Roughers | an Ashton Irwin Fanfic

Chapter 13

We walked quietly on the outskirts of the monstrous city, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't taken in every detail I saw.

My body was numb with shock as well exhaustion. I wasn't used to this kind of physical exercise, as wimpy as it sounded.

In the Pure, you seldom did much more than a brief trip on foot into town. You had hover lifts for that.

Physical exercise was never a priority. Why exercise when you could get any extra skin taken off for free? Compliments of my Uncle and the Pure government.

They would tone you up, soften you up, or slim you down; nothing was too extreme. As long as you were one step closer to perfection when it was over.

I took short breaths of the dry air. My lungs at a loss for any moisture and threatening to send me into a coughing fit.

 My eyes watered as a sandy wind blew my hair back, forcing me to tear my gaze away from the towering city.

I had never endured such harsh conditions as the ones I was experiencing now. My skin itched with a killer sunburn I knew was coming, and my hair was slowly growing nappy.

I wondered how anyone could live in such conditions. Especially willingly, and knowing there was such a stunning city just a couple miles away.

We had only been in the Rough for a few hours and already I was beginning to grow homesick for the Pure.

I longed for the cool air on my skin and to hear the hummingbirds whiz by. I reached over my shoulder, resting my fingers on the white ink tattoo I knew was adorning the top right side of my back. I traced over the circular shape of the medallion mandala set there permanently, with the pad of my finger like I had done so many times before.

All Pures had the same tattoo in the same place. A white ink tattoo of a medallion mandala on the top right side of their backs. The white ink represented the innocence and "pureness" of our people. Hence the name "Pures". The medallion mandala represented the perfection we strived for. Medallion mandalas were perfectly in sync, the same the entire way around. Just like the people of the Pure.

And just like how Pures had mandalas, Roughers had ropes. Lined in dark ink, the ropes cascaded up their right arms, labeling them as Roughers. The dark ink represented sinfullness and pollution Roughers were filled with; in theory, I'd come to learn. Tears in the rope along the way modeled their imperfection as well as their defectiveness. 

It was an odd world we lived in, I'd come to realize after thinking the situation over. But it was a world I loved, I thought as we walked beside the skeleton city; at least I thought I did.

"So," I breathed, stepping over a lone, decaying log. "Where are we going?"

I felt as if I had asked this question multiple times. But a satisfactory answer had yet to be given. A spark of excitement lit inside me as it came to me that Ashton might say we were going to be entering the city.

The view electrified me. I could feel the tingling in my finger tips as I gazed up at the oddly shaped buildings. I was curious, and often I caught myself drifting my direction toward the city. 'Vegas', as Ashton had called it.

"Home." he chirped, glancing back over his shoulder. Confusion laced my face, as his definition of home was different from mine. "My home, I should say." he added.

I nodded, trying not to feel disappointed as city run out and we were left walking in the seemingly endless sand.

It came to my attention as we went that the sand path we walked on wasn't a sand path at all; it was road. The old, gray pavement crumbled and crunched under my feet as we pushed on.