Sleepless: Chapter One
Nothing Begins Anywhere [Until Someone Says it Does]
It began with a breath.
Cold, stagnant air filled Margo’s lungs as she sat up in bed, a film of sweat covering her from head to toe.
Her body shook, but not from the chill.
Though clutching at her blankets, her hands were filled with static and refused to properly process the feeling of cotton between her palms and fingertips. Her toes were in much the same condition, a sensation that crept steadily up past her ankles like the limbs of spiders reaching ever closer to her brain.
Her lungs ached as though she’d been breathing in smoke, the taste of metal still vivid in her mind’s eye. It always was.
Stinging cold invaded her chest with every inhale, almost worse than not breathing at all. Cold took on hues of blue, usually. With wind, it turned ice blue, but without the breeze she would have described it closer to a steel blue. Stagnant cold was dull like that, but no less painful.
The feeling that filled the rest of her body, however, was a bright orange kind — and not the friendly variant at that. It was tight around her, suffocating. Her heart attacked her chest with an irregular, thundering momentum, like a wildcat throwing itself against its cage with reckless abandon. Or a dinosaur. Dinosaur was a brown kind of word.
Her tongue was dry, sticking to the roof of her mouth. Peeling it off only added to her pain and discomfort.
The pitch darkness of her room did nothing to ease the way it spun around her. Shadows crept along the back wall, watching her with their beady little eyes as she squirmed.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d had that dream before. It never went much further than it had this time, and yet had a way of leaving her in this sort of a state when she woke up. Her tired eyes begged to lie back down, but her limbs were still full of frenetic energy. It cried out at her to run, to flail, to GO. Tears streamed down her face involuntarily, sucking in pained breaths with a soft cry.
One arm stretched blindly into the darkness towards her nightstand. A few bottles of pills fell, rattling and rolling to places unseen as her hands finally made contact with a small box, scooping out the inhaler within. Her shaking hands found her mouth, gathering the strength and pushing down hard as she breathed in.
A minute passed, and her muscles began to respond to the medicine. Her breathing slowed to a manageable rate, and feeling in her limbs steadily returned. Her runaway thought train found its rails once more, chugging steadily onward.
Exhaustion settled into her bones, the inhaler dropping next to her. She liked them better than the pills. Or injections. The injections were faster, but she couldn’t do them herself, not with the way her hands shook. The pills were fine, except that if you didn’t swallow them fast enough they were liable to make you puke. The inhalers came in flavors, at least the ones made by ARNEN — she’d gone through quite a few of them in the years since she’d started using them. Grape and cherry were staples, but honey was her favorite. It left a nice taste in her mouth.
The delivery methods were nothing special, but the technology within them was. She’d started with one that shortened her panic attacks to just five minutes, but the past year her dosage had increased so they only lasted a minute after she used the inhaler. At any rate, none of them — not the injections, or pills, not even the inhalers — were even on the shelves yet, despite being available to her as far back as she could remember. The perks of her parents working for the company, she supposed.
The shadows continued to watch her from the corners of her room. The hallway light was off, not even a dim glow coming under her door. She had a pretty solid spatial awareness of her room even without it, though she was more liable to “find” those pill bottles by slipping on them than anything else.
She laboriously lugged herself out of bed, putting her feet on the floor. The dresser was three steps forward from here, sliding her feet across the floor with practiced ease. Two steps to the left was the window. Margo reached out both hands, aligning them with the parallel lines of thickly-clustered staples holding the blackout curtain securely in front of her window. They were easy to find. Cold. Colder than the rest of the wall.
She let her hands follow them in a straight line down until her fingers traced the outlet and the nearby nightlight. After a few attempts, she finally was able to plug the thing back in.
