WICKED told them the Trial was over -no more tests, no more lies, but Frankie had been deceived enough to know that the statement alone could never be true.
Truthfully, she wanted to die. She wanted to leave this cruel world of being experimented an...
"Mum, she finished the whole pack of cereal! What am I supposed to eat for breakfast?!"
She merely stared at her eight-years-old brother with her mouth full, not really caring about his pointing finger or his tone of accusation.
A middle-aged woman with visible worry lines stomped her way into view, clad in a midi dress and floral apron. She clamped the boy's mouth shut with her wrinkled hands and looked up towards the window, fearfully straining to hear any noise or see any movement from the ground floor ahead.
Except from the much, munch, munch from the little girl's mouth, there was nothing.
The small family of chestnut brown hair and thick eyebrows lived in a spacious underground shed they stumbled upon after the death of their breadwinner. They had to keep a low profile, in case the house owner returned or a band of Cranks infiltrated the place, hoping to find something to eat or, at least, something to kill.
After the disastrous sun flare, other than her mother and brother, the only human beings she interacted with were a pair of runaway brothers, two streets down.
"MARVEL! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT KEEPING QUIET!" Her mother screamed hysterically, quite contrary to the words she was saying. But then her eyes glossed over and she took a few deep breaths, trying to recollect herself.
"Mum, are you still sick?"
"I'm fine," she replied, "Mummy's going to be fine. Marla, aren't you gonna share?"
With her mouth still chomping, Marla —Frankie, shook her head no.
Using a forced, sweet tone, the mother smiled, "Come on, honey. Be a good girl and share with your brother."
〰️
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WHEN THE DREAM-LIKE memories finally faded and her consciousness returned, Frankie found herself lost in a hurricane of emotions and thoughts. There were confusion, longing, excitement, and an endless string of questions about her life as she told herself, over and over again, to never forget a thing. Not a single thing.
But she was not lost enough to realize that she was not in the operating room she fell unconscious in.
Reflexively, Frankie sat up and looked around, trying to drink in her current surrounding. The sudden jolt combined with the residue of anaesthetic caused her vision to swam. It felt like a strong claw was gripping tightly onto her head.
"Oh, you're up."
This chamber was the exact replica of her previous hospice, except for the fact that there were two beds instead of one.
