Pomegranates to Blood

**Trigger Warning: Bl\*\*d, Ab\*se, V\*\*l\*nce, D\*\*th, C\*rsing, etc**

1

Hot tears trickle down my cheeks, dripping on the dirt floor. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to cause blood, trying to stop crying.

My parents are yelling louder, louder. It’s too much. Too much. I’m crying harder now, clamping my hands over my ears, the overload too much for me to comprehend. I want to scream, to sob, to collapse, but that will only make things worse. I just sit there, huddled in a ball, tears flooding the hollow crevices of my face. The salty liquid stains my ragged white shirt, my green skin.

An arm wraps around my shoulders. I look up ever so slowly to see my brother, Flynt squatting next to me. He presses something into my hands - half a pomegranate.

One pomegranate seed, two, three, four, five…

He sits next to me for one hour, fifty minutes, and twenty-two seconds as I count all the pomegranate seeds. From one glance, I know that there are 307 seeds. But counting them is reassuring, grounding, and therapeutic. Just like my brother.

I break off a single fragile seed and pop it into my mouth, snuggling against my brother. “Flynt?”

“Rosa?” he asks quietly, clutching his own partially eaten half. Seventy-six seeds are missing, leaving 240.

I tear my eyes away from the pomegranate. “Can… can I…”

I struggle to form words, half-formed sentences swirling in my mind, unable to find their other piece. Sounds, numbers, images, tastes swirl around, breaking apart my thoughts.

“Do you want to go to sleep now?” Flynt asks calmly, lightly placing his hand on my own.

It takes me a second to comprehend the question. “Yes. I would.” My voice quavers slightly, the tears pressing at me again. “Can you stay with me?”

He squeezes my arm, dark green eyes reassuring, and gets up. “There’s no dinner today.”

“It’s okay,” I respond. “I still have 306 pomegranate seeds.”

A seed bursts in my fingers, red juice dripping on the ground and soaking my hand.

2

The warmth of my brother’s body heat envelops me, forming a cocoon of comfort. I don’t want to get up. The sun is too bright, far too bright, and I’ll start crying again if I have to look at it.

“Flynt, I don’t want to get up,” I say plaintively. “Do I have to?”

He sighs, “You want me to stall them?”

I nod. “Please don’t hurt yourself.”

My brother kisses the top of my head and leaves, feet crunching against the dirt floor. One crunch, two, three…

*“What the f\*\*k are you doing?”*

A loud smack is audible from outside the door and I flinch, starting to shake and sob. Flynt yelps and runs towards our room, holding the pathetic door shut as our mother bangs loudly.

I sit up from the pile of clothes that the two of us sleep on, trembling and sniffling as I rush to help Flynt. The banging makes me cover my ears as Flynt hugs me close, stroking my hair as incoherent cursing and banging continues behind us. Finally, my mother loses interest and stomps off, ending with a final threat of, “Little failures. I should’ve strangled you the second you were born.”

Flynt takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself but failing as he he crumples to the ground like a leaf. His mouth forms a little o as he exhales, over and over and over. He rubs his hands into his eyes and makes a little whimper before sitting back up and looking me up and down. “Rosa, I need to go to work. Will you be okay?”

I force a smile with cracked lips. “I’m fine.”

It was only when he left did I realize that he wasn’t.

3

“P-please, I didn’t-“

“Idiot!”

A small glass bottle, filled with some sort of alcohol, is broken on the ground. I’d accidentally shattered it while I was stumbling outside, not realizing how my father would explode.

I scuttle backwards as he advances, while my mother scowls at the noise from outside. She takes another swig of her bottle and goes back to stabbing her rake into some pathetic plants, unaware that her drink has splattered into the ground, stopping their growth. I could make little gutters in the plants, covered with leaves so that the drink won’t make it into the plants. It’s all a matter of…

Suddenly, a glass bottle hits the wall right next to my face and shatters into twenty-seven pieces, a little squeak escaping me as I scramble, crawling forwards. The fallen glass has pierced my ear, the blood loss making me incoherent.

My father’s advancing, raising the bottle, cruelty glinting in his eyes.

I lose it.

“FLYNT! FLYNT!” I’m shrieking now, clamping my hands over my ears, whimpering, trying to move but frozen immobile with fear.

“Your brother can’t save you now,” my father spits, “he can’t save *me* now.”

I don’t have time to ponder what he means, because someone hurtles into me, knocking me aside just as my father punches. The person pulls me carefully to my feet, then faces him.

