Bound Sanguinity

Beams of light huffed, as the rays that slithered through the slats bobed against the waxed walls. A taunting game of sanguinity laminated the mess of blonde curls that splayed out in protest. I gazed into the pair of blue holes that the sun seemed to have had it's way with, sun golden threads swimming through the blue in spiraled snaggy lines; lines that were panicked and spurning to escape the incessant holes. Shadows brushed over the spirals of blue in the form of long spidery legs that flarred out to form a curved lid. The blue dissembled as the set of spider legs kissed one another; manifesting the blue into now a fader shade that melted in and out of the bulged lids through a maze of veins.  

These veins tunneled and spread along the pale horizon hidden now by the thicker coating of flesh that entrapped it. This mess of puzzled bones and flesh formed perfectly into a rounded face with a constant astute grin. The ruddy lips were dyed a current stain of the leftover lollipop from the day before; the sticky residue that formed the edge of pink formed a brim of highlighted gloss. I looked down to the small arms poking out of a navy romper stitched with a small triangular insignia. This enigma of all it represented seemed to daunt it's skulking face, showing just how helpless I was against it's sharp edges of oppression. The seared brand that eroded a section of her pale wrist was deep, as I remembered it's red face, fresh and festered with searing scar tissue.  She was just an infant when her screams were muffled with two hands of a nurse against her flailing body, she was barcoded like the rest of us less than an hour old, to match the branding of the whole wretched world. 

I followed her gaze towards the vein on my arm that flared with furor, the purple and blue mashed into a protruding bulge. Saucers for eyes, that widened deeper as she dug her teeth into her bottom lip, stamping a neat row of short crevasses. My body heaved as I gagged from the coppery taste of blood, the taste of withdraw. I ached for the hazy jarring of colors, the innervation of bliss. It had been three days since the last injection, the longest I had bypassed detection, and the most I would be able to protract for this rebellion stretch. The pain felt good, the pain felt real, and for the first time I felt emotion. I had never felt anything close to torture before, and it caused an affliction between running back to the sanctity of utopia and running towards wantonness ingresses. The halo of curls still hung widely over my limbs as a sliver of hair brushed against my arm, awakening my dazed out gape. Her lips curled up, as my eyes fluttered to meet hers, a pair of blue swirls mirroring into one another.  Another shadow peeked through the doorframe, wisps of blonde framed her temple as her long blonde mane was enslaved into a singular braid down the nape of her neck. She summoned for my sister, guiding her toward the bathroom to clean up the plastered lollipop trail that hung to her face. She returned to rest her slender frame next to mine, cupping my cheeks "just like your father you are". It was hard to tell with the whisper in her voice of whether that was to be taken as concern or a compliment, I settled for both. She laid the ever familiar enigma laden skirt and blouse on my lap, signaling that this protest was over and my sick excuse from school was worn out. I looked in the mirror and scrunched my eyes, getting one last look of my natural state of candidly flowing locks and a freely emotive gaze. Even the withdrawn purple circles under my eyes breathed freedom, originality in the slightest. The purple loomed like a poison against my constrasting pale shell of a face, fervently wandering in bruised shapes to find shelter, a lifeless parasitic fight. The poison seeping, liberating my thoughts from the massed drone sphere, imbued with a newfound emotional ardor. I looked at my iron soaked veins and dreaded the droned out limbs they would soon return to, as I felt the familiar cold metal dig into my flesh. 

The discontentment burned deep within, as I walked against the benumbed faces, blending my lips into a familiar sea of emotionless stare. The walk arrows reflecting off the crosscut of Uptown were dull compared to their usual spurning presence. I shielded my face with the brim of a hood to mask the purple poison that leered with certainty to expose. Growing hot with a feeling of panic was new, a feeling I had only before read in retired books, a feeling I wasn't sure yet how to process; it was strange how the negative emotions were so liberating from the happiness I felt little from. I stumbled over my feet begging the noodles of legs to move in some sort of natural rhythm, but my droned out corpse was begging to dance with flair against the beat it had long grew cloyed with. I dragged my bent limbs to the brink of the station in Uptown that bridged in girding lines of shuttle rails that led to and fro different lays of the city. I reached into my blouse to pull a pictured tag with a numberical identification that corresponded to the soldered barcode rigged around scared tissue. I lined up like the rest, for a boxed machine that's only job was discrimination, dividing into social tiers from the identification cards shoved into its mouth and retinas. I reached the front of the gloomy boxed machine that ate and spat out my identification, the looming red eye peered back daring and ready to fire; the light flares burned red into my raw and poisoned craters for eyes. The screen lit up in a wrath, it like the rest of the city, served under the software Uroida. These small drones served specific functions, ranging from small street sweepers all the way to bionic people. These bionic people themselves spanned even further, advertised constantly across the city screens with models as "companions" software to "effectiveness" software and everything in between. My grandmother insisted on updating and collecting the best models, as I steered clear of their glassy refelections and even more glassy intentions. I remembered the black book tucked into my jacket sleeve and the mission that $20,000 and a bunch of metal could buy. Cameras and sensors loomed throughout every path of the city dome, everything was banked on safety; the injections, the looming eyes, it was all backed up to "safety" it was crazy what a few bound pages could change.