The Thing about Graves

You see, there's something I've always found fascinating about graves. The thing about graves is that they're always silent, and yet always have some story to tell. My favorites were always the ones about the Grave robbers, who stole- Not zydrate, like the modern ones, but who stole anything buried with the dead, like jewels and silver and gold. I mean, they stole what they wanted, and stole what people thought could never be stolen. They just dug up a grave, dug around a bit, and took what they found.

Another thing about those people is that they turned around, walked into the alleyways, and sold what they stole. It was just like what my mother told me about the "Black Market" when I was little, and what she told me about how Daddy would always sell things that he stole. I haven't heard of a modern Black Market, but it sure sounded cool to me as a kid. It still does. And now that I've been in the business, it seems like the zydrate market is one in itself.

I guess it was those stories that made me go into the alleys when I was only 17. Or it might've been my parents, really. I think it was both, looking back. Like I said, I was just a 17 year old girl. It was, in fact, my birthday. I hadn't known where my parents were taking me. I just knew that it was my birthday surprise. Oh, surprised I was. But whether it was good or not, I'll leave to you.

"Here," My father said, pushing me forward gently. I looked around the alley confusedly, but didn't speak. After a moment, a man with multi-colored streaks through his dirty white-blonde hair stepped out of the shadows. He looked at me, appraising me. I looked at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

"How old are you, kid?" The man asked me. I turned my head. "I- I'm 17, sir…" I whispered, nervous to have his eyes on me and only me. "Hey kid, raise your head up." He told me, and I nodded weakly. "Right, right." My parents smiled.

"They're getting along already, aren't they Johnny?" I whipped my head around to look at my parents. "What does that mean?" I snapped. I didn't like this guy very much. He kept looking at me like a piece of meat, for Christ's sake. I'll admit that I found him handsome, but I refuse to admit to liking him any more than that.

"Oh Cecelia, calm down. It's not like you'll be marrying him! You'll just be his-" I glared, and she shut her mouth slowly, not wanting to make things worse. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I found the man there, holding out a gun with a little glass vial. It had a glowing blue liquid in it. Zydrate. He was a z-dealer. I glared at my parents. "What, did you sell me to him, for some z?" My parents just looked down at the ground, ashamed.

The dealer simply pulled me close to him, placing the gun in my hand. "Kid, relax. You're going to be my apprentice. You working with me will be good for both of us." I slammed my foot down on his, and yelled at him. "Let go of me and go off yourself, you sick bastard!" My mother gasped, and I ran past them. I ran into another alley, not far from the one I'd left, and sank down against the wall.

My parents ran past the alley, and the z-dealer turned into the alley I was in. "Hey kid, I don't suggest you go home anytime soon. Your parents are pretty strung up about this." I glared up at him through my bleary eyes, and he sighed. "Kid, you need to calm down. I'm all you got now. Deal with it." He patted my head, and I snapped. "Don't touch me!" Tears streamed down my face, and sobs wracked my body as I pushed him away.

"Fine kid, but I'm not gonna leave you here alone, and I'm not gonna stop talking to you. You've had a rough day. You need to rest. Come with me." I shook my head. "I don't even know who you are, really..." The z-dealer sighed. "Just call me Graverobber, kid. As you guessed, I'm a z-dealer. You still got that z-gun?" I nodded. "Good. Now, lets go." He picked me up off the ground, and held me bridal style.

"Put me down…" I struggled weakly, trying to twist out of his arms, but his grip was too strong. "Hold still, kid. We're almost there." I stopped struggling, and he smiled. "Welcome to my humble abode, kid." He said, setting me down so he could unlock the door.

The room was filthy, but even so, it was more welcoming than the house I lived in with my parents, which reeked of both blood and alcohol. In fact, this room had a different smell. One I'd only smelled once in my life, as a child. It smelled like Lonicera japonica, common name: White Honeysuckle; the flower was long since extinct, but I could vaguely remember their fragrance from the perfumes my aunt had made in her youth. My aunt had once grown honeysuckles, long before the trees all died and the places they had grown in became over industrialized, rendering the lovely plants extinct.

I breathed in deeply, welcoming the sweet smell into my senses. I was snapped out of my daze when Graverobber, as he called himself, gave me a light push. "Go on, kid." He said. "The room won't bite, and neither will I, unless you ask very nicely, of course." He smirked as I looked away, trying to hide my blush. I may not have liked him much, but I did believe that he could definitely turn a phrase well enough to charm any woman.

As Graverobber closed the door, I thought back to the sweet fragrant smell of honeysuckle in the room, and unconsciously asked him in my curiosity, "Why does the room smell like lonicera japonica? They've been extinct for several decades now, right?"

"So you know the plant?" He asked me, laughing. I blinked at him. "Yes, I have. What's wrong with that?" I asked, my hands resting on my hips. "Nothing's wrong with it, kid. All I mean is that I don't see how you'd know about them. They've been gone since before I was alive. I'm 26, and I've never smelled a real one. How did you know?"

I smiled at the memories. "My aunt used to grow all sorts of honeysuckles, and would make perfumes out of them. She gave me a different bottle each year when I was little. I only use them on rare occasions. I used each one I got, one squirt the day I got it, and then put them away in a secret crevice I found in the flooring of my room for safe-keeping. Lonicera japonica was always my favorite." I gasped. "Crap! They're all still there! That's all I have left of my aunt, and the only way I can remember the old life!"

I felt the sting of the tears flooding my eyes again for the second time that day. Graverobber walked toward me, stroking my hair. I assumed he was trying to comfort me, as awkward as he was making it. "Calm down kid. It's going to be okay. I'll go talk to your parents, and get them to let me get some of your stuff. Just give me a list of what you want and need. But make sure it's everything, because I'll only do this once."

I shrieked, tackling him in a hug. "Thank you so much, Graves! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He just laughed, patting my head with his right hand, and hugging me back with his left arm. I smiled up at him, and suddenly, I blinked. I'd given him a nickname. "Oh God…" I muttered. Graverobber looked down at me. "What is it?" I shook my head. "It's nothing. Nothing at all. Don't worry about it." He nodded. I

At that moment, I had realized that I'd begun to, as much as I hated to admit it, find myself having a crush on Graverobber, of all people. I gave him a nickname. A nickname, for Christ's sake! I never gave anyone nicknames unless I found some sort of important bond with them. But of course, I had my doubts about him. There was no way I'd ever fall for him. He was annoying, aggravating, and completely and utterly arrogant. But on the other hand, he was charming, cunning, and comforting.

Oh God, I'd begun to fall head over heels, no doubt about it. I shook my head, hugging Graverobber tighter.

"Thank you…" I whispered, yet again expressing my thanks, before pulling away to begin my list.