Falling Skies

Seven

Ryder's face falls, his eyes blank and lips a line as he stares into his cousin mere feet ahead of him, his snow-colored coats blending into the white walls behind him.

The words had hit him hard, a stifled hand nearly drawing up to his chest to examine the impact of his physiological wounds. His body stilled and stunned as he attempts to gather any sort of cohesive thought.

Yet he can't find any words to mutter, not even a foggy vision of a sentence as his thoughts stay jumbled masses of incoherent bits and pieces. They're merely a cloud that can't be pulled together to form the pain he feels, rather disappearing into streams at the slightest outreach, just a few cool remnants hanging on his fingertips. 

They're doing it. They're finally doing it. It's a thought that never rests, just a metronome of maddening speech. Each wave brings a newfound sense of dread, of worry, a nausea crashing into him with each repetition of the mantra.

He braces himself against the white wall as he doubles over onto his knees, head spinning ever so slightly as his mind continues its treacherous chanting. His cousin falls to his side though he shakes him off with what little strength he can find, sweat beading his forehead as he drowns in his own thoughts.

They're cutting him open.
They're cutting him open.
They're cutting him open.

It's the only sentence that can form as the room around him spins. His heart a pounding war drum in his ears as his breathes falter, struggling to climb their way out of his parted lips as he trembles with emotions he doesn't have the words for.

Somewhere deep within him he knows that his reaction is unreasonable, that a routine is routine and it's nonsense to attempt to stop one. That Haven knows what it's doing and if it didn't it would've have lasted this long. He knows that the entire facility would've been lit aflame and the world forced to start anew, rather than scramble against time to regain what they had lost.

He knows this, so why can't he feel it? Why does his body and mind insist on betraying him? On continuing their now demonic chants, of forcing him to never stop thinking, to never stop picturing each scalpel and blade running across pale skin, bright red blood pulsating at the seams.

Entranced, his body stumbles forward in the slightest, and once more his cousin lies his hand against his shaky back, Ryder flying up with the contact and spinning to face the owner of the limb. December's face is blank, unreadable, as he waits for his cousin to take the lead, to show him what the correct response should be.

He's always doing this. Always sitting, always waiting, always watching. Ryder trembles once more, pushing the hand away as his open palms shove into December's shoulders, forcing his body back with a heavy thump of flesh on dry wall.

His breaths are deep as his chest rises and falls at an alarming speed, body trembling with the newfound frustration that rises within him. His hands never let go, rather his fists pressing deeper and deeper into his cousin's chest until December is struggling to breathe, struggling to escape under the smaller boy's fury-filled grip.

"What is wrong with you!" Ryder screams, hands finding themselves in his hair before they're back on the boy ahead of him. Fingertips dig into the cotton blend of his white coats, feeling the smooth material against his rough skin before once more slamming him back by the shoulders and demanding an answer. He isn't allowed to wait anymore, to try and find the right words to calm everyone down and keep them at bay, to hush everyone into silent acceptance of their crimes. He isn't allowed anymore. "Answer me!"

The demand flies out of his mouth, sour venom soaking through each word as they're hurled with the intent to kill. December's eyes widening in the slightest as he attempts to squirm out from beneath Ryder's grasp.