Dim light greeted her, glinting off the staples above. If she squinted her eyes just right, she could imagine the blackout curtains being sewn into the flesh of the wall, like someone patching up holes in a kind of horrible quilt. All the windows in the house were like this. Really, “flesh” was just an icky word in general. A raw-meat-colored word, pink and bloody. She was suddenly aware of the house all around her, her room just a single portion of the digestive tract of a big square-shaped monster — the second most dangerous of all shapes, she was sure.
Giant spheres came in first.
She sat down on the floor, staring up at the blackout curtain. Wondered if the sun was coming up.
Wondered further if that really mattered to her.
In a way, it had to. Earthworms had no eyes, but they still had to know when they were in light or darkness. They’d all be bird food if they didn’t. She imagined herself as a worm, or maybe a small sightless dragon, with photosensitive patches on her cheeks and running down her spine.
She didn’t want to be bird food.
The shadows had migrated to the opposite wall, now hovering over her bed and slipping into the space underneath. The small ones crept between the folds of her blankets, leaving just their eyes peeking out at her.
They didn’t like the light. But the blackout curtains weren’t for them.
Margo had half a mind to just lie down and go back to bed on the floor, but exhaustion did not willingly equate itself to sleep. The inhaler couldn’t fix that part.
Peanut butter would make her feel better. There was a jar in the kitchen, behind a box of cereal at the top of the pantry where her parents knew she had trouble reaching. Unfortunately, that would mean getting up again, which was off the table.
A sound came from outside, a car or maybe an animal. A scary animal, with a guttural howl. She was pretty sure they didn’t live near wild animals, though. Maybe pigeons, but those weren’t wild. They weren’t really domesticated either. No one kept the birds, Felix just said they walked around in the street looking for food. Were being wild and being not domesticated the same?
The dim light and further darkness held no answers for her. Wrapped in its embrace, the room around her breathed.
“Your eggs are getting cold.”
Eggs were a food best eaten hot or warm, never cold. They had a weird texture regardless of how they were cooked, and only when warm or hot could she bring herself to ignore it. By the time they get even lukewarm, they’re little better than colorless mush, a yellow-brown-blue sort of thing that could make her vomit immediately if consumed. Cold eggs were a blatant affront to nature.
With this in mind, there was every incentive to eat them quickly, but Margo’s fork continued to only push them aimlessly around the plate. The stove clock stared at her, blinking the time like a large cyclopean eye. Shadows peered from the darkness of the hall, many eyes glinting in her room. They didn’t dare venture into the warmly lit kitchen and dining room, and never had.
A much friendlier set of eyes stared up at her from the kitchen floor, her puppy Baxter having posted up next to her in anticipation of claiming anything she didn’t finish.
“Give it a rest, hun.” Her father set his plate down on the table, kissing her mom on the forehead. “Earthquake last night spooked her awake, I think. Found her on the floor this morning.”
“On the floor?”
“Next to the nightlight. Must’ve walked there herself. It’s way too far to have fallen out of bed at any rate.”
“That doesn’t sound comfy at all.”
It hadn’t been. Her muscles and bones ached. In general, the floor was not a great place to lie down, much less spend hours on. It was made for walking, like beds were made for sleeping. And dreaming. She managed to spear a piece of egg and put it in her mouth, but it tasted of copper and ash. She spit it out quickly, though the taste remained on her tongue.
“Well, I didn’t think my cooking was that bad, but okay.”
“I think it tastes great. She just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, I guess.”
Wrong-side-of-the-bed was a funny phrase, really. There wasn’t an option for which side of the bed she woke up on -- her bed was pushed into one corner of her room. If she’d woken up today on the wrong side of the bed, surely she'd have woken up on the wrong side of the bed every day. Unless the right side of the bed changed depending on the day? Or maybe the right side was meant as being opposed to the left side -- or maybe the side of the bed was referring to which side she woke up on, not where she got off, but her twin bed wasn’t that big and there was always the possibility that she’d woken up in the middle rather than the right or left side and… well. Her head hurt.
“She’ll open up when Felix gets here. She usually does.”
“Oh, Felix is coming?” Her father spoke through half his breakfast already shoveled into his mouth.
