Beads
Adria gulped. She shifted from foot to foot, fingering the thin, silky fabric. It was nothing like the thick denim overalls she wore back in ten, she noted. She had thrown her clothes on as swiftly as she dared, leaving her stylist gaping behind her. The man was obliged to remain until launch, but he had decided she wasn't worth the effort of conversation. She assumed that was the case, yet the silence was making her antsy. She fidgeted with the beads on her rough wooden bracelet, a token her older brother had whittled for her. The cool metal surrounding her blanketed her senses, ruining any chance at listening outside the Launch Room. Why did they leave so much time? Adria bent her head forward, lamenting the loss of the heavy mop of fawn hair. They had cropped it up to her ears, her mentor figuring she wasn't pretty enough to charm anyone, and it would just be a hassle. She acknowledged that his whole diatribe was probably valid, but Adria still bitterly mourned the callous shearing of locks she'd grown out for all of her fourteen years. She danced in place, absently registering the hollow bong of metal against her rubber soles. The harsh scent of metal still overwhelmed her nose and leaked onto her tongue, driving out the stale taste of old food and overriding it. It was eerily reminiscent of blood.
She startled when her stylist spoke. "Girl...Ms. Miller...it's time for launch."
All the air whooshed out of her lungs. Adria scrabbled for breath as she stumbled towards the Launch Pad. As the unyielding glass cylinder thumped into place around her, she nearly suffocated. They sucked all the oxygen out of the tube, she was certain. She raked in panicked gasps in the shadowy tube until her heart rate slowed. She would live at least a day. She hoped. As her platform clicked into place beneath her, she squinted around. The sunlight glared off of waves upon waves of glistening golden sand. The first stunted shrubs popped up at least a mile away, and the sun beat down mercilessly. Her strategy—her only strategy—would still hold, thank God, or whoever. Time ticked away, though, so she had to rush. Adria ripped a strip of fabric from the sleeve of her outfit and made a rough loop. Mentally begging for forgiveness, she clamped her teeth around the string of her bracelet and tore it apart. Twenty-five beads spilled into her palm. 40-39-38...
Adria knew this one was all or nothing. Everyone would despise her. If anyone lived, she was toast. Fitting a pitted bead into the smooth cloth, she prepared her sling. 35-34-33... She flung the bead and didn't dare pause to see where it hit. She pitched all twenty-five beads in quick succession, the last two dropped randomly into the sooty air. The gong was lost in the chorus of explosions, and the dense smoke refused to clear. Adria collapsed as her lungs filled with smog, but as she lay sprawled across the sand, she could have sworn she heard trumpets...
AN: This is intended to be a one-shot, but if you want any more, tell me. Please review!