“Can’t I?” Flynt snaps. I’m the only one who notices the tremor in his voice. He stands, fists clenched, between my father and I. A fresh stain glistens across his white shirt. At first I think it’s berry juice, but then I remember my bleeding ear.

My father scowls, watching him, before stomping off. Something about the way he walks reminds me of Flynt.

My brother sits down, wrapping his arms tightly around me. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

I’m slowly calming down, but one drop of blood splattering on my lap shatters me into a million pieces again, tears mixing with the redness to create a pinkish color that’s really quite beautiful.

Why am I so weak?

“Rosa?”

Only a sob answers him.

4

It’s the next morning, ten hours, twenty-eight minutes, and thirteen seconds into the day. Flynt clutches some flowers that he’s grown to sell in the market. They’re beautiful, the most pristine and perfect things I’ve ever seen. Two gorgeous lavender roses, four delicate pink tulips, five rare red hyacinths.

“Can I come with you?” I ask, calmer now that my ear has been fixed. I’d spent the evening yesterday weaving leaves together, trying to ignore my sticky, prickly ear that was now covered in a moss bandage. Now, my woven leaves are lined carefully through the dirt gutters to form makeshift irrigation.

Flynt glances at me, then our father and mother, who are talking loudly and cursing loudly and drinking loudly. “Okay. Okay, but it’s a big overload. I don’t know if you can handle it.”

I smile slightly at my twin brother and clutch his hand. “It’s okay. I have you.”

He smiles and squeezes my hand lightly. “I think they’re happy. You helped them quite a lot.”

Something strange swells in my chest, something that makes the edges of my lips flutter upwards, a tiny butterfly spreading its wings for the first time.

Pride?

Pink blooms across my cheeks and I beam, tucking my hair behind my ear as I glance back at my parents. “I hope so. Maybe we’ll be alright.”

Flynt smiles back. “You deserve to be happy. You’re a genius. And if they don’t understand that, they don’t deserve you.”

I hesitate, “So I don’t deserve them, either?”

“You deserve the *world,* Rosa,” he responds, leading me out the door and into the yard, “And I’m going to show it to you one way or another.”

The yard is a small figment of everything I have yet to see. Flynt spends all day out here while I sit inside, doing menial tasks for my parents and my brother. It’s strange. I know we’re twins (he was born roughly sixteen minutes after me, based on my calculations), but I’m smaller than him in every way. Really, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was older than me by at least five years, eight months, and any number of days.

What was I thinking again?

I give up and join him in the garden crops. He does it in such a precise manner. The weeds (twelve purslane, fifteen crabgrass, and thirty-eight dandelions) are plucked with a flick of his wrist, eighty-seven degrees at most. He pulls out the vegetables (thirteen beans, nine potatoes, nineteen onions, and five radishes) with more force yet more precision. My brother moves on to the flowers, then pauses. He looks towards me, inclining his head in a welcoming gesture.

I study the flower he’s stopped by. A perfect rose with thirty-six visible petals in a beautiful shade of dark red (cardinal, I think, or carmine). Its nine thorns look dangerous, though, and I doubt Flynt will pluck it before cutting the thorns.

To my surprise, though, he picks it up straight from the thorny area, blood the exact same color as the rose running down his palm. My eyes widen and I take a step backwards. “Why did you do that?”

He looks apologetically at me, hiding the rose and the blood behind his back. “Sorry, I thought you could handle it.”

I square my shoulders and lift my chin, trying to hide my mild fear. “I *can* handle it.”

That is, until I remember the glass bottle and Father and my wounded ear. The calculating ruthlessness in Flynt’s eyes, that lasted for just a second, before he ripped the rose from its roots.

I stiffen and tears begin to well up in my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away, trying not to get distracted by the bird (falcon or vulture - hopefully not the latter) flying high in the sky.

Flynt doesn’t notice, soon turning around to show off his moss-wrapped hand. The bloody thorns lie scattered on the ground, and the rose’s stem is pristine as ever. “Now, Rosa… why *did* I do that?”

My eyes light up as I begin to figure it out. “When you grabbed the stem, you positioned your hand so that five of the nine thorns dug into your calluses or fingertips. That way, they would be ripped right out when you pulled your hand away. Cutting the edges of the thorns would’ve made it less beautiful. But couldn’t you use some tree bark or, at the very least, moss to shield yourself from the thorns?”

He nods along, smiling, until the last question. “It’s fine, I do this all the time. Here.”

Flynt offers the rose to me and I can’t help but smile. He won’t be like Father. He’s not a monster. He just wanted a perfect flower for me.

