confined [hanji]

Painting, door, chalkboard, lamp, desk, painting, door, chalkboard, lamp, desk, painting, person in door-

My legs drop from their folded up position on top of my spinning chair, boots squeaking against the floor as I halt in my movements. There’s a boy standing in the doorway, staring at me with wide eyes and fingertips trembling upon the paper clenched between them. I wave hurriedly, bolting upright and taking five measure steps towards him. He just continues to stare when I extend my hand for the letter. Just… staring. His eyes are an intense shade of grey, such as I’ve never seen before. I wonder if I coul convince him to let me study them… Surely there’s a mutation in his genes. I could- no. It’s ridiculous how off track my mind can wander.

I raise an eyebrow at him, pushing my hand out a little farther. He blinks (finally) and his mouth pops open to let his tongue wet his lips. Then, silence again. Ripred, he’s shaking in his boots. Did I teach this runt yet? He’s got to be a new trainee. It’s always the new ones that think their superiors are going to rip their heads off for even being in eyesight. I sigh when he drops his eyes to his boots, extending the letter a short bit. There’s hardly a pause before I snatch it from his hand, shredding open the seal in hurried tears. A corner catches my index finger, but I disregard the pain for a moment in order to pluck the letter from inside.

“Zoë, it is my regret to inform you- Oh, bullshit!”

I slap the letter down on the desk with a hiss, blood from my finger smearing across the messy scrawl of a superior. My eyes flick over to the boy slowly backing away from the door, narrowing my eyes at him before waving him closer again. He visibly gulps before taking hesitant steps forward, each one moving him maybe an inch closer to the desk. Seriously, this child is terrified of me. Why? Have I done anything to deserve this? Have I done anything to deserve any of this? I’ve been stuck in lab work for two months, denied meetings with my superiors regarding the terms of my confinement, and now they send a newborn child to deliver the news in which they ’regret to inform me that-‘ shit, I don’t even know what else it said.

With a grumble, I sit down on the edge of the desk and pick up the letter again, skimming through the words. Regret, grounded, lab work, too dangerous, still injured- Oh please. If by injured, they mean my pride, then yes I’m still injured. My burn healed weeks ago. One of my eyes twitches at the thought and I look down towards my right arm. The skin is still patchy and scaly looking across the forearm and it’s pretty much hairless all across the top. I frown and hum before running a finger across it glancing up at the boy. He’s staring at my arm. Maybe he thinks I’m part lizard… It would certainly explain the looks. My finger crooks up and scratches across the scale-y skin on my neck for a moment before dropping back down to the side. Okay, so maybe I’m not completely healed, but my arm is fully functional and my neck is fine. As if to prove a point to no one, I raise my arm and flap it about for a moment before letting it go limp.

“It’s fully functional. There’s no reason for me to be kept on leave when I’m already able to work again. It’s not fair. It’s not like I have a concussion or am missing a limb or anything like that. It was a burn!” I screech, standing from the desk and pointing at the boy. He backs up hurriedly, nodding emphatically at my statement. See, even he knows I’m right on this. The admiralty is totally bonkers if they think I’m going to sit inside and do lab reports all day on something as boring as chemical reactions. I can’t take it anymore. It’s mind-numbingly dull to sit about all day and write and write and write.

Plopping backwards into my chair, I slip my glasses from my nose and into my hair so I can rub at my eyes. I’m going to go mad in here. Keeping me locked up all day is going to push me to do something drastic, like- like- actually do test to become a crazy lizard-human hybrid creature! Surely, the admiralty doesn’t want that kind of press on their hands. I can see it. “Strange new lizard-human muttation on the loose; whereabouts unknown” and “Lizard-human eats its way through 67th Hunger Games Arena; is named victor.” Huh, maybe I should reconsider that plan. It could be quite an interesting turn-out. I mean, it would certain be a Games for the books if- no, no, no.

I push my glasses back down onto the bridge of my nose, settling into my chair a little more fully. Surely, the admiralty will see my sense if I write a letter back. My fingers crack a little when I grasp at the pen, tired of the position, but I set to work on carefully scrawling out my message. Shit, my handwriting is so bad. This is why I don’t do writing. This is horrible. I bite my bottom lip slowly, looping my pen to form as close to comprehensible penmanship as my sorry hand can muster. Ripred, they’ll never understand this. I glance up at the messenger and flap my hand unintelligibly at him a moment before speaking.

“So, kid, tell me- Can you read a single word of this?”

He raises a doubtful eyebrow before taking the paper from my outstretched hand and looking down at it. Ah, shit, there’s blood on the back. I steeple my fingers carefully, pursing my lips and staring up at him with narrow eyes. His eyes flit over to me every so often before returning to the letter in his hands. Finally, after a full few minutes, he sets it down and breathes out a single word.

“What?”

A groan erupts from my lips as I slump in the chair, limbs splayed at all angles. This is why I should be out in the field. I’m not made to work inside like this. I’m made to do things. I mean, I’m made to do more important things. Not to say that lab things aren’t important things. My eyes settle on messenger boy, who is wearing a profoundly stupid mask of utter confusion- wait, now he looks slightly irritated? Wait, am I- “-speaking out-loud?” He nods slowly. I toss my head back to collide with the chair, sighing into the air in exaggerated puffs.

“Great, okay, so you’re going to write what I dictate and this is all going to stop and you can go home afterwards, alright? Alright. Please write neatly the following: Dear Admiralty, I believe it is in your best interest to reinstate me to my former allowance of field work- oh, should I slow down? Ripred, write faster. Alright. Ree-in-stay-te me to my four-mehr- oh, you’ve got that part down? Okay. Should I be further detained to laboratory-related work, I am quite positive the results will prove to be quite bad for both my own personal sanity as well as your command. My arm is fully functioning, thus I see no reason as to why I should be further kept from my important work on the field. Best, Squad Leader Zoë. Alright, let me see.”

My fingers grasp at empty air for a moment before the paper is put between my fingers. I raise it up above me so I don’t have to move from my discombobulated position, squinting at the writing. This glare is horrible. I can’t read this at all. Straightening up is far more effort though, but squinting like this for too long gives me horrible migraines and Ripred knows I’ve subjected this poor boy to enough. I wiggle in my seat a little until I’m sitting normally again and look at the paper in my hands. Is the glare still bad or- no, no his writing is just as bad as mine. I sigh and look up at him from over my glasses, completely unimpressed. One hand waves him out while the other allows the letter to flutter onto the disorganized surface of my desk.

Someone, get me out.