las memorias | aisha. Jan 16, 2020 2:44:01 GMT -5
Post by Zoë on Jan 16, 2020 2:44:01 GMT -5
They'd been without food for two days, water three. 3 DD, summertime heat unruly, the rebels would surely die out here if they didn't eat soon.
Aisha squinted up at the sun and wiped her dirty, sweating brow. Her skin didn't crisp quite as easily as her pálida amigas but the sun didn't discriminate when it came to exhaustion. She felt it in her bones, stiff and worn as her Abuelo's. Her joints ached when she slept, roused her from sleep most nights, and her stomach grumbled constantly - as did she.
In the distance a truck rumbled, getting louder with every moment. Too close to see if it were friendly or not, Aisha and her two comrades straightened up at the noise, eyes darting around wildly, knees bent ready to run from a rain of bullets.
"Vamos!" she jeered to the two girls trailing behind her in the dust, motioning with her hand to follow. "Aqui," pointing to an abandoned apartment window ahead of some rusty stairs in an alleyway and back to the girls. "Us, fast."
They understood that much.
Fifteen seconds before the truck drove past, massive wheels pooling a cloud of dirt that spun into the air, the three girls has hoisted each-other up the rusted scaffolding and crouched underneath the window. Hand wrapped around the holster of her gun, the three bullets left in her inventory the only thing on her mind, Aisha waited with a finger pressed to her lips and said a little prayer to the Aquino's long since gone.
Tu ángeles, Abuelo had called them. Her angels, her guardians, he was one of them now.
The truck rolled past - Keepers, shiny and new - and the girls sighed a breath of relief in unison once it turned into another street.
Then came go-time. Launching into action the girls hopped up from their hiding places and scoured the empty rooms, making sure to keep away from the open windows and tip-toe around curtains. Nothing of use in the bedrooms, save for a hair tie now wrapped around Aisha's wrist. The lounge had too many windows, they couldn't risk trying the bathroom taps for water, the kitchen-
Food, orange and a funny texture plucked from the back of a cupboard - a dried fruit, too sweet to be raw. One of the girls ripped open the plastic packaging and dove into the bag with savage, famished hands - tearing into the fruits flesh with her teeth without a second thought.
Aisha set out her flat palm and motioned for a slice. "Please, esto- I am..." she forgot the word for hungry. Constantly hungry. Didn't matter, the girl understood. A piece was placed in her hand and she too tore into the food, rolling her tongue around the flavours as she exhaled through her nose.
Swallow, relief. Demasiada azucar, a first thought. A second thought: Aisha didn't care.
"Good, Jailbird?" one of her friends asked, yellow hair and kind eyes despite it all. Despite the war. "Bueno?" they'd been learning, as she had. Little words, little things, an attempt to stay connected on the days where loyalties wavered and selfishness tempted them all.
Aisha nodded, smiling as she chewed. "Me gusta," she giggled as she swallowed, hands dipping into the container again to scoop up more. "I... like it."
"Si!" yellow smiled, taking a bite and sighing as the sugar hit her tongue. "I like it too."
A little joy, a little more time, sent straight from Aisha's angels.