Vessel by Lisa T. Cresswell

without my breath. I kicked at him as best I could.
    Hit me! Be done with it! Done with me …
    But as before, Weevil never did what I wanted him to do. He pinned my arms behind me and dragged me to my feet somehow. I may have imagined it, but he seemed to pause and let me breathe, a kindness I didn’t expect from him. His hot breath hit my neck as he spoke in my ear.
    “I never thought I’d see you again. Lovely, as always,” he whispered, inhaling deeply as if to collect my scent should I run again. I struggled against him, but his grip was a vice I couldn’t break.
    “You shouldn’t have come here, chit. No, no, no,” he murmured as he pushed me back toward the giant building. “Might mean the death of you.” His voice almost sounded sorry for me.
    More Reticent guards waited at the doorway of the place with the high, gray, windowless walls. I saw the giant stack looming over us now. It was the place with the unnatural light I’d seen from the forest, a place I knew I didn’t want to be. I locked my knees, refusing to move forward, my heels digging into the soft dirt. Weevil bent and slung me over his shoulder, unwilling to take no for an answer. My hands free again, I beat his back, screaming my frustration.
    I heard the guards laugh as Weevil lost his balance with me, and I slipped to the ground. I scrambled away, but he had me by the ankle. His tone was less forgiving now.
    “Don’t make me hurt you. You know I will.”
    “Do it then!” I shrieked. I kicked at him with my free foot as he dragged me closer and hit his thigh.
    “That’s enough,” he bellowed. His gnarled brown hand smacked me hard across the face, and my world went dark.

 

 
     
    I smelled honeysuckle, so sweet I could taste it in my mouth. And then suddenly it was gone like the memory of a dream you try so hard to grasp but can’t.
    My eyes flickered open, and I remembered I wasn’t in the apartment anymore. The Reticents had come. I didn’t even have a chance to hide. Now I lay in a rickety bed in a small, square room with a high ceiling and no windows. The pain in my elbow had finally gone. Try as she might, Alana hadn’t been able to stop the pain.
    Alana … she’ll think I’ve left her.
    In truth I had, but not by my own accord. I hoped she might get away. I’d failed her, and I knew it.
    I wanted to get up and look around, but my legs wouldn’t move. I could sit up but nothing more. Twice now, a man had injected me with something that made me unbearably tired. Restful sleep was impossible. My body craved the rest, but it felt like betrayal to lie there when Alana needed me. I let the drug convince me she didn’t. Who could I help anyway? I couldn’t even help myself.
    Maybe Alana will go east , I consoled myself. Maybe she’ll take the story to heart. It’d be hard, but she might have a chance . The story wasn’t true, of course. It was a juicy turnip to a starving slave, the light of a distant star called Hope.
    The days and nights bled into one another. I was no longer certain of how many there’d been, until one day my mind was a clear, blue sky. I sat up easily and looked around me. The room was spare, the light low like afternoon before sunset.
    Feeling no pain, I examined my elbow first, then my knee. Apart from finding myself dressed in red shorts, everything seemed normal. I longed to see the sun, to know the true time of day, but the room had no windows. There was only a door and a light source hanging up by the ceiling.
    I stared at it. The light glowed like a tiny Mother Sun captured in a glass globe, and like Mother, it burned my eyes to look at it.
    What is this place?
    I got out of the bed and crossed the room to the door.
    Locked, of course . If I’m a prisoner, why heal me?
    No longer drugged, I took to pacing laps around the room. The muscles in my arms and legs were much weaker than before. I needed them back. I even tried push-ups. My arm held as good as ever. I pushed against the floor until