Doesn't look like I'm going to be going to my test; still feeling really sick. So, what to do, except lie in bed and watch movies, and write fluff!
I almost thought I was back home, in my real life, when I woke up, almost. I was lying in a bed, on a rather dilapidated spring mattress. The frame was iron, unpainted and rusty. It stood in a room which resembled a monk's cell; hewn out of rock, it was barely big enough for the bed, with no window. One of the ubiquitous gas lights flickered in its wall embrasure, but the main source of light – sunshine - came from beyond the open door.
I sat up, and felt my leg brush against the bag of macadamia nuts next to me. Sitting on the edge of the bed eating a handful of them, I wondered what to do next, and where Nux was. I also couldn't help noticing that my nightshirt was crusted with dirt, my filthy legs almost the same colour. I snorted as a sudden remembrance bubbled up from my old life; psych 101. According to Mazlow's hierarchy of needs, now that food, water and shelter seemed to be taken care of, it was time for me to get back a little self-esteem by thinking about my clothes and appearance.
Once I'd finished eating, I stood up and cautiously left the room. The sudden change to sunlight had me blinking, as did the expansive interior I'd walked into. It was a large multileveled room with the ceiling and most of the upper walls being what had once been a glass dome. All the glass was gone now, and sunlight and light breezes streamed through the square frames of its structure. It was a very strange room; a massive chandelier with actual electrical lights hung from a ceiling cross beam, in one corner stood a grand piano, while off to another side was a large chalkboard with 5 chairs facing it in a line. On the floor was a large circular depression with a twisting channel leading off from it. Strange slogans written in chalk decorated the walls and floor: 'we are not things' and 'our sons will not be warlords'. All in all, it was a little creepy.
Not sure what to do with myself, I gravitated towards the piano and started hitting random keys softly. I couldn't quite remember, but I didn't think I could play. There was a splashing sound from the hidden upper level, and then the head and shoulders of a girl appeared over the stone balcony rim.
"You're awake!" said the girl. She was another beauty and very young looking, not yet out of her teens. Her long coiling hair was dark and glossy with water, her face round and sweet. Her skin was golden, with rose flushed cheeks and huge liquid dark eyes, almond shaped. She rested her chin on the stone balcony and gave me a shy smile.
"You slept all day," she pointed out, "you want a bath? I just finished, but the water's still good." She beckoned me up. Feeling like a bath would be the best thing in the world right now, I glanced around for a way to get up, and saw some curving stone stairs. I tripped up them to the long stone floored balcony. A large brass bath, sans plumbing, rested there. Beside it was a long coiled hose which disappeared into the wall.
The pretty teenager looked up from adjusting her trailing white garments, flicking her wet hair over her shoulder. She was taller than me, and very slim, in a coltish, healthy kind of way. She looked me up and down critically.
"You're filthy." She stated, wrinkling her nose. "We might need more water. I'm Cheedo by the way. What's your name again? They told me, but I can't remember." She finished bashfully, reaching down for a strip of brightly coloured cloth. She tied this around her temples as a headband, its strong colours and geometric patterns contrasting with her diaphanous white clothing. It accentuated the almond shape of her eyes, making her look like some Native Indian supermodel.
"Rachel." I muttered, feeling a bit tongue-tied. Was every female here preternaturally lovely? I stared down at my scraped and blistered legs, scrawny after so many days with little or no food. Sighing with a feeling of woeful inadequacy, I stepped over to the bath, and dispensing with modesty, pulled my nightshirt over my head in one movement.
Cheedo gazed at the nightshirt darkly. "We should burn that." She announced firmly. "Glory be, you're skinny! Get in and I'll find you some clothes." With that she skipped down the stairs, moving with almost balletic grace.
Gingerly I lowered myself into the water; it was cold but the coolness was refreshing. The tub was large enough for me to submerge my head if I bent my knees right up, and I did so gratefully, relishing the calming sensation of water covering my head. Holding my breath, I opened my eyes under water, staring up at the shifting refraction of the sunlight, the blood pounding in my ears. Maybe this wasn't home, or even true civilization, but it was a hell of a lot better than tramping through the desert endlessly.
A shadow loomed over me and I sat up quickly. Cheedo was back, carrying an armful of the white drapery these women seemed so fond of. She gasped when she saw the colour of the water, dumped the white cloth in a pile on the floor, and then tossed what turned out to be a small bar of soap at me. Shaking her head wordlessly, she produced another bar of soap and started to lather my matted hair with it.
"This stuff's rarer than gold, but I think you need it." She giggled disarmingly and I wondered how old she actually was.
The water was dark brown when I stepped out of the bath. She motioned me to stand over a grate and hosed me down thoroughly, before indicating I should help her pour the bath water down the grate too. There seemed to be no towels, but my body dried pretty quickly in the heat of the day, and the white cloth was quite absorbent.
She had to help me wind it around and fasten it in great knots, so that I ended up with some kind of makeshift halter top and calf length wrap skirt. While she was doing this, I really noticed how sunken my belly had become, how skeletal my arms were. I had a dim visual memory of being much plumper in my old life. Turns out starvation and wandering through desert for days are better than the best Hollywood diet regime.
I was still lost in thought, turning my arms over and back to look at the jutting bones of my wrists, when I felt a sharp tug at the back of my head.
"Oww!" I hissed, grabbing my hair.
"Sorry!" I heard Cheedo stifling another giggle from behind me. "I can cut it off if you want, but it's such a pretty colour, let's try brushing first." The pulling agony started again, while I clenched my fists and tried to stop my head jerking back with each tug. It felt like she was pulling my hair out at the roots, and my suspicions were half confirmed when she stepped back to survey her handiwork, and I saw the brush full of white strands.
Hold on a second, white strands? I searched my fragmented memory, trying to determine how old I was. I was pretty sure I was an adult, and also pretty confident that I wasn't old enough to be having white hair. I closed my eyes, concentrating on calling up a visual of myself. It was hard, and the most I could arrive at was the feeling that I'd been one of those unfortunates gifted with that mousey colour which can either seem dirty blonde or light brown, depending on the light.
I was grabbing locks of my hair and holding them up in front of my face, with Cheedo looking on in confusion, when I heard footsteps below.
"Hellooo?" Called out Capable's voice.
Cheedo clapped her hands happily, and dashed down the steps. I heard her voice drifting up from below, "You won't believe it Capable, I fixed her up real good; she's shiny now!"
Feeling a little awkward, and still a bit stunned by the hair colour change (could it be due to shock? Or maybe this weird energy exchange thing?) I picked my way carefully down the stairs. I stopped about halfway down and stood frozen.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Cheedo, Capable and Nux.
"Tadaaa!" Cheedo was waving at me like some proud post-apocalyptic gameshow hostess, while Capable and Nux stood there staring with their mouths open.
"Shiny." Breathed Nux, and then cocked his head to one side, dark brows drawing down in a frown. I noticed that he was also a lot cleaner and his head and face were newly shaved. Thankfully Capable seemed to have convinced him to forego the white body paint though, he looked a lot better without it.
"Your hair, was it always like that?" he asked.
I shrugged non-committally, not willing to discuss it right then.
Capable touched his arm, a solemn look on her face now that she'd gotten over the shock of my transformation. "It doesn't matter; Rachel, we need to talk ."