The pain was a fluttering bird in my ankle, and I wanted to slit my skin and set it free.

The darkness was like a thick blanket around me, pierced only by the faint light coming from my bedside lamp. Cursing my self-defense instructor who was responsible for the unfortunate sprain in my ankle, I hobbled across my room to my study table.

"You won't gain if you're not in pain," he'd shouted over my fallen figure as I squirmed in pain in our backyard, "So get up and fight me!"

Well, I might not have been adept in combat, but I had my own ways of fighting back, which I'd applied on him yesterday.

He was probably rubbing ice on his butt and precious balls at this very moment.

I picked up the pencil flashlight from the wooden surface, and tapped it to turn it on. A single beam of bluish-white light spilled from its tip, cutting through the darkness cloaking the table.

The drawer emitted a harsh squeak as I pulled it open.

Wow, smart move, Naomi, I quietly rebuked myself. Make another noise and you're dead!

Two newspaper clippings were the first to fill my vision. I reached out and gingerly picked them up, my eyes grazing over the headlines for the umpteenth time in the past twenty-four hours.

Three Killed in Anonymous Attack in North Aneida Central Park: Rank Three Turning Rebellious?

Rank One Slaughtered in Central Park: Government to Hold Urgent Meeting Tomorrow

The nondescript black font triggered some vivid memories from this morning in my head. Our dining table had turned into a chaos after my family had been informed of the attacks.

For mom, it was the most devastating news of the century. She had gone into hysterics, screaming that it was only a matter of time before the 'parasites' would turn on us, and would try to bite the hands that fed them.

For dad, it was just another well-thought-out propaganda to defame the innocent Rank Three folks.

Uncle Benjamin had been exceptionally quiet throughout the meeting. As the Governor of Aneida, for him it was a crisis that needed immediate solution.

For me, however, it was the golden ticket to the utterly illegal and infamous 'party'.

My heart tripped as the thought crossed my mind. There would be lots of people my age in that party. Lots of boys, to be technical. Lots of hot Rank Two (and One) boys, according to Amaya; and lots of kissing. We would probably be skinned alive if our parents, or the Regulators found out about it all. Intermingling of the Ranks were condemned by the people here, just a social stigma and not defined by the laws. After the Old World had collapsed and Aneida had formed, someone had spewed bullshit about Rank Two and Three people having been exposed longer to the plagues of the Old World, and the Rank Ones had quickly decided to separate the lower two Ranks from all activities, driven by the fear of having 'abnormal' children in future.

I put the clippings aside and focused on the arsenal for my mission.

Fifty firecrackers fused together, stolen from the Winter Carnival last December. A bottle of water. A pocket knife. Mint-flavored gum. And, finally, two bobby pins. I pulled them out of the drawer one by one and laid them on the table, hoping they would be enough of an aid for my escape tonight.

An escape my mother wouldn't be too happy about.

A light rap on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. I whistled once, and the door creaked open, one inch at a time.

And then a face peeped in, looking pale blue and ghastly from the flashlight held in its owner's hands.

"I have to learn to do that," Amaya's grin was stretched ear-to-ear, "And this door needs some lube. Freaking makes noise!"

"I know," I motioned her to come inside the room.

"What do we have here?" my best friend of thirteen years– and soon-to-be-a-cousin– slipped through the door and joined me by my collection of weapons, "Do you think these would be enough?"

"I hope so," I stuffed the newspaper clippings back in the drawer, feeling a tremor of guilt course through my body. Aneida was going through the worst turmoil in its history, with the Government and Regulators completely clueless about the attacks; and to create a terrifying racket within the premise of Wilkins Mansion itself could cost me a lot if I got caught.

When I got caught. It wasn't the first time I was causing trouble, and it would take my family a fraction of a second to know who was behind it all. Only this time, Amaya would have a part in it, too.

"Really, Naomi, I would rather you stayed back here with ma and your mom," she whispered, "I can go on my own."

"You cannot escape the premises without my help," I stopped her when she opened her mouth to interject, "And I want to go."

"You're grounded."

"I don't care," I argued, "They keep grounding me. It's bread and butter for me now."

Amaya shook her head in exasperation, "Your mom's going to be really mad when she finds out."

And that anger would be rational. Setting your self-defense instructor's pants on fire on purpose is not a skill parents prefer their children to be equipped with. But I believed the action was completely justifiable, especially when the said instructor was a sadistic, condescending bastard.