Her mom checked her phone. “He said he would be, at least. Wanted to spend the day with her just… in case.”
The clicking of silverware drew quiet for several seconds, as though all the air had been drawn out of the room at once. Staring down at her cold eggs, Margo could just make out her father’s hand grasping her mother’s and giving it a little squeeze.
“We’re doing the right thing. For Margo.”
“For Margo.”
For Margo. There was a certain kind of irony in that, she was sure.
A heavy fist knocked on the door, jolting everyone back into gear. Baxter leaped to his feet, skittering wildly towards the door with a loud set of yips. A familiar woman’s voice came through — one of the guards. “Mrs. Kingston? The Taylors’ boy is at the gate?”
“Oh, good.” Her mom wiped her mouth quickly, calling back, “Let him in, Diana!”
Margo had never seen Miss Diana.
She, like many people, places, and things, existed as a concept beyond the front door and outside the windows. Like grass, cars, and sunlight, Margo didn’t know what she looked like. Guards rarely stepped foot inside. They stuck to patrol routes outside and at the gate. In general, other people rarely ever came inside the house at all. The ones that did were usually ARNEN doctors who wore bulky white suits that covered their whole bodies, with a small window made of tinted plastic so they could see out. They rarely stayed long -- just long enough to do her medical exams.
Felix didn’t wear a suit though. He liked blue jeans and large sweatshirts, and his shoes tracked in small rocks that they put in a secret box under her bed.
A rhythmic knock came at the door, the same one Felix did every time. Once again Baxter began barking.
Her mom rustled through her purse, getting up. “Do you mind letting him in, babe? I think it’s only fair we pay him upfront and I’m not quite sure where I put the money.”
“Yeah, I got it. Head down!”
Margo touched her forehead to the table, closing her eyes and waiting for the all-clear. The rustling nearby stopped, her mother’s footsteps angling off down towards her parent’s bedroom.
The front door opened. It had loud, creaky hinges. Traitorous things.
“Morning, Mr. Kingston. And Baxter.”
“Morning, Felix. Meredith is getting your money, but Margo is in the kitchen.” Felix only made it a single step further into the house before there was another sound, hand gripping fabric. The door closed. Her father’s voice was lower now. “Keep today... light, okay? Cheerful. She needs something bright today, especially… well. You know.”
“Of course. Understood, sir.”
“Good man. Alright Margo, front door: clear!”
Margo picked her head up from the table as Felix entered the kitchen, familiarly bapping the top of her head and sitting on the table next to her. “Hey nerd. You gonna finish that?”
Her eggs stared up at her from the plate, pathetic but no less disgusting. At any moment she anticipated them gaining sentience and crawling away. Of course, that would infer that fried eggs always have access to self-propelled mobility and just aren’t aware enough to use it normally, which was bordering on being the worst thought that had occurred to her today and it could hardly be past nine.
...Or maybe it could grow legs. Little centipede legs that would shuffle it away when no one was looking. Or maybe big spider legs. Or wings like a roach. An egg-roach might take the cake for the worst thought of the day.
“Morning Felix!” Her mom returned with a small stack of bills, extending them out to him. “For today, in advance. We... We really appreciate it, you know. Haven’t been able to get a peep out of her all morning.”
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be today, ma’am. It doesn’t feel right to take money for --” He put a hand up in refusal, but they’d all done this song and dance before. Mrs. Kingston instead tossed the wad of cash into his lap.
“I’m not arguing with you, Felix. The money is yours.” She gave a stern look and he pocketed it without counting. Satisfied, she moved past him and called towards Margo’s father somewhere in the living room. Something about work.
Left alone at the table, the two shared a glance.
Felix pulled out a chair, sitting across from her. He checked over her shoulder before slowly leaning in, steepling his hands as he whispered, “...We’re still on for today, if you’re sure about this.” He made a subtle gesture, tugging at his sweatshirt. It was grey, with no logo. Nondescript was the word. Subtle. He usually preferred them in brighter colors, but today was special.
