Where The Grass Is Greener
Poppy traced the tattoos on Sam's arm, fascinated by pictures of the most beautiful things. Her favourite was the little girl that sat on the moon; she had long silver hair that merged into the ink lower down Sam's arm. Sam shifted, her hair falling over her face. A single strand fluttered as she breathed in and out. Poppy stopped tracing, afraid that she would wake her up. She turned back to her book, removing the bookmark. It was hard to read when one of her eyes was swollen shut, but she did it anyway. If Sam had been awake, she would have scolded her for straining her eye but laughed at her regardless. She would have probably prised the book out of her hands and read it out loud. However, Sam was sleeping soundly, her head resting on Poppy's lap and her legs hanging over the side of the sofa. The sound of gunfire was heard up ahead and Poppy tightened her grip on the book in an effort to get lost in the world between the pages. Sam sobbed slightly, burying her head further into Poppy's lap and subconsciously grabbing her shirt. Poppy stroked her hair in an effort to comfort her, careful to avoid the stitches on her forehead. Sam may look intimidating with her extensive tattoos and short hair, but it didn't mean that the constant violence had no effect on her. Another burst of gunfire ripped through the air and dust rained down from the ceiling as people stampeded over it. She coughed as she inhaled the plaster and reached for the glass of water on the coffee table. It was empty. If she wasn't careful, they would run out of water and would have to go to the surface much earlier than expected. She brushed over her swollen eye and realised how dangerous that would be. The last time someone had gone to collect water they had been shot in the head. It had been Sam's little brother. They'd had to leave him in the middle of town where he'd been taken by another group and eaten. Sam never forgave herself. Poppy knew this was no way to live but it was the only way to survive. There were rumours of a peaceful place out in the countryside where people worked together instead of fighting one another. It sounded like heaven, but even if it did exist, they had no chance of getting there without being eaten or shot by the guards of the Civilisations in the Clouds. Jake, who was in the makeshift infirmary looking after a boy that he had found half dead in a back alley, had said he'd been in the clouds once, back when humanity hadn't been divided. He said it was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. He'd said the air was so clean and the food was so warm that it had made him the happiest he had ever been. When they did go to the surface Poppy often found him looking up into the sky with a wistful look on his face. If he went there now, he would be executed for 'contaminating' their land with dirty blood. Sometimes she wondered what life would be like if the Civilisations in the Clouds hadn't cut them off without any food, water or essentials necessary for survival. There wouldn't be fighting for a start. There wouldn't be scars all over her body from run-ins with survivors driven mad by hunger and fear. Sam wouldn't cry in her sleep and Poppy would be in school with no idea how a gun worked, passing notes to her best friend and laughing at her antics. If they hadn't been cut off, she would be normal and happy where her greatest worry was doing homework on time rather than dying the second she stepped outside. More gunshots were heard, and Poppy reminded herself that thinking of what-could-have-been did more damage than good. She was here in this reality and that was that. There was no point in pining over something she could never have. She placed her book on the coffee table, gently removing Sam's hands from her shirt and lifted her head off of her lap. Their bed was in the next room, so it wasn't far for Poppy to carry Sam and tuck her in. She tried to ignore how light Sam or how she could feel every one of her ribs through her shirt. They wouldn't last much longer. Everyone knew it, but no one would say it out loud. Their only chance of survival would be to find that peaceful place in the countryside, but they would never be able to manage it. Poppy lay down next to Sam, comforted that the girl automatically rolled over and hugged her. She didn't want to die, not like this; hiding away from the world without having discovered all the joys it could bring. Maybe she would go to the surface tomorrow and run to the countryside where the grass was green, and the sun wasn't hidden behind the smog. She would take Sam and Jake and the boy Jake had found. She would watch them smile again as the worry lifted from their shoulders. They would roll down the hills and swim in the unpolluted lake. She would take a picnic and they would happily eat golden pastries and fresh fruit. All would be well. Tears ran down her cheeks as the gunfire continued and more dust fell from the ceiling and the water, food and medicine all ran out. She cried, stuck underground in a city bathed in blood with a heartless civilisation hanging overhead. Her sobs went unheard in the far away fields where life could have been better. All wasn't going to be well, not in the slightest.
