subzero atmosphere. the girls, day 1.

When they dropped our assess off back in Three along with the cargo, Maxen and I walked 16 miles home in the middle of winter. Shellshocked might have been the best way to describe us, or some other word that meant feeling foreign in a place you had once called home. At that moment I was just cold. Physically, yes, shaking in my juvi uniform - a flimsy tshirt, stained cargo pants, bruises meeting goosebumps. But something inside me was colder than the sub-zero climate.

I had become hardened. Ice itself. And I might have curled up in the snow right there and then and fallen asleep shivering, had Max not been at my side. So I kept on walking, making sure we were at the same pace. I thought if my brother didn't have me to follow by his side he'd probably have given up too.

Hours later and there was our house: but a derilict, broken version of what it was before. Shattered panes in the windows, the front door hanging off of its hinges and creaking in the wind, trash scattered through the overgrown yard. I almost smiled then, teeth chattering and red cheeks aching at the mere thought. It looked like us. Changed for the worse.

How cold it was in that house, even after I'd screwed the hinges tight and taped cardboard over the broken glass. Illegible scrawl in spray paint across the walls, stains on the carpet, needles and bent spoons in the kitchen sink. Frozen pipes, the only water I could find spluttered and groaned until it spilled all at once, splashing me so vigorously the sting of water on my blue skin made me yelp.

Our drawers had been all but pillaged, save for a few scraps of clothing - but I found enough to warm up Maxen and piled all the blankets I could find into one bed. We sat there shivering in the dark, not saying a word, the late afternoon sapping what energy we had away with the daylight.

Cuddled up underneath that makeshift sleeping arrangement I remember thinking that we were miracles. The next day I stole laundry from unsuspecting neighbours and scrounged up enough loose change to buy matches, never mind the fireplace had clearly been taken to with a mallet at some point during our absense. I swore I'd never feel that cold again, and the memory makes me laugh now. If I close my eyes I'm walking through the streets of Three in December. I'm not a miracle. I'm a curse - or cursed.

But Rita spots the tower and just by looking at it I know it's enough to get us through the night. I nod as she begins to jog and I welcome the challenge. I either die curled up on the floor or die falling from my climb up rickety wooden ladder.

One hand on the railling, another, another. A rung creaks at gentle pressure from my foot. Fuck it, I suppose. Hope Rita ain't afraid of heights. Charlotte used to be. But I don't think Harley is afraid of anything - not anymore.

[ coding by griffin ]

harley scavenges:
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JK this is once per day, my bad!