I have always been Omri's protector, ever since we were tiny. He is the youngest of the X5 males, and I'm second-oldest of the females. Tinga is oldest.
Tinga and I are alike. We both accept mother-roles. Difference is, Tinga looks out for everyone, even the older boys. The only ones older than her are Zack and Zane, but she finds ways of babying them anyhow.
I am X5-347, alias Amna. I am a fierce fighter.
I only baby Omri, X5-826. He is my best friend, my baby brother, my world. He can't get along right without me and I can't live without him. When we were small, I sat up with him for four nights running teaching him to tie his shoelaces. Now he can tie them in a few seconds, even one-handed. Don't ask me how he manages that.
So it makes complete sense that Zack would pair us in this escape. He has to pair us so that we will work together. Brin and Tinga are a good choice. Krit and Syl are a good choice. I am a very good partner for Omri. Zack is very smart.
We're running. Omri is small and thin and light-skinned, with light hair and grey-green eyes. I am tall and lanky with darker skin. Both of us are wearing hospital gowns and no shoes.
It's cold, so cold. Vapour billows before me as I breathe, my throat raw, stinging. There's engine noises of SUVs and snowmobiles and I hear a shout of pain and fear, followed by a thump and running footsteps. Omri hides behind me out of habit as I try to figure out which way to go.
That was Splint. He's going back. There are no engine noises but he's fallen and can't get up. I think his partner Clay has left him behind.
I want so much to go back for him but I have my little brother to think of. Sorry, Splint, I think, and look around wildly.
"The fence is that way. Come on, Omri."
We're running again, and Omri's breathing is laboured. I can see the fence.
Gunshots. They're coming closer and closer.
"OMRI, GO!" I shriek, and we dive at the fence, hooking our fingers through chain links and hauling ourselves further up.
Omri is in front. He hitches himself up and he's over, scrambling down the other side and landing lightly in the snow. Waiting for me.
BANG. A gunshot. I flash back to Eva, dead on the floor, and panic. I lose my footing and catch my upper arm in the wires.
Omri hears my screams of pain and stops, whirling around. I am practically suspended by my arm, desperately trying to unhook it. "Amna!" he calls to me. "Amna, climb!"
"Omri..." I choke out against the pain. Jagged wires, so cold they burn me, yank on skin and muscle. I am bleeding profusely from the wrist.
"No, Amna, come on! Climb!"
"Run for it," I whisper, nearly passing out with agony and exhaustion. My arm dislocates at the elbow.
Another gunshot. Omri ducks and I see the virgin snow at his side marred, spraying snowflakes. Like a lamb before a wolf, he shies desperately from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. Omri only does what I tell him to do.
With everything I have in me, I give him one last command.
"OMRI, RUN! RUN!"
Omri bolts into the trees without another word.
And I fall.
My eyes snap open and I pull the covers away from my legs, looking down at myself in shock.
Safety. Not a child's body, the child who lay unconscious in the snow as two soldiers visciously kicked her around as punishment for her insolence in running away. Strong limbs, still lanky, still dark. It must be two in the morning.
I roll up my pyjama sleeve and inspect my arm. A patchwork of scars from the wires, white and ugly. A thin one on my wrist, like a mark of suicide. There was so much blood.
I sobbed when they sewed up the cut, not from the pain but from the heartache. They told me I was a stupid, silly child and to buck up, that he didn't mean anything to me now.
All of the rest of the night I cried like the child I was supposed to be. Nobody loved me any more. I had lost everything.
It's appropriate, my self-righteous suicide scar. The night I lost my brother, the innocent part of me died.
* * *
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.
Tinga and I are alike. We both accept mother-roles. Difference is, Tinga looks out for everyone, even the older boys. The only ones older than her are Zack and Zane, but she finds ways of babying them anyhow.
I am X5-347, alias Amna. I am a fierce fighter.
I only baby Omri, X5-826. He is my best friend, my baby brother, my world. He can't get along right without me and I can't live without him. When we were small, I sat up with him for four nights running teaching him to tie his shoelaces. Now he can tie them in a few seconds, even one-handed. Don't ask me how he manages that.
So it makes complete sense that Zack would pair us in this escape. He has to pair us so that we will work together. Brin and Tinga are a good choice. Krit and Syl are a good choice. I am a very good partner for Omri. Zack is very smart.
We're running. Omri is small and thin and light-skinned, with light hair and grey-green eyes. I am tall and lanky with darker skin. Both of us are wearing hospital gowns and no shoes.
It's cold, so cold. Vapour billows before me as I breathe, my throat raw, stinging. There's engine noises of SUVs and snowmobiles and I hear a shout of pain and fear, followed by a thump and running footsteps. Omri hides behind me out of habit as I try to figure out which way to go.
That was Splint. He's going back. There are no engine noises but he's fallen and can't get up. I think his partner Clay has left him behind.
I want so much to go back for him but I have my little brother to think of. Sorry, Splint, I think, and look around wildly.
"The fence is that way. Come on, Omri."
We're running again, and Omri's breathing is laboured. I can see the fence.
Gunshots. They're coming closer and closer.
"OMRI, GO!" I shriek, and we dive at the fence, hooking our fingers through chain links and hauling ourselves further up.
Omri is in front. He hitches himself up and he's over, scrambling down the other side and landing lightly in the snow. Waiting for me.
BANG. A gunshot. I flash back to Eva, dead on the floor, and panic. I lose my footing and catch my upper arm in the wires.
Omri hears my screams of pain and stops, whirling around. I am practically suspended by my arm, desperately trying to unhook it. "Amna!" he calls to me. "Amna, climb!"
"Omri..." I choke out against the pain. Jagged wires, so cold they burn me, yank on skin and muscle. I am bleeding profusely from the wrist.
"No, Amna, come on! Climb!"
"Run for it," I whisper, nearly passing out with agony and exhaustion. My arm dislocates at the elbow.
Another gunshot. Omri ducks and I see the virgin snow at his side marred, spraying snowflakes. Like a lamb before a wolf, he shies desperately from foot to foot, unsure of what to do. Omri only does what I tell him to do.
With everything I have in me, I give him one last command.
"OMRI, RUN! RUN!"
Omri bolts into the trees without another word.
And I fall.
My eyes snap open and I pull the covers away from my legs, looking down at myself in shock.
Safety. Not a child's body, the child who lay unconscious in the snow as two soldiers visciously kicked her around as punishment for her insolence in running away. Strong limbs, still lanky, still dark. It must be two in the morning.
I roll up my pyjama sleeve and inspect my arm. A patchwork of scars from the wires, white and ugly. A thin one on my wrist, like a mark of suicide. There was so much blood.
I sobbed when they sewed up the cut, not from the pain but from the heartache. They told me I was a stupid, silly child and to buck up, that he didn't mean anything to me now.
All of the rest of the night I cried like the child I was supposed to be. Nobody loved me any more. I had lost everything.
It's appropriate, my self-righteous suicide scar. The night I lost my brother, the innocent part of me died.
* * *
DISCLAIMER: 'Dark Angel' belongs to Fox and James Cameron. Not me. So don't sue.