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Nov 8, 2013 05:12
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| # ¿ Apr 25, 2024 01:36 |
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The Heart of the Matter 675 words I need a lung. I need a lung. As long as I kept repeating it, I didn't have to think about where I was. Were it so easy. I sighed quietly, but the sound echoed in the near-silent chamber. No one paid me any attention, though. It's for the best not to think about other people when you're in the lottery. The long, somber line I waited in slowly shuffled forward, taking nearly an hour to move ten feet. Everyone was in formal attire, cheap jewels glinting in the bright fluorescence. The guy in front of me looked about fifteen, maybe sixteen. He had light brown hair and his skin was covered with freckles. His jacket was a size too big and his shiny black shoes were obviously brand new. It had to be his first time. I might've pitied him if I weren't envious. At least he still had enough organs to withstand a loss. Two hundred and twenty-seven years had lost me nearly every unnecessary body part you could think of. The boy- the child- in front of me was afraid. It would've been so easy to reassure him, tell him that all he had to bet was a kidney or something that he didn't really need, so there was nothing to worry about even if he did lose. I said nothing. I thought back to my first loss. It was when I was thirty-two, and the doctor said I'd need a new heart. Nothing terribly unusual for my age. I was lucky in a lot of ways, honestly, and I had gotten what I needed out of it. It didn't take more than a month or two to mostly forget it ever happened. I'd lost a dozen times since then, though the only things I missed were my legs. Of course, my daughter insisted that I would've used the chair just as much even if I could walk. Probably true. Regardless, this time was different. This time, I had nothing to offer that I wouldn't miss. My hands and my eyes were all I had that were on the same tier as a lung; at least, the only things I could actually live without. If one could call that living. Shaking such dismal thoughts from my mind, I watched the boy in front of me tremble slightly as we finally reached the front of the line, where an unassuming brown door stood out from the blank white walls and a single security guard stood still. The guard might've appeared vigilant at a distance, but I could see the cords dangling from his ears. The boy in front of me was pale, staring at the door as if it might suddenly unhinge itself and attack him. I didn't know a thing about the kid; not his name, where he was from, what had led him to this place, or if maybe he was planning to bet exactly what I wanted. All I knew was that I hated him. You shouldn't be here, I thought. You shouldn't be taking anything from the rest of us, not when you still have everything. I said nothing, glaring at his back as he disappeared through the door. I knew what would happen to him in there. He would stumble uncertainly to the empty chair in the center of the room, sitting before a line of shadowed faces. He would answer every question posed to him with a shaking voice, explaining what he was there for, what he was willing to sacrifice, and why he deserved to be whole. (The answer to the last has never mattered, will never matter, but everyone is convinced of their own worth.) The boy will be registered with two serial numbers, one for what he wants, and one for his... donation. He will thank the shadows, and be shown out the back door. He will go home to hope and pray and fear for the outcome. Ultimately, he will lose nothing but sleep. I've never hated anyone more in all my life.
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Nov 10, 2013 22:16
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