Scales 017

017; the petrified man.

Warning; Scales is a body-horror and, at times, terrible terrain for the mind. Remain in numbers while the numbers remain.

“Where’s Lily?” Bleu asks. 

“She’s already in place. She generally keeps a half-mile ahead, scouts it out. She has markers that I, or we, manage. Some of them will be damaged since the winter was so bad. Well, bad for me anyway.”

“You did what you could.” 

“Thanks.” A pause settles between my shame and guilt like a liferaft. “The air is going to get heavier as we head into the center of the Grid. So, what’s next?”

“Masks.” They repeat.

“Correct! And what happens if we don’t wear our masks?” I clap my hands together for effect.

“You don’t know but you assume it’s really bad?”

“Correct again, but I didn’t say I didn’t know. I said you ‘don’t wanna know.’”

“Don’t patronize me, please. I’m out here with you both.”

She’s got a point there. 

“Fine.” I let out an exasperated huff of air streaming through my nose. “If you know, you won’t go in.” 

I search Bleu’s face for an answer t…