The fire wasn't serious or anything and I knew that he'd only probably been scorched a little. I had tried to plead my case to my parents, but they wouldn't listen. The instructor's capability to procreate in future had seemed bigger a concern to them than their daughter's sprained ankle. Accompanying Amaya to this notorious party would be another act of rebellion on my part. They might have been successful in keeping me confined me within this prison all these years, but that was because I had acquiesced to them.

Not anymore. I was sixteen for fuck's sake!

"How many times have you faced your mom's wrath for the troubles you have given birth to? Five times? Ten? Fifteen?" Amaya flicked the light on, flooding the room in ivory.

"Honestly, I have lost count," Mom had been furious when I had created a fake fire last summer to sneak out of my house for the first time, and her reactions had exponentially worsened the time when I had glued my mathematics tutor to her chair, the time I had broken my hand while scaling the main gate of our mansion to run away; and three days ago, when I had set my self-defense instructor's pants on fire.

Huh. Well, maybe they should have sent me to school and let me make friends like all the kids out there. Maybe then, I wouldn't have turned out 'wayward', according to my beloved mother.

I let out a breath of resolution, and focused on the work at hand. Pulling out a silk scarf from my dresser, I wrapped the firecrackers in them carefully. Then I proceeded to stuff the other things in a small leather backpack.

"Check on the Patrols at the main gate," I switched off the lights and slung on the backpack, ready in my silk pink crop top, jeans and white sneaker, albeit feeling a little under-dressed beside her. I hated the fact that I had to wear sneakers on an occasion in which boys were involved, but heels wouldn't likely assist me in the stunts that I was about to pull in a few minutes.

Amaya removed the curtain ever-so-slightly to take in the positioning of the Patrols on the grounds, and a solid ribbon of unfettered, silvery moonlight spilled through the one-inch gap. It made me realize that the thick fabric of the curtain that was meant to be protective was actually stripping me off all the wonders the nature had to offer.

"There are two," she commented, "Standing like stupid mannequins. Huh. I think we're clear and..."

The abrupt stop in her speech made my stomach drop, "What is it?"

She removed the curtains by another inch, "I think I saw something...someone."

I joined her by the window, "Must be a Patrol."

"In a red hoodie?" she challenged.

There were the two layers of leafy walls of evergreen hedges that spanned fourteen feet into the air, and had stood guarding our house and the wall between them for the past sixteen years. The edge of the road was clearly visible from here in the pale moonlight, but all I could see were the trees lined along the concrete.

"No red hoodie," I nudged her, "It's dark. You must be seeing things. Let's go."

"Whatever."

I cradled the silk wrapping in my arms, slung on my backpack, and closed the door of my room as Amaya and I walked into the folds of the darkness draped on the corridor, our footsteps as muffled as my cat Bozo's. My heart galloped inside my chest as I padded past my parents' bedroom, halting just for a breath to hear any noise coming from inside. My mother was the only person inhabiting the room now, for my father had gone to the City Center to accompany my uncle to the important meeting. They were likely discussing anonymous attacks and random slaughtering, and I was immensely grateful for it.

"I hear voices," Amaya whispered into my ear, "I think my Ma's in there too."

"Ms. Pillai?" Not good. "Wasn't she supposed to be asleep?" I motioned her to hurry, walking past the room and Uncle Benjamin's perpetually-locked study. I was sneaking on my toes, and with every other step, my sprained ankle was reminding me that it was not in good shape.

We carefully made our way around the end tables, most of which had photo frames or vases on them. The inky blackness hid the paintings of our ancestors that hung on the wall, but I felt their eyes on me, as if loathing, denouncing.

I saw something white and blurry dart toward us and brush against my ankle. I lost my balance, and tripped, thankfully falling on my good leg; the firecracker held tightly against my chest.

Amaya's throat emitted a loud squeak.

It was my cat.

"Bozo!" I whispered at the fluffy, white furball snaking itself against my fallen body, its tail aloft, bent at the tip, "You scared me!"

The cat looked at me and meowed. I blinked at it, and it meowed again, rather loudly this time.

"Not now, you silly thing!" I reached out and patted its head, "I just fed you two hours ago!"

It brushed its face against my palm, purring like a motor. I straightened up and took two staggering steps, feeling the pain in both my legs now, and the evil cat dashed and snaked itself against my feet again, meowing loudly.

"Hurry," Amaya pulled my hand, "I hear footsteps."

I half-ran, half-limped behind Amaya, my arms heavy with the firecracker. Bozo was, thankfully, pissed at my betrayal, and wasn't following us anymore.

"Who's there?" suddenly a feminine voice filled the corridor just as we took the turn to the French windows separating the house from the balcony.

Damn. We were about to get caught red-handed!

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Bloodstream
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