I take the rose, my first piece of the world. “Thank you.”

I tie the rose securely through a small hole in my shirt and take his bandage-free right hand, smiling as we walk off.

He didn’t answer my question, but that’s fine.

5

Flynt wasn’t lying. The market is far too much.

I bury my face into his shoulder, holding back sobs. We’re tucked into a dark alleyway behind a stand that sells glass flowers and butterflies and other ornaments. They were so beautiful, almost too beautiful, but I couldn’t stop to study them because it was just too much.

“You feeling better, Rosa?” Flynt whispers, meeting my eyes.

I hold his gaze, trying to calm down. “Yes.”

“Really?”

More tears well up in my eyes as my brother’s face blurs. “No, no, no, *nonono-“*

The longer I exist, the worse it gets. Tiny things set off another flow of tears - the slightest shift of Flynt’s hand, the sound of a sparrow’s fluttering wings, the shift in light as a cloud passes over the sun.

I pull away from my brother and cover my ears as tightly as I can, squeezing my eyes shut. It’s *so much.* I can’t focus, can’t think, can’t breathe, and I think my heart is stopping-

I let loose a tiny shriek, too quiet and pathetic to encapsulate the sheer chaos around me. I can still hear Flynt breathing. He’s so loud. It’s so loud. Everything is loud, loud, loud.

The sounds aren’t real. I am not real. I am a mirage. One touch and I will fade into the air. The air isn’t real, either. Nothing is real. I am nothing in a sea of nothing in a universe of nothing, nothing, nothing.

Time passes - 10235 seconds - but time is nothing too.

Slowly, I begin to calm down. My muscles loosen slightly. My eyes stay shut, but they relax as well. I shift my hands away from my ears and let a whisper of sound in.

Flynt stays quiet. A rush of shame heats up my cheeks - what was I thinking, pulling away from him, screaming, acting like *he* was the one attacking *me?* He was just trying to help.

“Sorry,” I say, almost inaudible. I hear him let loose a breath. I wonder how long he’s been holding it.

“Really, I am, I- I just- *I’m sorry,”* I blurt out, opening my eyes and looking straight into his. Hm. I think his are a shade lighter than mine. I wonder what that’s caused by. Are we not identical twins? All evidence points to that. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light.

I don’t even realize that he’s gotten up until he reaches out a hand to help me to my feet. “It’s okay, Rosa. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

I take his hand gratefully. “Can we look around a bit longer? Please? I swear I won’t freak out again.”

He swallows, clearly nervous. “I don’t know.”

“Please?” I ask. “I’m not a baby. I’m not useless.”

Flynt sighs. “You’re not useless. And you’re definitely not a baby. It’s just that,” he hesitates, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t know what everybody else is going to think.”

I didn’t even think of what we look like to everybody else - the hundreds of people who passed by the alleyway we’re huddled in. All of a sudden I’m paranoid too. A skinny girl in rags who’s crying for no reason? They’ll hate me. They’ll beat me up just like Father, glass bottles and scraped arms and more tears.

I glance down at my rose. Already, five petals are missing. “Fine. I’m sorry,” my throat catches and my sentences mix up, “I know the way home. They won’t hurt me. The ornaments would be pretty with flowers.”

Flynt sighs. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with you. Why don’t we sell the flowers to the ornament booth?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s what I meant,” I say, taking deep breaths. For some reason, I have goosebumps. “Can we go?”

My brother studies me for a second, wistful smile appearing on his face. He wraps me in a hug, squeezing a little tighter than necessary. Without a word, he lets go, holding my hand as if I’ll blow away in the wind.

6

Glass roses are almost as beautiful as real roses. Almost.

Flynt and I have picked out an ornament to put in our room. A delicate little rose in a glass cage. It’s a tremendous waste of our money, but both of us are so giddy we don’t care. He sold all of his flowers for double the price as usual, and now we have enough for some food and a special gift.

The lady who works at the stand, who introduced herself as Cecilia, smiles at us. I can tell she’s new to the job - it’s partially because got so much extra money, but also the fact that she’s far too chipper and eager to have worked here for very long. Her dark brown eyes dart everywhere (the marketplace is clearly new to her), and she’s wearing a dress that’s far too extravagant.

“So, how old are you two sweeties?” she asks, showing off glistening white teeth. What is she doing in this poor sector? She was probably demoted here very recently and is trying to pretend everything is fine. That means the Horde’s fighting won’t reach this area, if such a rich person would rather evacuate here than another fancy town. This all flashes through my mind in a second.

