Intro 5 ~ Jordan Tay
Jordan Tay slid from the roof and fell beside the child, groaning as her knees hit the wet road. Dark night hid her form amidst the haze of shadowed smog.
Blinded by the rush and flare of her beating heart, she clutched the child to her middle and crawled back. Voices buzzed ahead of the alley and the sounds pooled in her ears, unable to supass the adrenaline barrier guarding her mind.
No one seemed to take notice of the abrupt increase of the child's wailing, but she could see its damp mouth hang loose, and she could feel saliva drip onto her wrists.
“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” she whispered, and raised her sturdy palm to the child's mouth. She stood and limped to the back of the alleyway.
The yelling dulled, but the child's sounds still vibrates against her chest. She swallowed, but it did nothing to clear her deaf ears.
Her face red, sweat gripped her clothing. She fumbled for the ladder, smacking bruised fingers against the steel bars as she repositioned the child, who shuddered with tears.
“Shh.” She said, but it was a half-hearted command. The cold steel seared her calluses as she pulled up on the ladder, and her wet boots slipped in an unknown substance. Her jaw hit the bars, but she was not fazed by simple pain.
The child writhed.
Curse her for caring. The child didn't want a savior. It would have rathered dying in the god-forsaken streets.
She snagged the next rung and climbed, and her tight fingers slipped over the bars and stained red with rust.
The child jerked and cracked its skull against the steel. She could feel the vibrations echo through the rungs. “Everything sacred,” she cursed and pulled it close, feeling its small fingers twist into the middle of her loose shirt. “I'm saving you, pal, saving your blasted little life.”
Children never listen much to reason.
She gripped the rooftop and lunged forward, feeling the grit of each worn shingle with careful consideration before giving it her weight. The child wailed.
“It's okay,” she said. Her bad leg ached. No one would search for them on the roof and she thought they were safe. Her hands shook. “It's okay.”
She pried the child from her torso and pushed her sleeve against its bleeding nose. It hiccuped with excited sobs. She pulled it closer and looked ahead at the rise of smoke. Screams no longer affected her numb ears, though she could see the child react with renewed sorrow at each unheard cry. She leaned against the slant of the roof and held the toddler.
Boredom played at her mind and she scoffed at her body. Her chest pulsed with heartbeat, and her sore shoulders lay tight on the roof. If only she could calm herself. It was a rare thing to have utter control of her entire body. Now was one of the familiar instances where she sat and cursed herself for existing and for bearing the body of a coward.
The child wobbled in her lap and she wondered how loud it was crying. Her ears could not pick up on the slightest of sounds, overcome by the adrenaline rush. The blood pulsed in her temples, causing painful pressure. She lifted her stained fingers to the toddler's wet mouth and shook her head. “Quiet. Be quiet.”
Maybe she wasn't saying the words right. She couldn't remember how they felt on her tongue. She couldn't feel her tongue.
Water hit her cheek and she winced at the sight of rain, then sat up.
“We have to go.” She said.
The child shook.
She looked into its eyes and leaned forward so that they were inches apart. “Please be quiet.” She would pay to see such a request stated in a more condescending tone.
“Goodness.” She leaned back and shrugged her shoulders. “Be quiet.”
They never listen. Toddlers are unreasonable. Some folks found sympathy towards the sort of creatures that didn't bear the mental capacity to figure out what they must submit to in order to save their skin. Some folks called that ‘innocence.’ She wasn't sure she had ever bore such a title, and she wasn't confident in saying she had ever been called innocent. If she had, then the sayer would have eaten and choked and died on his words.
If she had been like this child when she was young, she would have died.
But to each their own.
Perhaps someday the child could conjure up some gratitude.
She stood and shifted the toddler to her hip. Its mouth opened in mid-cry.
“Quiet.”
Words. Curse the words. She hated remembering sacred words.
Rain splattered down. The child blubbered.
“Shut up.”
There.
She could remember that one.
Blinded by the rush and flare of her beating heart, she clutched the child to her middle and crawled back. Voices buzzed ahead of the alley and the sounds pooled in her ears, unable to supass the adrenaline barrier guarding her mind.
No one seemed to take notice of the abrupt increase of the child's wailing, but she could see its damp mouth hang loose, and she could feel saliva drip onto her wrists.
“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” she whispered, and raised her sturdy palm to the child's mouth. She stood and limped to the back of the alleyway.
The yelling dulled, but the child's sounds still vibrates against her chest. She swallowed, but it did nothing to clear her deaf ears.
Her face red, sweat gripped her clothing. She fumbled for the ladder, smacking bruised fingers against the steel bars as she repositioned the child, who shuddered with tears.
“Shh.” She said, but it was a half-hearted command. The cold steel seared her calluses as she pulled up on the ladder, and her wet boots slipped in an unknown substance. Her jaw hit the bars, but she was not fazed by simple pain.
The child writhed.
Curse her for caring. The child didn't want a savior. It would have rathered dying in the god-forsaken streets.
She snagged the next rung and climbed, and her tight fingers slipped over the bars and stained red with rust.
The child jerked and cracked its skull against the steel. She could feel the vibrations echo through the rungs. “Everything sacred,” she cursed and pulled it close, feeling its small fingers twist into the middle of her loose shirt. “I'm saving you, pal, saving your blasted little life.”
Children never listen much to reason.
She gripped the rooftop and lunged forward, feeling the grit of each worn shingle with careful consideration before giving it her weight. The child wailed.
“It's okay,” she said. Her bad leg ached. No one would search for them on the roof and she thought they were safe. Her hands shook. “It's okay.”
She pried the child from her torso and pushed her sleeve against its bleeding nose. It hiccuped with excited sobs. She pulled it closer and looked ahead at the rise of smoke. Screams no longer affected her numb ears, though she could see the child react with renewed sorrow at each unheard cry. She leaned against the slant of the roof and held the toddler.
Boredom played at her mind and she scoffed at her body. Her chest pulsed with heartbeat, and her sore shoulders lay tight on the roof. If only she could calm herself. It was a rare thing to have utter control of her entire body. Now was one of the familiar instances where she sat and cursed herself for existing and for bearing the body of a coward.
The child wobbled in her lap and she wondered how loud it was crying. Her ears could not pick up on the slightest of sounds, overcome by the adrenaline rush. The blood pulsed in her temples, causing painful pressure. She lifted her stained fingers to the toddler's wet mouth and shook her head. “Quiet. Be quiet.”
Maybe she wasn't saying the words right. She couldn't remember how they felt on her tongue. She couldn't feel her tongue.
Water hit her cheek and she winced at the sight of rain, then sat up.
“We have to go.” She said.
The child shook.
She looked into its eyes and leaned forward so that they were inches apart. “Please be quiet.” She would pay to see such a request stated in a more condescending tone.
“Goodness.” She leaned back and shrugged her shoulders. “Be quiet.”
They never listen. Toddlers are unreasonable. Some folks found sympathy towards the sort of creatures that didn't bear the mental capacity to figure out what they must submit to in order to save their skin. Some folks called that ‘innocence.’ She wasn't sure she had ever bore such a title, and she wasn't confident in saying she had ever been called innocent. If she had, then the sayer would have eaten and choked and died on his words.
If she had been like this child when she was young, she would have died.
But to each their own.
Perhaps someday the child could conjure up some gratitude.
She stood and shifted the toddler to her hip. Its mouth opened in mid-cry.
“Quiet.”
Words. Curse the words. She hated remembering sacred words.
Rain splattered down. The child blubbered.
“Shut up.”
There.
She could remember that one.
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