Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Kaleb stares up at the ceiling of his room, a spot way up in the corner that’s darker than the rest, and suddenly remembers another face from that imaginary life.
The face is like his own, same eyes, perhaps harder jawline, thinner eyebrows, twice the charisma he could ever hope for, a surprising softness when he smiles that indicates a keen ability to see and empathize with others’ suffering. This is the face of his imaginary older brother. His name is Kyle.
Kyle didn’t care if he studied, didn’t care if he attended all his violin lessons and his extracurriculars or finished all of his homework before bedtime. Kyle was the kind of brother who’d remind Kaleb that he was human, that he could be flawed, that there was nothing wrong with a moment of fun now and then, sitting on the edge of a bed playing a video game, drawing in a spiral notebook all matters of dragons and silly monsters. The more he thinks about his brother, their mom and dad, that house and the accolades and the stresses of studying, the more he believes it truly is just a dream. He was never born to that man and woman. Never kin to a kindhearted older brother. He was born in this cell. Six feet wide, twelve deep, featureless walls. This is where his life began. It is where it will someday end.
“1025,” comes a voice at the door.
Kaleb brings his feet to the cold floor, moves to the small window. “987?” Kaleb murmurs quietly. “What are you—?”
“Find me at dinner,” says 987, his face a blur through the glass. His voice is uncharacteristically stressed. Though Kaleb never asked his age, he guesses the guy is in his mid-twenties, at least ten years younger than him. “We need to talk. It’s big.”
Kaleb draws shapes on the glass, bored. “Chicken parm big?”
The scoff from 987 casts breath over the glass. “Way bigger, 1025. We’ll talk at dinner.”
“Okay. At the usual canteen?”
“Pipe room,” says 987. Kaleb makes a face. “Hey, I know, but we can’t risk being overheard. Gotta go.” He slips away.
Kaleb sits on his bed for the next hour, his mind growing a pair of hands that juggle many possibilities of what urgent news Blood 987 has for him. He tries to read another chapter from the book on his table, but his eyes feel strained in the waning lantern light, and he can’t seem to focus. Between 987 and the recurrence of the dream last night, his mind is chaos.
Maybe he died in the fire that took his home, the fire that ate the bodies of his parents before his eyes. Maybe he died and this is the Great After.
That pale face that looked down upon him with those pale, wintry eyes—that was the face of the angel who took him away, escorted his soul from his broken body to the Great After. This place is a place of processing. Someday, it will be his turn to go, and his soul will reunite with Mom, with Dad, with Kyle.
Hopefully this place isn’t Heaven or Hell.
A final destination, where he will remain forever.
If he is really lucky, it’s all a lie, and God and the Devil and everything in between is just made-up to keep humans in line. This place is no Great After, it’s merely a prison, and someday, he may know something outside of it.
All these realities sound wonderful, sound horrible, sound like nothing at all, except for maybe ideas from a storybook.
The door clicks. It’s a simple sound, but it is one that every resident here relishes with great and terrible delight. Kaleb puts a hand to his door and pushes it open freely. The others in his hall are already making their way. He keeps his head bowed, always moving aside for the more aggressive Bloods to go first. Kaleb learned years ago not to put up a fight or invite attention. The more invisible you can be in this place, the best. Keep your head down. Make your way with calm but focused intention. The greyish maze of halls gives way to several bigger chambers, such as the library, two commons, the shorter halls that lead to specific work areas where only certain designated Bloods are allowed, the main cafeteria and two smaller ones, with short round tables and metal chairs that creak when you sit in them, and something they call the gym, and the shower chambers.
Kaleb takes a left past the entrance to the kitchen and finds the less-used cafeteria, which many call the pipe room for the sewage pipes running across the wall. The stench is countered with plants and sprigs of lavender, but is present nonetheless, rendering the space uninviting for most. Blood 987 sits in the corner, foot bouncing in place. They all wear the same greyish outfits—long pants, short-sleeved shirt, leather slippers—but some Bloods modify their outfits for self-expression, such as with 987, who tore off the sleeves of his shirt, showing more of his slender sculpted arms and time spent in the gym, his warm olive complexion, his confidence and individuality. Upon seeing Kaleb, his foot bounces twice as fast as he flags him over. The other tables are empty. They should be alone until people start spilling over from the other more desirable eating areas.