Mining Claim 4008 - Sector Džhe
"Ljiljica," a man's tender voice spoke, with a gravely warmth like the embers of a summer campfire.
"Da, tata?" Ljilja answered immediately, hanging on his every word.
An enormous hand came to rest upon the young girl's head, gently brushing through her hair. Her strands caught the ocean current and drifted like little locks of blue seaweed. She winced a little―her head hurt, but she could not recall why.
"You are always try so hard," he answered, his speech broken but earnest. "Just like mama."
Ljilja stifled a giggle as he ruffled her hair some more. "Tell me again. What is mama like?"
No longer did Ljilja feel the pressure of the ocean depths, but she was seamlessly transported into a small bed in a cozy little apartment. She scarcely noticed the difference. "Your mama is special," he affirmed, planting a kiss to her forehead as he tucked her in. "Never mean or angry or wanting for herself." With a dreamy longing, he added, "She is my heart forever."
Ljilja beamed up at him with wonder, clinging to her blanket. "Will I meet her someday?"
"You will," he confidently assured her. "We all be together soon."
"How do you know?"
He dropped his weight upon a chair across from her bed, his stocky body creating a sizable thump. Ljilja loved it when he did that.
"Because I work very hard to make it so."
Ljilja pouted. That wasn't an answer, at least not one she was satisfied with. "But how do you know?"
"We never know, Ljiljica," he answered bluntly. Ljilja furrowed her brows, watching him from her bed. "But we try with our everything like we do." He grinned and chuckled heartily. "This is the difference between happy man and sad man. The happy man always try."
The boulder of a man rose from his seat, his plodding boot-steps bringing him closer to the bed one last time. He took one of Ljilja's hands and clasped it tenderly. She held his in return. "Laku noć, ribice," he murmured, wishing the 'little fish' a good night. But as he turned to leave, he was made to pause by a little hand that refused to let go.
"Tata..." she whispered, panic filling in her eyes. Something was wrong―she could feel it.
He soothingly ran his fingers through her hair one last time. "It is okay, Ljiljica. I will see you in the morning."
"Promise?" she pleaded.
"Da. Promise."
"Da, tata?" Ljilja answered immediately, hanging on his every word.
An enormous hand came to rest upon the young girl's head, gently brushing through her hair. Her strands caught the ocean current and drifted like little locks of blue seaweed. She winced a little―her head hurt, but she could not recall why.
"You are always try so hard," he answered, his speech broken but earnest. "Just like mama."
Ljilja stifled a giggle as he ruffled her hair some more. "Tell me again. What is mama like?"
No longer did Ljilja feel the pressure of the ocean depths, but she was seamlessly transported into a small bed in a cozy little apartment. She scarcely noticed the difference. "Your mama is special," he affirmed, planting a kiss to her forehead as he tucked her in. "Never mean or angry or wanting for herself." With a dreamy longing, he added, "She is my heart forever."
Ljilja beamed up at him with wonder, clinging to her blanket. "Will I meet her someday?"
"You will," he confidently assured her. "We all be together soon."
"How do you know?"
He dropped his weight upon a chair across from her bed, his stocky body creating a sizable thump. Ljilja loved it when he did that.
"Because I work very hard to make it so."
Ljilja pouted. That wasn't an answer, at least not one she was satisfied with. "But how do you know?"
"We never know, Ljiljica," he answered bluntly. Ljilja furrowed her brows, watching him from her bed. "But we try with our everything like we do." He grinned and chuckled heartily. "This is the difference between happy man and sad man. The happy man always try."
The boulder of a man rose from his seat, his plodding boot-steps bringing him closer to the bed one last time. He took one of Ljilja's hands and clasped it tenderly. She held his in return. "Laku noć, ribice," he murmured, wishing the 'little fish' a good night. But as he turned to leave, he was made to pause by a little hand that refused to let go.
"Tata..." she whispered, panic filling in her eyes. Something was wrong―she could feel it.
He soothingly ran his fingers through her hair one last time. "It is okay, Ljiljica. I will see you in the morning."
"Promise?" she pleaded.
"Da. Promise."
The Unwanted Present
Opening her eyes, Ljilja examined her surroundings. This was not her bed. She looked to her arm, seeing an tube connected to one of her veins, continuously administering fluid to keep her hydrated. Then, she gasped, recalling all at once that she had been chosen for the Games, that she had been injured, that she had been brought to the infirmary. None of it mattered. She shut her eyes, curling up in bed and going still, trying desperately to return to the dream world.
Molim, molim, ne, molim... she begged, giving way to tears. Moj tata...
A lump formed in her throat, and she grabbed her pillow, clutching it tight and sobbing bitterly into it. She held it with all her might, hoping and trying that she could return if only she willed it strongly enough. But as the minutes dragged on, she could not find rest again.
"Obećao si...obećao si, tata!" she shouted into the pillow, grinding her face into it. In rage, she threw the pillow against the wall. She immediately came to regret it, as she did not have another one to take solace in. Realizing this, she lay flat on her back, eyes stinging as she glared at the ceiling and the tears streamed freely.