Their only audience was Baxter, sitting at her feet and staring up at the table. Dogs weren’t known for telling secrets, so in theory, they’d be fine.
She nodded once, sharp and small. Something only Felix would catch. Depending on how today went, there might never be another time she could do this.
His eyes flitted about as he nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair and brushing his hair out of his eyes.
Felix had lighter hair than her or her parents, especially in spring and summer. “Blond” was the word he’d used to describe it, a strange word that sometimes stuck on her tongue when she tried to say it. It wasn’t always so long. He shaved it off every summer when he went to camp, but that wasn’t due to start for another few weeks. He might not even be here when it did, depending on today.
Margo meanwhile had never seen herself in a mirror, not so far as she remembered at least. She was the same age as Felix, but she didn’t think she looked anything like him. She imagined she must look something like her parents, but had never been incredibly successful at formulating what she felt she must look like. She could list off the traits easily — brown hair, blue eyes, pale skin tone, and so on — but putting a face to that was harder than it sounded.
Like Miss Diana and everything else that existed beyond the front door, Margo didn’t have a clue how to even begin to visualize what she would look like. Where a reflection ought to be in her mind, there was just a blur.
People in the world outside the front door came in all shapes and sizes, at least according to Felix. The world was full of people with various skin tones, eye colors, hair colors, weights, heights, prosthetics and so much more. That wasn’t even getting started with clothing choices, or culture, or tattoos. Most people didn’t go around wearing the white suits the medical team did. In fact, pretty much no one did, unless it was part of their job.
There was so much out there that she’d never experienced, never seen. But today that was going to change, if only in a small way.
They retreated into her room, turning on the light. The shadows slipped beneath her bed, hiding behind boxes and textbooks where prying eyes might not find them. She reached past them, pulling a stack of papers off a bin to get to its contents.
The stack landed heavily next to Felix, and she heard him begin to thumb through the papers. “Have I mentioned I like the way you do these maze patterns? I feel like I have. They’re so intricate.”
She pulled a few games off the top of the bin as well, setting them aside. Scrabble. Connect Four. There were only so many games allowed in the household, according to ARNEN. Most of the ones Felix had tried to bring in were rejected at the gate.
“Honestly, you could use them as battle maps. For that game you’re making.”
Wingstorm was a card game, not a game with battle maps. He knew this. It was his way of prodding her, trying to gauge where her head was at.
Not to mention, she wasn’t exactly ‘making’ Wingstorm. That would presumably entail drawing up art for the actual cards. Most drawings were considered contraband within the home. People from ARNEN checked her room on a weekly basis, and just about anything that went in or out of the house got checked too — Felix included.
It was very hard to keep anything a secret.
But Margo had been living under ARNEN’s watchful eyes her entire life.
She had vague memories of growing up in a facility first. Her parents had been able to persuade the company to let them live in a normal house, where they were now, but only so long as they kept up a similar level of security. Depending on how things went today, she might get shipped off to an entirely different planet and STILL be under ARNEN’s watch.
She had to have one day to do whatever she wanted before that happened. And she was going to: Today.
Felix seemed to be the only other person in the world that understood that need.
There was a whole world of possibilities out there that she’d never seen before — and there was one in particular that she wanted to explore the most.
She was going to a party.
From the secret box hidden beneath her bed, she pulled a bag — already packed and ready to go — and put it on backward. Felix handed her his jacket and she slipped it on over the pack. Felix wasn’t big by any means, but he was bigger than her and his jacket would do the job of concealing the bag well enough.
They put everything back the way it had been under the bed and made their way back out of her room. He split off from her, ducking into the living room.
“Mrs. Kingston? I’m going to take Margo outside for a little bit, if that’s alright? I think it’ll help clear her head.”
