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A Bloodborne Disease

Ash and Belladonna

By Casey BlettPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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Marketplaces were often so dull.

Rows and rows of shabby booths, merchants begging for sellers, the stench of sweat. At least it was his father Jay was going with; the old man much preferred the hunting and antique sections. But he couldn't blame his mother, since a family of ten would need an abundance of clothes and food. Wiping sweat from his drenched brow, Jay squinted his eyes to scout out the surrounding tents. Nothing he hadn't already seen before, and he was about to join his father dejectedly when a sharp glimmer caught his eye. Pausing, his attention flew to a booth shrouded in heavy shade. It was nearly completely obstructed by leaves, but eagerly displayed its products regardless. Scuffing his boots on the way down the small dip, Jay realized that jewelry seemed to be the main selling point. Headbands laced with wolf and bear teeth and arrowhead bracelets lined the top of the tent, forcing him to duck simply to approach. His hands rested on the wooden display table. A vaguely-golden heart-shaped locket must have been the cause of the shine. Fingertips ever-so-slowly drifting closer to it, all of his senses seemed to be drowned out. An impressively large, decorated dagger landed in between his pointer and middle fingers. Choking on his own spit in surprise, Jay's head whipped up to face the merchant. At first, he wasn't even certain he was human, not a warthog. But if he were to have said that, he wouldn't be breathing anymore. The man's jaw relaxed, exposing rotting yellow teeth. With a deep chuckle, he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, which was clad in an originally-white butcher's apron.

"You have a good eye." At the silence, the merchant grimaced lightly, but that expression quickly faded when he recognized a possible customer.

His bravado returned at once. "Just got that one yesterday, in fact! Bought it from the local officers."

Jay quirked an eyebrow at that, thinking it strange.

Grinning greedily, he reached into his pocket before dropping a small leather notebook on the wood in front of the boy. "It has quite the story, if you're interested."

With a sickening smile, he turned his back to continue polishing memorabilia at the back of the tent. Jay looked over his shoulder to his father being much too invested in perusing the bow-and-arrow collection. Shrugging, he opened what turned out to be a journal.

. . .

The wooden floorboards creaking under my feet sound utterly deafening in the stagnant autumn air. Everything's so silent. The woods beyond our cabin are eerily mute, not a single sign of life. From outside, the sunset filters through the dust-ridden windows, emulating a rather sick and twisted parody of stained glass. As I stare down towards the collage of amber and magenta light, I'm jolted from my trance by sudden movement in the corner of my eye. My heart stops, only sputtering back to life at the realization that it's simply my little sister.

"I'm hungry," her weak voice croaks from behind me.

"I know, Bella."

She lets out what sounds like a choked sob. "I miss Mom and Dad."

Understandable, especially given that it's only been a month since their passing. "I do, too, Donna."

The silence is broken once more by the sound of growling stomachs and I sigh, mentally bracing myself while grabbing a nearby knife. Gingerly dragging it across my forearm, Belladonna watches hungrily when beads of red appear along my skin. Once I give the signal, she wordlessly approaches to drink her fill - or as much as she allows herself to. This is still new to her, after all. Once she finishes, I clean the wound and while I'm positive my sister hears my own stomach growling, neither of us mention it.

"We're leaving tomorrow morning," I inform her. "You're all packed?"

She nods, huddling under the tattered quilt. Belladonna's hand grasps the heart-shaped locket around her neck, the gift our mother had purchased for her eleventh birthday a month ago. Feeling sick to my stomach, I look away guiltily. Sadly, it's becoming an everyday occurrence; children accidentally end their parents, ignorant to the amount of blood needed to maintain life. When the gene causing this anomaly was first discovered, it was much easier to monitor the individuals affected and keep casualties low. But for the past two decades, every child born carries the gene. As one can imagine, the public went into a frenzy when left with a difficult choice: stop having children and guarantee humanity's extinction or continue having them until normal humans return. The second option seems like a foolish fantasy to me.

"I'm sorry, Ash."

"I know," I breathe.

I send the letter informing our destination of our upcoming arrival early the next morning. The journey should only take a few days if all goes well, and everything should be ready by the time we get there.

November 29

Detention Center for Bloodbornes,

My name is Ash Cohen (17) and I am responding to your request for volunteers who carry the gene to be experimented on. Unfortunately, my sister Belladonna (11) is going to be a new addition to the Secure and Contain unit; our parents are no longer with us. If you wish for an easy inmate, don't confiscate her locket. And please take care of her if I don't survive testing.