It was some time before she was ready to face the world again.
Doctor Chancy permitted her to rest until midday, per Gertrude's recommendation. When she appeared, her words were sparse; she said only what needed to be said. She removed Ljilja's IV, coaxed her into taking some pills―Ljilja did not care to question what their purpose was―then ran a quick test before signing her release.
"You are free to go."
"Mmm?" Ljilja asked, turning towards the doctor, as though a trance had been suddenly broken. She had gotten out of bed somewhere along the way, standing barefoot on the cold, hard floor.
"A change of clothes is waiting for you in your room. Would you like someone to direct you there?"
Ljilja squinted and blinked in confusion. She was still having trouble processing everything.
"You poor dear. Here, I'll go with you; my shift is almost up, anyhow."
The cams got an eyeful. The feeds were plastered with images of the first injured competitor, and of the modern-day Nightingale who escorted her to her quarters. What was the cause? Sabotage? Details were scarce, vague, and shrouded in mystery. Surely the cameras would have caught who did it and how...unless they, too, were sabotaged. What a way to kick off the hundredth Game of Pursuit!
Pods orbited the two at a distance as they walked, keeping an eye on them at all times.
"Here―Room 43."
"Thank you," Ljilja answered in a raspy voice.
"You drink plenty of water, now."
Ljilja nodded.
"Alright, then. You know where to find us if you need anything. Bye now," the doctor said before walking off in the direction from which she came.
Ljilja swiped her bracelet along the receiver and stepped inside.
She hadn't the presence of mind to revel in the luxury of her accommodations. Once behind closed doors, she discarded her medical gown and replaced it with casual clothes―a black tank top and gray shorts. Then, she seated herself upon the bed, letting out a long, quiet sigh.
I thought these days were over. She let herself fall backwards, landing on the mattress with a soft thud. I can't change that he's gone.
She felt at her head and arm, sensing the tenderness of her skin. I don't want to die, too, she thought. But she also recalled his words. I must try, or I will not be happy.
Is happiness worth dying for?
She thought long and hard. She imagined her father, still alive somewhere, and what he would urge her to do―what he would say.
How do I know if it's worth it?
She could almost hear his reply, just like in the dream. We never know, Ljiljica.
But we try with our everything like we do.
Molim, molim, ne, molim... she begged, giving way to tears. Moj tata...
A lump formed in her throat, and she grabbed her pillow, clutching it tight and sobbing bitterly into it. She held it with all her might, hoping and trying that she could return if only she willed it strongly enough. But as the minutes dragged on, she could not find rest again.
"Obećao si...obećao si, tata!" she shouted into the pillow, grinding her face into it. In rage, she threw the pillow against the wall. She immediately came to regret it, as she did not have another one to take solace in. Realizing this, she lay flat on her back, eyes stinging as she glared at the ceiling and the tears streamed freely.
It was some time before she was ready to face the world again.
Doctor Chancy permitted her to rest until midday, per Gertrude's recommendation. When she appeared, her words were sparse; she said only what needed to be said. She removed Ljilja's IV, coaxed her into taking some pills―Ljilja did not care to question what their purpose was―then ran a quick test before signing her release.
"You are free to go."
"Mmm?" Ljilja asked, turning towards the doctor, as though a trance had been suddenly broken. She had gotten out of bed somewhere along the way, standing barefoot on the cold, hard floor.
"A change of clothes is waiting for you in your room. Would you like someone to direct you there?"
Ljilja squinted and blinked in confusion. She was still having trouble processing everything.
"You poor dear. Here, I'll go with you; my shift is almost up, anyhow."
The cams got an eyeful. The feeds were plastered with images of the first injured competitor, and of the modern-day Nightingale who escorted her to her quarters. What was the cause? Sabotage? Details were scarce, vague, and shrouded in mystery. Surely the cameras would have caught who did it and how...unless they, too, were sabotaged. What a way to kick off the hundredth Game of Pursuit!
Pods orbited the two at a distance as they walked, keeping an eye on them at all times.
"Here―Room 43."
"Thank you," Ljilja answered in a raspy voice.
"You drink plenty of water, now."
Ljilja nodded.
"Alright, then. You know where to find us if you need anything. Bye now," the doctor said before walking off in the direction from which she came.
Ljilja swiped her bracelet along the receiver and stepped inside.
She hadn't the presence of mind to revel in the luxury of her accommodations. Once behind closed doors, she discarded her medical gown and replaced it with casual clothes―a black tank top and gray shorts. Then, she seated herself upon the bed, letting out a long, quiet sigh.
I thought these days were over. She let herself fall backwards, landing on the mattress with a soft thud. I can't change that he's gone.
She felt at her head and arm, sensing the tenderness of her skin. I don't want to die, too, she thought. But she also recalled his words. I must try, or I will not be happy.
Is happiness worth dying for?
She thought long and hard. She imagined her father, still alive somewhere, and what he would urge her to do―what he would say.
How do I know if it's worth it?
She could almost hear his reply, just like in the dream. We never know, Ljiljica.
But we try with our everything like we do.