New Draft in post #5
First 250 of my YA Sci-Fi story, Clover. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
I wake to the sound of my sister’s rasping cough. She tries to cover her mouth, I can tell, but I’m attuned to it now. It’s been my daily alarm for the last two years, since her lungs started to give out.
I sit up on my bottom bunk and peer into the dark room beyond. In our dorm of sixty, no-one but me stirs. The blinds are still pulled down over the glass windows that surround us on all sides. It’s not quite morning and thank clean air for that. This silence, this fleeting moment of peace, is my favourite time of day. I have never told anyone that, not even Arma. In truth, we talk of little but oxygen these days. How to ration it fairly between us; how to get more without breaking Elite law; where to hide capsules on the base in case of emergency. What else is there to discuss?
I press my back to the dorm glass and rest my head against it, then run long fingers across my face. Flakes of dry skin fall through the darkness like snow. I wipe it off my lap and make sure none are awake to watch as I slide my hand down the metal leg of my bunk bed, remove the section I’ve spent years chipping away, and take out a small, rounded object. I turn it over in my hands. Preserved in hardened amber, a four-leaf clover peeks out at me. A present from Ma and Pa; both long dead now. The clover is more than our only family heirloom. It is a reminder of what once was, of a world where such miraculous creations were, though rare, still in existence, somewhere.
No-one hopes for such foolish things now.