Grithim

CHAPTER 1

AUGUST

A boy in a tattered government issued jumpsuit laid unconscious on a sandy shore. Sand clung to his clothes and body while ice cold water lapped up his calves. The black specks had embedded themselves in his cuts, chafing the edges of his open skin, causing them to become even more painful. What was once smooth skin had now been scarred by the unforgiving elements.

The boy's skin, which had once been tan, was now ghostly white. His brown- auburn waves that laid matted on his head due to the seawater, seemed so dark in comparison that they looked almost black. In addition to various cuts and bruises, goosebumps also covered the boy's small, thin frame. Although he was on shore the wet sand and increasing tide kept him from becoming warm. His malnourished body needed food and warmth or the ocean would take his life, along with everything else it had stolen.

That's why it would seem surprising to say that the boy did wake up, revealing his most remarkable trait that contrasted greatly against the drabness of the sky and the dullness of the sand. His eyes. They were a bright blue framed by thick lashes. The color was similar to a warm atlantic ocean, the kind that there were only in the pictures of school textbooks now.

Gaining a greater degree of consciousness, he began to search the sky wildly, taking in its familiar darkness. Although it seemed ominous, like a grey blanket woven with the threads of clouds smothering the biosphere, to the boy it was familiar. It reminded him of home. That's because you couldn't really find blue skies anymore, or sunsets, or sunrises. The sky was like a paint pallet that had once held all the colors, but now they had been overmixed into something dull and ugly. Even the air, which is such an easy thing to take for granted, was different now. It's thicker, heavier, like trying to drink a smoothie up a too thin straw. That's why all the people living in high altitudes had to move away, thin air only became thinner.

After staring at the sky for several minutes in the hopes of instilling calmness within himself, the boy realized he could hardly move. It was the sort of thing that could go unnoticed at first, like a paper cut, or bruise, but after the human mind knows it's there the body goes into overdrive. Now the boy could hardly breathe due to the panicked state he was in. The numbness hung in his veins like lead, making him a prisoner in his own body. He was shackled to his own limbs, chained into the confounds of his mind. As his heart began to beat faster, the boy began taking deep breaths in an attempt to regain clarity. When that failed and cold tears began to ooze from the corners of his eyes, the boy tried something else. Taking in his surroundings.

From the dark icy water came the black volcanic sand that slowly transitioned into dark brown dirt. From that dirt trees grew- they began farther apart, then clustered in the center and the northeastern side of the island. Though the boy couldn't determine what type of tree they were, he knew there weren't many to choose from. Most species had gone extinct long before he'd ever been born.

The trees struggled to grow in the dry dirt, they spread their roots over each other, leaving little earth to be seen in some areas. It was a battle for life, for space, in the dark forest of the island. Their trunks were thick, covered in layers of peeling bark and caked in moss, with jade green leaves that were large, allowing them to soak up whatever sunlight slipped through the clouds. Their size also caused them to droop, giving them a somewhat sad appearance. Eventually, the boy tore his eyes away from the sinister forest attempting to find something, anything else on the desolate island.

That was when his eyes focused on a sign. It was old and wooden, worn with age. In large grey letters it spelled out 'Grithim,' the name of the land he was trapped upon. In the upper right hand corner the government logo was stamped in red and white. A large drop of white blood hung above a pool of red blood. Leaders and workers. Freedom and control.

The boy looked over the word feverishly, wishing for more. He'd always loved reading even though he had read few books for school and even fewer for pleasure. Red Blooded children only learned to read and do basic math, after that their jobs in power plants or other facilities began, then they could put their few skills to work.

If only the United Halves knew the true color of blood that ran in his veins.

Well, now they did. The boy's unfortunate gene pool was the reason for the his current predicament.

As he laid there immobile, the boy's mind drifted to a time when he was surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of books, in an attempt to distract himself. It was at a library, once, in the White Blood half of the country. His father had journeyed to the capital, bringing power plant blueprints to be approved (a new one was needed to account for the ever growing White Blood population and expected to be managed by the fewer and fewer Red Bloods) the boy passed by a library, in which he snuck a peek. The outside was white, as most White Blood buildings were, they seemed to rise from the earth like skeletal fingers and covered the land. To the boy, it was like looking at a city made of bones. The inside of the library however, was beautiful. The library had a domed ceiling with a mural painting across it, every wall had gold leaf accents, but best of all was the books. They lined every shelf, covers gleaming displaying a variety of subjects from romance, action, adventure, even a math subject the boy never had the chance to learn- geometry. He yearned to read each story so badly.

As the boy was thinking about the mysterious books, he was pulled back into reality by a slight pain in his hip. He sat up as he realized the medicine had worn off. That was when he saw what was hurting him- a large piece of driftwood imbedded in his side. His blood was encrusted around the wound protecting it from outside elements and sealing his insides in. That wouldn't be able to sit like that for long. Yes, he could wait for help to come but how could be sure that there was anyone else here? The thought made him shiver. What if it got infected? The boy supposed that he would have to take it out and better to do it now with traces of a numbing medicine in his system than with nothing later. He brushed the sand off his dirty hands and braced himself for the pain to come. While gritting his teeth the boy grabbed the wood and pulled.

And oh did the pain come.

The boy tugged and tugged, pain moving its way up his body like fire. Every nerve burned, like it was being individually melted. It was much worse than anything he had ever felt before. Soon, his screams began to mingle with that blood that began to flow. With one final tug the wood left the boy's skin and he was alone with blood splattered hands and an aching body. The pain increased until the boy couldn't take it anymore, he passed out, returning to darkness and meeting death for the first time.