Falling Skies

Ten

"What is going on between you and Ryder?"

Wren glances up at December, his light eyes a dark mist as he takes another handful of seeds into his mouth, body curved over itself as he sits on the floor in front of the wire framed bed.

He's thrown all the blankets onto the cold linoleum, the material swirled into a circle as if a dog had tried to lay there but abandoned the task halfway through.

Wren doesn't answer, rather he just flings his thin fingers into the glass bowl that lays beside him. The small limb knocks against the rim of the bowl before pathetically falling into the horde of nuts and seeds, drawing out only a sprinkle as his hand struggles to form into a fist.

The limb shakes uncontrollably for a moment, another few seeds disappearing back into the bowl before he manages to withdraw his weak fist, only around three or four seeds remaining in his grasp.

December repeats his question but to no avail, the thing on the floor ignoring him as his gaze focuses on the glass bowl. His shoulders slump slightly forward as he supports his weight onto his wrists and rocks his body to hover over the bowl, shoulders shaking all the while.

"It's the middle of the night...and you choose to interrogate me now?" There's a slight lull to Wren's voice that Decemeber instantly picks up on, the boy rocking back on his heels a bit as he examines the drifting body.

Subject A1 sits with his legs clutched to his thin chest with the jar of seeds to his right side, fist still fumbling absentmindedly around the wide glass rim of the container. The blankets around him have become more disarrayed since December arrived in the room mere moments earlier, though no movement has taken place, rather having seemed to shift on their own than by any fuss that the slow dragging Subject could have produced.

The wire bed behind him lays empty except for a single mattress, slightly worn down but in otherwise good condition from the lack of sleep taking place within its arms. December surveys the room in one quick glance.

White walls on white floors.
Nothing new.

The room is completely void of being, of life or substance but rather a dense fog hovers over the place, suffocating the two that wade in its presence. The affects already becoming known to Subject A1, his body slumping forward as his white-blond curls hang over his sweat drenched forehead.

His pants are audible from the other side of the room, December pausing in his examination of the empty room as the sound draws his attention towards the near hyperventilating creature.

His ribs show through the side of his thin white Haven t shirt and pulsate with each shaky breath as he clutches himself even tighter, knuckles showing white as the skin beneath his nails shine bright red from his own grasp. There's a slight sway in his body before he composes himself, a spot of sweat seeping through his t shirt and leaving a gray spot in its place.

Rather than assist, December merely glances at the side of the wall closest to the door, a small brown clipboard sealed onto the wall by means of a thick barrier of glass and key hole. It's set deep into the wall rather than sitting on top of it, a cubby dug into the material.

December's fingers fumble around the pocket of his sweatpants until flesh hits metal, a slight jingle washing out the moans of Subject A1 in the back of the room, December already tuning out the dying cries and focusing on the task at hand.

Is this wrong? His eyes find their way back behind him, to the small creature on the floor and the noises that emit from him, each moan slowly becoming louder until it transforms into a constant cry. His body shaking all the while as blood begins to drip from beneath his fingernails, legs covered in red crescents as they stream steady lines of blood onto the floor. Another cry erupts from Subject A1 before December turns back around, key halfway in the glass and unlocking with just one turn.