Before Daybreak | Open Para
Rain’s hands trembled as she buttoned up her loose denim shirt, subtracting numbers in her head by nine.
As in, one-hundred-and-seventeen, one-hundred-and-eight, ninety-nine, ninety, eighty-one, and so on, until there was nothing left to divide.
Third button from the bottom. Seventy-two.
Her scar in the middle of her fawn-colored belly became covered as she buttoned up the fourth section of her shirt. Sixty-three.
The shaking in her bronze fingers diminished to a slight tremor as she fumbled with the fifth button. The mirror in front of her was foggy and turned her image into the vague report of colors from its muggy reflection. A blue shirt, her warm tawny skin, and a curly dark wave of hair that reached down to her denim shoulders. The contours of her face were lost in this clouded reflection-- no eyes, nose or mouth.
Rain’s hands moved to the top button, forty-five, thirty-six, twenty-seven.
Twenty-seven. She let out a breath that felt too warm in the cramped, post-shower bathroom. Twenty-seven. She shook her head--- why did that number always seem to stick with her, even on this November day? Deathday. His death. July 27.
Keep subtracting.
Eighteen. The age she was when the bad people started to follow her. Nine. The age she was when her father took her on that trip to the-- what was it called again? Orange, desert alps that were layered in reds and yellows like cake...valleys that seemed to go on forever until the sun winked out of the sky and the world was plunged into crisp, starry darkness. She and him watched from the steep edge as the sunset turned the sky pink. The Grand Cannon! That’s what it was, decades ago. Of course, that was all gone now.
Twenty-seven. Eighteen. Nine. Zero. Nothing, no more.
Rain paused, her metal hand clicking into a fist on the porcelain sink. She couldn’t quiet her mind using nines today. She saw shapes and color around her only in theory-- as her mind took her eyes away. Water leaked from the faucet, dripping rhythmically into the drain.
Drip.
“Father in heaven.” She whispered.
Drip.
“If you really are out there. If you can hear me.”
Drip.
“Please just make sure I learn what I need to know. Give me a sign that I’ve been doing what I'm supposed to do-- that I’m not crazy.”
With that, she made sure the files stuck under her shirt were securely in place before heading out the door into the world-- notably towards the Library, where she could get on the Echo Net, the computer-like tech a goldmine for her sensitive research. It was the tender hours of the night, barely early morning-- between lights out and wake up.
She wasn't supposed to be out-- she checked behind the side of her shoulder as she crept quietly through the halls. But hell, sleeping was a nightmare. The dead seemed to wake her, prompting her to continue trying to find out the monster in her head-- the chip that was implanted in her brain.
She had to find out what the chip meant, and why her father put it there. So why sleep, in a dorm room anyone with a strong shoulder can break into, or godly abilities she had yet to fully comprehend? Rain shuddered, library and research close to her grasp.
She checked over her shoulder again.
