The Planet That Wasn't

Wish in one hand, spit in the Other (Kalem pictured above)

The engines wore on. I wished they wouldn't.

I wish this vile piece of scrap had never been invented.

I spit in my hand. Yup. Still filling up faster. I lean out past the railing to over the grass, and shake the spit off my hand into the natural, beautiful, dirty, green Poaceae. Grass. It's probably the most natural water it's ever gotten, and probably the most natural water it'll ever have. Everything here is artificial. everything can be made from anything, as long as you have the atoms to make it. The waste gets recycled. All the waste. It may seem morbid, but since we don't really have a disposal system for the dead, they get vaporized, and their molecules are used to give nutrients to the 'fresh greens.' I don't eat almost any of those anymore.

There was a time when I would jump a million miles just to taste fresh air, or eat the freshest produce I could get. Now, I know what this stuff is made of, and I don't want THAT going through my system; whether it's still technically that or not.

I laugh to myself, and punch the wall, having a small mental moment to myself. I grind my hand into the silver metal to my left, and my knuckles start to bleed. I don't really care. And why should anyone else? They didn't care about the world when the Ear- I mean, The Surface existed, why should they care about MY well being NOW? It's not like one kid could make a difference. I continued to grind my knuckles into the wall. They were starting to hurt enough that I actually started to care. I don't want to have to use any of their tech for healing or anything, and they would force me to. They let me slide with bandages and don't use the healing supplies on me, but that's only because the first time they tried to do it I wouldn't stop struggling and might have slightly wrecked one of their doctoring rooms.If I break any knuckles, they'll for sure find a way to trick me or force me into using their tech to heal the bones.

I pull my hand from the wall, and a little bit of blood drips from my clenched fist.

If I didn't do this regularly, I'm sure I would be accused of murder or something by now. I'm surprised nobody's tried to murder anyone else and blame it on me, based on how close quartered we are. Yeah, if you haven't noticed already, my life became pretty tormented after the 'Incident.'

Incident.

IncidentIncidentIncident.

I despise that word from the bottom of my good heart through the very tips of my darkened soul. It wasn't an 'incident,' there's no WAY it could have been a mere 'incident,' the whole freaking planet exploded! It was a travesty! 'Incident' merely mocks the tip of the iceberg. I try to beat the wall with my right hand this time, but something blocks my way.

"Hey, kid, you should stop doing that. I know it helps, but I'm sure you could synthesize a punching bag or somethi-"

I snap at the man who's caught my fist. "Leon, we've been over this a thousand times! I'm NOT synthesizing ANYTHING that I don't need to survive! Not a mattress, not a pillow; the only reason I have those is because it was going to be an overnight field trip! Beyond clothes, food, toilets, and water, I'm not supporting what put the remainder of us in the prison of outer space and metal!"

Uugh. I knew I was just getting worked up because I had refused to take my pills this time, so it was worse. Those stupid pills. The doctor, nurses, and cooks all work together to make sure my depression medicine is either hidden in my food or drink, but occasionally I can find it and I throw it out. Like I said, I don't want anything that isn't required by my body, and without the anti-depressants, I'm awake, aware, and I actually feel like I can cope, instead of feeling like a half drunk man staggering down the side of the alleyway about to act like an idiot and fall asleep in a creepy, pathetic place.

I felt bad for snapping at Leon, and changed my tone to a more apologetic one. "I'm sorry bro, I just don't feel like any of that. I escaped the meds today." I smiled at him, the only person who I could look at or talk to, who could make me smile anything close to a genuine smile.

"I could tell. There's a little more blood on the wall this time." Leon looked at the wall, then at my hand. "'S it bad? Let me see it, kid." He reached his hand out toward my left one, and I put my wrist in his hand, so he could bandage me up. Leon reminded me of a combination of Joe, from Great Expectations, and Sans from Undertale. Yes, this is the best description I can come up with for him. He's as protective over me as Sans is over Papyrus, but his personality is totally the same as Joe's. He may be slow at times, but he's like a loyal fatherly brother to me. His speech patterns remind me of Sans, too, with all his awful puns and random jokes; but when it comes to me being hurt, he sobers up quick.

Leon finished bandaging my hand, and looked at me with sad eyes. "Kid..." we stared at each other for a minute, me waiting for him to finish, and him looking for what to say. He sighed, his dark eye circles looking like rays of pixie dust and sunshine compared to mine. "Night. Don't let the bagbugs bite." He said, and walked away, obviously sad that I refused help from anyone or anything other than natural things, from him. After all, I knew he wouldn't betray me.

"Night!" I called after him, and he gave me a three fingered wave, not looking back, pushing his janitor cart into the elevator, knowing I would take the stairs.

"Goodnight, stars." I said out the window, like me and my father always would before going to bed. "Goodnight."