Flynt smiles blandly with the politely disinterested face that I’m sure he uses on every merchant out here. “Eight. Thank you, have a nice day.”

He turns, practically dragging me away from her. I can tell he detests the fake affection.

“Wait!” she calls, and my brother freezes, a curse being whispered under his breath. He continues walking as if he didn’t hear her.

Before we can leave, however, Cecilia dashes in front of us, smiling even wider. “That’s far too young to be alone in this place. Where are your parents?”

Flynt squeezes my hand until my fingers throb and turn bright red. I wince slightly but don’t say a word. He scowls at the merchant, hostility radiating from his glare. “With all due respect, I don’t see why you care. If you won’t leave us alone, I’ll make you.”

She stutters, shocked by his inexplicable hatred. “I- I didn’t mean-“

“Have a nice day,” my brother says, sarcasm oozing from his words as he leaves, practically running away as I stumble along beside him.

Once we’re far away from her, he drags me into an alleyway and slumps over, digging his fingers into his wrist. I stagger backwards, trying to mimic his anger. He must hate her for a reason, but I can’t find one.

I study the little ornamental rose in my hands, comparing it to the rose tied around my shirt. It’s translucent, the petals are more pink than red, and the clear glass cage around is so fragile and delicate that I can’t help but wonder when we’re going to break it. Oh well. We can always resell it.

I look up at my brother, about to say something, when I notice the blood dripping down his wrist, a thorn from my rose clutched between his fingers. It’s astonishing how much a small object can produce so much blood - several tablespoons at the least.

“Are you okay?” I ask, more confused than ever, “What are you- why-“

Flynt looks up at me, a million emotions crossing his face (I catch shock, sympathy, and anger). He tucks the thorn into his pocket and presses his hand against the cuts, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry, Rosa.”

He offers me his hand, but a single drop of red runs down his palm, making me sick to the stomach. I stare at my crumbling rose, almost half of its petals missing, the rest of them slightly disheveled. But I know what color it is now.

Bloodred.

7

A laughing teen with dirty blonde hair runs by, Flynt and I both stopping suddenly. They look around ten, and even more malnourished than me. I can’t tell if they’re a boy or girl, but either way, they’re… kind of attractive.

They look us up and down, haphazardly tucking a handful of money into their pockets. “Hi, cutie.”

My brother gapes, shocked into silence. “Wh- who are you?”

They give him the most flirtatious wink/grin combo I’ve ever seen. “Rowana. I’m a girl, if you couldn’t tell, but I’m not all that strict about it. What’s your name?”

Flynt pulls me closer. “I’m not disclosing that information.”

She giggles, a coin bouncing between her agile fingers. “Aw, so serious. Loosen up, *please.* It’s no fun kissing someone when they’re stiff as a board.”

He scowls. “Leave.”

Rowana opens her mouth to respond, but a distant shout causes her head to turn, ratty hair whipping in the air. “Sorry, gotta go!” She flips the coin into her palm and runs, dust billowing behind her.

I stare at her. People are so strange. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Flynt says, eyes narrowed, “Let’s get out of here. I don’t know who she’s running from, but-“

The answer runs past us. It’s a lumpy old woman with a permanent scowl on her face. She wears a stained apron and is holding a long, knobbed stick. She shouts curses, sounding too much like Mother for my taste.

He drags me backwards, eyes wide and alarmed. “Don’t let that lady see you.”

“Why?” I ask, but I don’t protest as he nudges me back into the alleyway and we crouch behind a pile of garbage.

Once the yelling subsides, he whispers, “She’s from the orphanage. If she saw us, she’d probably kidnap us. And *they* wouldn’t care.”

“They would,” I whisper back, “They’re our parents.”

Flynt sighs, wrapping a protective arm around me. “I shouldn’t have brought you. Not because you’re weak or anything,” he rushes to explain, “but because of the orphange’s patrol. They might catch you. We managed to avoid them so far, but-“

A scream interrupts us, followed by more cursing and loud thumping. I flinch, and my brother hugs me closer.

After a scream-filled minute has passed, I peek out from behind some rotten apple cores. The old lady drags a semiconscious Rowana by her arm, bruises prominent on her face and arms. Bloody cuts zigzag across her back, and I have to close my eyes again.

Flynt winces at my expression. “I’m sorry I brought you.”

I shake my head, keeping my gaze on the glass ornament hooked around my finger. “It’s okay. Can we go home now?”

He helps me to my feet. “Let’s go.”