of blood and lies ; dystopian

35

past

7437 sat against my door.

Her knees were pulled tight to her chest, and her braids were falling out of their tight stitching.

It was late, around 0200 in the morning. It was far past the curfew for any Anaka. Once they turned thirteen, they were able to stay awake until 2300; 7437 was far from turning thirteen.

She was not supposed to be in the hall designated for Commanders and Generals, either.

"7437," I started. "You should be in bed. This corridor is restricted for Anaka. Surely you were taught basic rules in your previous sectors."

Even if she hadn't, she'd been in War long enough to know that she was not supposed to be near this hall. She was supposed to be in bed, waiting for training and education.

I reached over her and placed my hand flat over the door. With a beep, the door registered that my prints matched the room. I didn't open the door. I looked back down at 7437.

She hadn't left.

"I know," 7437 said, still sitting against my door. "I was taught that. I just--"

7437 stopped. She took a swig of something.

Her back was flush to my door, blocking me from entering. I noticed that her bloodshot eyes were locked on her bare feet, and she hadn't looked away from her feet.

Her face always looked soft. Tonight, though, it was tight and flushed. It hardened further as she took another swig of alcohol.

"7437," I sighed, reaching for her pouch. I tossed it a few feet away.

I pulled my hand away from the handle and slid down the door, joining close beside her. It was not uncommon for my Anaka to seek me out. Most of the time they needed someone to talk to. But, coming to my hall? This was a first.

"Why are you here, 7437?" If the Murthaa were alive, I would need to report this; the alcohol she'd been drinking, the curfew she'd broken, and the restricted area she chose to sit in.

She swallowed and rubbed her palms up and down her pants. She was in her leisure clothing; a pair of black, loose-fitting cotton pants, and a matching oversized black shirt. I was still dressed in my war attire. Guns and all.

"I don't know. I just needed someone to talk to. Even if it was you," 7437 admitted. This was a common response from my Anaka. Usually, it was not as bitter, or this early in the morning. It happened, though. They needed someone.

7437 did not look up at me.

Even after she'd learned that I was not going to shoot her, she still feared me. She wasn't afraid of the guns and bullets anymore. She was scared of me.

My stomach turned. I leaned my head against the door. I could only imagine how lonely my Anaka felt. If 7437, of all people, felt the need to seek me out, she must feel lonely. She was as comforted as she was afraid.

8274 once came to me sobbing about how she wished to be a part of Man. She knew that I could report her for speaking such blasphemy, but she still came to me.

"I just needed someone. I need someone," 7437 repeated, rubbing her palms harder. Her pants were creased and stained with sweat from the action.

"I know," I replied, quietly. I ground my teeth together. I knew what it felt like to be lonely. Especially at that age. I'd never been with the Anaka, I had been trained alone.

I knew how it felt to not sleep, as I assumed 7437 was. Instead of rest, we'd be consumed by a lonely void of thoughts, which a mother, friend, or father would fill if among Man.