She awakes to me ruffling her long black hair, a groggy smile turning her lips upward. Belladonna playfully swats my hand away while sitting up, yawning. We swiftly grab our bags before slinking out of our house, cautious of any villagers who may be nearby. Although I make sure to leave early enough in the morning that hardly anyone else will be awake, there's always a chance. And it's not one I'm willing to take. After ten tense minutes of walking in silence, I duck down and press against the trunk of a pine tree to reorient myself. Belladonna immediately mimics me, golden eyes wide in apprehension. Taking out my map, I study the red circles and markings I made a few weeks ago. Apparently, the system we're going to be using is similar to something referred to as the underground railroad. At least, that's what I hear from the officers specifically in place to dismantle our ticket out. My fingertips trace an invisible pathway onto the map. The next house isn't incredibly far, at least compared to others. I shove the paper into my fur jacket and follow the line of pine trees up to the lake. My nose twitches. That metallic scent is one I know all too well, and my hand darts out to keep Belladonna from rushing forward. Officers often use blood to lure people like us out. My suspicions are confirmed when an ear-piercing scream rips from a bush further down the shore. I admit that it's quite convincing, but there's an unmistakable electronic crackle and hum. A recording. Internally cursing, I ease myself to the ground and pull Belladonna with me. My oversight ends up costing us an entire day. After all, the only opening we're given is when the officers switch from day shifts to night shifts.

The family we meet tonight on the metaphorical railroad graciously offers us some of their chickens and even drives us closer to our next stop. Being tucked under bails of hay for hours on end definitely isn't first-class service by most standards, but to us feels like it. The next few days are a blur of delirious sameness; dodging officers, sleeping, and eating what we can until we make it to the next household by nightfall. I know we're almost at the detention center when the fog starts rolling in, creating a breathtaking veil before the looming building's silhouette. Murky water laps greedily at the bank, extending dark green tendrils onto the earth. One could even say that the river was trying to pull people in with its spindly fingers. Picking up our pace seems to be the best way that I can distract Belladonna from the deep red stains scattered across the grass. They seem old, thankfully. And luckily, she seems too entranced by the ruins themselves to notice. The wind howls in agony, the only sound permitted in the valley. Miscellaneous stones and misplaced fabric, perhaps tapestries of some sort, are strewn throughout the tall greyish weeds. We might as well have stepped into an attempted recreation of the Medieval Ages. I may scoff at that thought if it isn't for the persistent feeling of being watched, pins pricking at the back of my neck. Belladonna and I follow the gravel path we've been on for roughly half an hour. The closer we get to the center of the city, and therefore the detention center, the more dreamlike everything becomes. Blue spruce gives way to weeping willows, bowing over water that's now miraculously crystal clear. Belladonna calls my name eagerly, energetically tugging my arm. She leads me to an impressively large pointed trefoil arch made from marble, which I can only assume is the entrance. The grin dropping from my sister's face is the last thing I see before pain explodes throughout my body.

I awake to thick darkness and nauseating dizziness, having no immediate recollection of how I got into this foul-smelling place. Rising to my feet, my eyes fall onto a wooden door. It seems to be the only object in sight so I figure opening it is my best bet. There doesn't seem to be anything else to do. Behind the door is a hallway that seems long, spiraling down into pitch blackness. The carpet is old and faded, tortured photographs decorating the walls. Cobwebs cling weakly to picture frames, swaying slightly in the non-existent breeze. I vaguely feel icy fingers grasp mine, and one quick glance down presents Belladonna, completely unharmed but a tad shaken. Squeezing her hand reassuringly, I cautiously lead her down the hallway to where another door awaits. It's heavy, but I manage to open it just as oxygen rushes into my lungs. Grey clouds cancel out the sky, but the ivy-saturated courtyard is still somehow illuminated with an unnerving white light. Heading outside, I push my sister behind myself. It's much too exposed here for my liking. Much too quiet. Alert as ever and scanning the abandoned rubble maniacally, dread boils a pit in my gut. As if on cue, a thud echoes inside the building that we just exited. We aren't alone, we aren't safe. There's nowhere to go. Neither of us know our way around this place.

My last true memory consists of my family and I fishing at the lake near our cabin. Here, even the thought of that seems distant and absurd. This is either a demented joke or a malevolent trap.

How didn't I notice the armed officers before?

Belladonna is crying.

. . .

The money was thrown on the table as quickly as possible. "Does the notebook come with it?"

He looked at Jay curiously. "Sure, if you really want it."

The bow nodded and pushed his coins forward impatiently. "Is this enough?"

The merchant whispered under his breath to himself as he counted, then confirmed the amount was sufficient. Snatching the locket, Jay jogged over to his father, who'd just completed his own purchase and was only beginning to call his son over.

"Find anything good?" he inquired as the pair began the trek home.

"No, not really."

Jay's father hummed in acknowledgement and raised a hand to greet one of his coworkers. Nudging his son, he jerked his head over to the man.

Begrudgingly, Jay yelled, "Nice to see you, officer!"

He tried not to look at the young shackled girl at his side, tried not to notice her somehow-familiar long black hair and golden eyes. Or the way she stared at the locket. He'd never forget the look on her face. Especially since he saw it in his room each night.

IMAGE (Creative Commons): https://live.staticflickr.com/5026/5606465475_8d51819018_z.jpg

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