Blood Poisoning by C.F. Kreitzer EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
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- Author: C.F. Kreitzer
- Language: English
- Genre: Clean & Wholesome Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
One solid line. For three weeks it has stared back at me so sleek and
bold on the smooth, white Recipient paper. It’s all I’ve been able to draw.
One line.
Every day I swear it looks more smug, more menacing and defiant than
before. Like it knows something I don’t.
I can’t get over how unified the stroke is. No marbled texture caused by
straggling pieces of charcoal trying to keep up with my hand like a herd of
children unable to stay in line. No unplanned curves or loops from catching
on the bumps of the recycled Donor paper.
It’s perfect and it knows it’s perfect.
Recipient pencils are like everything else here in Bloomfield, modified
perfection. Altered and tested to perform at the highest possible satisfaction.
Pleasing to the eye and to the president. Nothing out of place because they
have a serum for that and a formula for everything.
I throw the pencil. The dim night-light by the bed across the room
makes the shadows of the bouncing pencil dance across the floor.
My back aches with the way I hunch over, my body pinched into the
corner of this Recipient mansion. The dark wooden walls and the slatecolored floor are even colder than they look. The sofa against the wall is too
soft, the sheets on the bed too sleek.
From this angle on the floor, I have a perfect view of every beautifully
nauseating feature. The bookshelves on either side of the window on the
opposite wall, the giant bed in front of the shelves bookended by identical
nightstands. All gorgeous, perfect, and new while donors fight over left
behind furniture and abandoned war-ravaged homes on the other side of the
wall. Even the door to the room is grander and bigger than any door I’ve
ever seen. I like to always have it in sight, though I’ve never seen it open or
close.
Food seems to be brought in either while I sleep or use the bathroom as
if they are watching me. But for all I know, Recipients could have the tech
to make it just appear on the table too. A levy straight from the kitchen to
my room.
Torrin would know. My little brother knew how everything worked.
My first week here I slept through fitful nightmares and long stomach
aches as I adjusted to the food. My second week I cried over Torrin.
I trace the line on the paper with one finger and push the worry away
before the tears start up again. Perhaps a year ago I would have marveled at
this simple line, the start of a perfect sketch, the endless possibilities of such
a simple yet magical tool in my hands. Scars, even two months ago I would
have jumped up and down like a little kid in front of a donation day feast to
have materials like these. But now I know better.
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