short period of time, but I couldn’t do it all from the get go. No, I had to ease my way in. Dip my toe in to see if I like how it feels. If not, make a slow retreat so that I don’t get frozen stiff in the currents of the giant ocean we call high school.