Margo didn’t look at either of her parents, making a beeline towards the door. There were a set of rungs next to it with her go-gear: a hat, several different colors of blindfolds tailored to fit her specifically, and her usual backpack. She put them all on, taking great pains to not crinkle anything in the secret bag beneath the jacket.
She’d expected Baxter to try coming with them, but he seemed to have found a way onto her chair, licking her plate clean.
Margo could hear them still talking, speaking in low voices they seemed to be under the impression she wouldn’t hear.
“She hasn’t said anything yet?” Her father asked, troubled.
“Not a word.” Felix confirmed. “I think some exercise and fresh air would do her good. I know going outside is dangerous for her, but…”
Her mother sighed softly. “Just don’t stay out too long. Stay in the yard and bring her right back if she starts getting sick. RIGHT BACK, you hear me?”
“Of course, Mrs. Kingston.”
Margo had just finished tying her blindfold when his footsteps came to find her again. He bapped the bill of her hat, and led her out the door.
She handed over the decoy bag to be checked by the guard outside, and got it back not long after.
With a hand on her arm, Felix led her across the grass at a casual stroll. She was nearly shaking from excitement and anticipation, but she was still on camera. They had to hold it together until they got out.
They made it to the back fence — she could smell the big lavender plants that grew there — where a familiar voice greeted them.
“All packed and ready to go?”
Margo had never seen Miss Diana. But Miss Diana had always been sweet and caring to her. She’d talked to her through the window before, and sometimes she sent Felix in with treats to give to her, like granola bars that had no GMOs (though, Margo didn’t know what a GMO was).
And without her, this plan never would’ve worked.
“Yes ma’am. We really can’t thank you enough for this.” There was shuffling of fabric, Felix’s arm briefly leaving her.
Miss Diana laughed softly. “Believe it or not, I was a teenager once too. I know what it feels like. Your phone and wallet, as promised. But Felix?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m only doing this because I trust you with her. If she comes back with even a scrape…” She let the threat hang in the air, and Felix’s hand returned to Margo’s arm. Tight and reassuring. For her or himself, she wasn’t sure.
“Understood, ma’am.”
“Good. Alright. I can only buy you a few seconds on the cameras. Are you sure that’ll be enough?”
Margo nodded sharply, feeling lightheaded but convincing herself she could do this.
“Okay. Good luck, you two.” She leaned in to whisper, “And have fun!”
Felix murmured his thanks, and she left.
And they waited. Her footsteps vanished slowly in the distance, heading to distract the man watching the cameras.
It felt like forever before Felix’s voice finally came again. “She’s just given the signal. Are you sure you can do this? We can try to climb.”
But climbing would take too long. She’d run the numbers over in her head at least a hundred times. She took a deep breath. It was now or never. One great day or an eternity without ever meeting another teenager besides Felix.
Though her hand shook, she slipped a thumb under the blindfold and lifted it just enough to see with one eye.
The colors and shapes were muddled, but they’d chosen this place for its shade in the hopes that it would be easier to see here. It was, to an extent.
She was face to face with a chain-link fence lined in green grass(?) and purple plants, shaded by towering monoliths of bark she was pretty sure were trees. There were wires with little thorns on them running all along the top of the fence.
She couldn't look up too long. The light coming between the leaves of the trees hurt her eyes.
Margo instead focused on the space beyond the fence, where the green underfoot turned to a muddy brown not far away. She grabbed Felix’s hand tightly and held her breath. She only had a few seconds to get this right, but she had to hope it would be enough.
With a slight delay and strain, reality warped and twisted suddenly around them and the two reappeared on the other side of the fence. She quickly pulled the blindfold back down, feeling a headache already building but choosing to ignore it for now.
Shaking, she still found it in her to grin. For the first time that day, Margo spoke.
“Let’s get this show on the road, huh?”
Creator of wingstorm finally revealed! Absolutely loved it. The way Margo perceived the colors around her was beautiful. Hooked already, can't wait for more!
It's finally here! I can't wait to read the next one!!