Page 3 of A Whisper of Cinders

I throw the wet covers off me and lay them open as best as I can, hoping they will be dry by tonight. I turn to the window next to my bed, no curtain to pull away. But what’s the point, when even in broad daylight the sky remains mostly dark.

Today, the clouds hang low and look a bit dense which can only mean snow will fall soon. Not that that’s a big surprise.

I drag myself to the rickety piece of furniture I call my closet, grab my necessities and leave my room. Not even Irene can ruin my excitement. I have to tell Ami about what happened.

I take a quick peek inside her room, but she’s already gone. I am in fact running late.

Shit.

I pick up my pace and nearly fly through the hallways. From the age of twenty and up, the young women have rooms on the same floor, they share the toilets and showers and do most of the chores together. The same goes for the young men.

The younger kids share rooms, something we fortunately don’t have to do anymore. It’s forbidden from a certain age, for…obvious reasons.

The gross population in Anima is younger than fourteen, probably because they aren’t a lost cause just yet. Most parents or family members want their kids home as soon as possible.

But that’s not the case for Amira and me. I’m not even sure where I will go once I turn twenty-five. It’s at that age we have to leave Anima forever. I’ll worry about that later, I still have four long years left to survive here.

I reach the door of the bathing chamber, Irene already staring at me with a cold look in her eyes. “Get along girl, your time is scarce. You don’t want to find out what happens when you’re late.”

I really don’t. In the five years I’ve been here, I haven’t been late once. That doesn’t mean I don’t know what happens if I am. Let’s say I prefer ten cold buckets in the morning over the punishment I would receive.

I enter the overly humid room. I don’t think they know what air circulation is around here. Even when the showers haven’t been running all morning, the air still smells damp and musty.

Two hands land on my shoulder before I can turn on the shower. Ami’s worried gaze travels over me. “Are you okay? What happened and…why is your hair wet?” she releases me, squinting her eyes. “You did follow the girl from last night, didn’t you? I told you not to —”

“What? No! I didn’t, I swear… I slept too long for Irene’s liking and this was the result,” I explain as I gesture towards my wet pyjamas.

Ami grimaces. “Ah sorry about that, babes. Hop in the shower so you won’t catch a cold.”

One of the reasons she is my best friend: she truly cares about me. I’d walk through fire for her in a heartbeat.

I take off my nightwear and step underneath the lukewarm stream. The other girls are already getting dressed or leaving for breakfast.

After only five minutes - perks of having short hair - I towel myself dry, put on my underwear and pick up a uniform from the antechamber.

I walk over to Amira who stands in front of one of the mirrors, when someone bumps into me, making me stumble and nearly drop the clothes onto the slightly wet floor.

“Watch where you’re going, Scorch.”

Did I say Amira is my best friend? She also happens to be my only friend around here. Most of the people ignore me or keep the contact to the bare minimum, but then you have —

“Maybe the light isn’t enough for you. Want me to strike a match instead?” she laughs at her own joke, the sound shrill in my ears.

If Amira is my dearest friend, Lamia is the complete opposite of that. I’m not sure how or why it evolved like that. I didn’t do anything to offend her. But some people don’t need a reason, I suppose.

“Don’t you have breakfast duty, Lamia? You know what happens if you’re late…” Amira says in a fake friendly tone. Lamia’s face instantly pales. “Yeah, I would hurry if I were you.”

Lamia’s smugness vanishes, and with eyes open wide, she bolts. They take chores pretty seriously here at Anima. If you show up on time and do what you’re told, you won’t get in any trouble. Most of the time.

Ami grabs both my hands. “Hey, don’t let her get to your head, okay? You are beautiful, inside out.”

I can’t help but cringe at her words. Beautiful. Such a loaded statement, one I can’t agree on. Because I am odd, I look weird, different from the others.

I clutch the clothes close to my chest, the scarred skin of my arms uneven and red, and wish once again that I could wash it off like dirt. I had them when I arrived here. And although the Doctor did everything she could to treat them, they are hard to miss.

Nobody knows how I got them and I can’t remember. Fire is the most logical cause, but even that doesn’t ring a bell. My arms are fully scarred, so is part of my neck, the ribs on my left side and part of my stomach.

My face, lower body and most of my back somehow got spared, but still. A lot of the scarring is visible to others and although some look at me with compassion, they are few.