Shelia's POV:

My feet hurt. And my legs. But mostly my eyes and my cheeks are in the most pain. And when your eyes hurt, your head hurts. And my head is spinning.

My feet hurt from the running. And the shoes, their too small, with holes along the joints of my foot and holes where my toenails have cut through. 

My legs hurt from sitting on one bus, for seven hours. Not moving.

My eyes hurt from not sleeping and being constantly alert, and dirt in the air is thicker here, that doesn't help.

My cheeks hurt from smiling, those girls, are scary. They keep calling me Shelia, my name. My first name. I haven't heard that in mouths. I usually just hear my last name, Koen. Or, if I'm lucky, Ms. Koen.

I'm so tired. I just want to sleep. I also need a shower. And I'm starving. But, mostly, I want to sleep.

These girls, Drain, Jeep and Reet. Won't stop jabbering. Can they just leave? I can take care of myself.

"Where's the shower?" I interrupt. And I don't care. But my voice is happy, keep your friend close, but your enemies closer, am I right.

I do not intend on making any friends.

The redhead, Jeep, I think. She points towards the metal door and the end of the thirteen, fourteen dorms. Thank God!

"You're uniform should be in the bag they gave you!" Says the short one, Reet. Her voice makes me want to grind my teeth, its like metal grinding against metal.

I give a sarcastic thumbs-up as I push open the door. I don't think they could tell it was sarcastic.

I peel off my clothes and let them fall to the floor. I examine my body in the mirror. My skin a spotted and my ribs are poking out. My hair is a knotted mess. Sweat lines my featues with another layer of dirt. I scoff before stepping into the nearest stall and turning the knob.

Ice cold water rushes down my face and front. It warms slowly and but running water alone makes me thankful. I can see streaks on my legs where the water has already washed away the dirt. There are three bottles of liquid bolted to the shower wall. I place my hand under and the shampoo squirts out covering my entire palm. People say the sensors haven't been reliable since the war started.

I pull the band out of my hair. My hair falls to my shoulders in clumps. Running it under the water I work the shampoo into my roots as I try and detangle my hair. I take another unknown bottle and what looks like body wash squirts out. Frothing it in my hands I lather my body, taking squirt after squirt. The bubbles turn from white to brown in seconds. It feels so good to be clean.

I rinse and condition my hair breathing a sigh of relief as I turn off the tap and step out. Goosebumps immediately prick my skin as I scan the large bathroom for towels. Finding a stack of dark gree ones I wrap it around my body and walk back out to the room full of beds. 

There are more girls in her then I remember. Sitting on their beds, standing, sitting on the stiff chairs and tables in the center. And they're all looking at me.

"I forgot my bag." I smile sheepishly. Picking it up I walk back into the bathroom.

Stuffing my old clothes back in I pull on some dark blue jeans and a white shirt, it's a little tight, but that's fine. I dig through some drawers until I find a brush. I run it through my hair. I glide down and I shake the excess water out. Throwing the towel in the bin I walk back out.

And for a second time, all the conversations stop and all eyes shift to me. Their eyes are tired. They have no reason to be tired.

"I'm Shelia, but he way." I smile. "Not just Ms. Koen." The corners of their mouths lift. And their eyes glisten. Basic kindness turns them soft.

I find an empty bunk by the door, and their eyes follow me. I watch them as I sit down slowly. I lock eyes with one girl two bunks across. Her eyes are dark along with the circles around them. Her hair is smooth but matted and dark brown. She looks malnourished. She doesn't eat.

I beckon her closer. She cocks her head back at me. But doesn't move. So we stare at each other for a while. Her stare is cold. She thinks she's scary. I almost laugh. I beckon her towards me once again. She is one of the few girls who isn't listening to the three who showed me here and giving me a side-eye.

"Why is your hair blond?" She asked, standing and taking a few steps closer.

"Why are you here?" I counter back. "You look too old to be in this dorm."

"Three weeks. Then I turn fifteen and I'm gone to the fifteen sixteen dorms." Forgetting I ignored her question or at least pretending to.

"Then where do you go?" I ask as she comes closer and stans next to my bedframe. She doesn't sit down. She still thinks she's scary.

"Then I spend my last two years in the seventeen and eighteen dorms. Then it's off to war." She shrugs. 

"You signed a WDF?" I question real awe tainting my voice.

"They give you the opportunity at fourteen. Most girls sign. Better food. And the boys, don't have a choice." Her voice breaks. Not much, no one would notice, maybe she didn't, but I do. She sniffs it off quickly, but I already saw it. She has a boyfriend.

She glances over at the wall. I naturally, I look too. There's a clock. It's old and clunky. It's analog. She taps her shoe against mine before turning.

"It's almost time for lunch." She joins the crowd of girls marching out the door. Then she stops. "I'm Jenny by the way." Then she leaves.

The crowd mixes, only a little. Girls on the right boys on the left. I see Jenny's tall head, she's walking next to a taller boy. With black hair. Her boyfriend.

They all wind through the halls, I trail behind, not mixing, but not getting left behind either. Then we turn a corner, all the tables fill and then I'm left in the back. Perfect.

The trays come out on a conveyor belt, people grab trays and sit back down. Jenny doesn't. The boy she has linked fingers with gives her his milk. She drinks it slowly.

Then a low tone fills the room. This is new, I haven't seen this before. A white screen lowers and a projection comes on. Names fill the white and slowly scroll down. Most people don't look up until a certain letter for last names come on. There is a name in the left collum, is dark red. And Jenny drops her milk.

And then she screams. And I flinch. 

Tristan Marshall

Jenny runs out, and the boy hangs his head. He doesn't chase her. No one does. They keep looking at the list. A few more names appear in red. One where the lady holding a baby gasps and clutches the boy close to her chest.

Then an eight-year-old break into tears. I feel bad for her. 

I push my half-eaten tray away and wander back to the dorm. I should find Jenny. 

After taking a few wrong turns I find the dorm. She's not in a bed or the living ara. She's probably crying on the toilet.

I wander in the bathroom. She's not in any stalls, not in the closet.I'm getting scared. And the fuzzy noise is coming back. I pace the bathroom, and the noise gets louder. It's running water.

It's a a shower. I open the door. And there she is. Scissors slumped in her hands. Her eyes are open and cold. Her eyes aren't even tired, they're dead. Deep gashes along her forearms. The water mixing with the dripping blood and swirling the drain in a thick, pink, sick, mixture. 

It's my turn to scream.