I woke up feeling worn out. Totally beat. Ugh, gravity was heavy through the blanket, like it had doubled overnight. I lay in bed, gazing at the gloomy world outside through the crack in my curtains.

Farmer Michael's rooster used to wake me up at the crack of dawn, and that was no biggie, even when I was pulling overtime. As I lay still, I found myself missing that chatty bird and his sunrise jam. I'd bet that semi-cool rooster was the first to bite the dust during this gnarly apocalyptic change.

As I lay there for what seemed like forever, the gloom never lifted. Normally, by this time in the summer, I would have finished all my chores before the sun got too hot. But today was different.

My hesitation tugged at me, a bit like Farmer Michael's rooster crowing in my head. Years of hard work had trained me to keep moving, keep earning. Time was slipping away.

I racked my brain, tugging at a few strands of hair, trying to figure out the best way to assemble a rescue party. I cleaned up my kitchen, loaded two trash bags, and realized I had no plan. First, the military was the one who messed things up and locked us up, so I had to steer clear of them. Second, approaching the teenage miners was risky business. Redhead Demon Slayer was off-limits. Third, the other survivors seemed even more lost than me.

Think...Think, brain, think! I massaged my temples. Intel. I needed intel. I gripped the trash bags and made my way to the back door. And power. Someone powerful. I dropped one bag, paused with my hand on the doorknob, and raised an eyebrow.

Spiky candle flame head! Maybe recruiting him was the answer.

The town clinic should have plenty of helpful or idle people. Or maybe an injured person would be bored enough to talk with me. Someone’s bound to know more about Candle Flame.

So, I munched on a breakfast of more droopy carrots, packed my backpack, and started walking to the local clinic.

Lined in front of the clinic, open tents lay barren with empty blood-stained beds. This was the same clinic I took grandma in for check-ups.

I walked the steps and opened the door. The familiar scent of disinfectant was gone, replaced by a strange mix of unpleasant odors—blood, pee, poop, and throw-up. The throw-up stench hit me hard, and I felt queasy, afraid I might add to the mess on the freshly cleaned floor. My gaze fixated on the windows as I took small breaths to avoid the unpleasant smell. Even with the place being cleaned recently, the place seemed too old to shake off its lingering odor. My attention then shifted to the large figure in the room, draped in a hospital gown that exposed his back, and sporting an adult diaper. I could only glance at the windows and breathe cautiously.

Patients groaned and rolled in their makeshift beds littered in the hallway and the waiting room. Knowing the layout, I walked down the narrow hallspace to open the door to the first patient room and peeked in. A grieving family and a towel on the patient’s face. Uggh! I closed the door. Nope. Wrong room. I was never here. I shook my head to erase my memory. I had enough of that trauma in the concentration camp.

In the next room, there were flowers, a big gift basket, and a man with not much hair watching TV. I noted the preferential treatment since no TVs were allowed here before the military takeover. He must be a big shot with no real friends. Money with no real influence. I’ll leave him as a last resort.

Ready to open the third room, I overheard the doctor. “If Mr. Robinson can’t follow his instructions for bedrest, you’re welcome to sedate him, Nancy.”

Uh-oh! I let go of the doorknob and stepped back. Afraid of getting kicked out, I walked down the hallway, turned left, and aimed for the restroom near the exit.

The restroom was locked. To avoid more suspicion, I acted like I was waiting, standing near the corridor's end where teenagers were sitting or lying on the floor. When they all looked my way, I sat down too, putting on a serious face like theirs.

Examining their faces, I noticed peculiar abnormalities alongside their injuries. One guy displayed peeling, protruding scales on his cheek, resembling a fish out of water. Another person exhibited sores adorned their mouths and earlobes. The bluish-grey boy bore a striking resemblance to my dad and me during the initial stages of turning purple; his hands sported the darkest shade, reminiscent of an '80s gradient. With my own purple skin, I seamlessly blended in, and everyone assumed I was a patient too.

Their eyes, no longer narrowing in suspicion, were now brimming with sympathy, thinking I must be sick. Despite being new, their compassion gave me some hints about what happened last night. Turns out, the orc wasn't dead, and the guy who hit it with a weird mace was a local hero named Raine.

Raine was a big deal among the mine workers in Steel. He hit the orc and somehow didn't get hurt. But all I saw was a guy with a big magical stick hitting a giant. Not too smart, if you ask me. Jumping down from the scaffold to hit an orc? Really, what was that guy thinking?

According to my informants, um, I mean, the kids in the hospital, the elves grabbed the orc and locked it up in some special cage. So elves were real! Pointy ears and all! But there was more – the whole town was taken over by a couple of elves, and everyone seemed to be happy about it. Some even said the elves were the best thing to happen to the town in years. Did they not care about the filth? No, newcomers in the town show little regard for its upkeep, treating the aftermath as a temporary concern.

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When I inquired about the mute elf with the colorful hair, nobody seemed to have any information about him. Strange, right? However, they quickly redirected my attention to Raine. "If you're looking for that hero guy, Raine, you might find him hanging around the old high school gym."

After nearby towns were cordoned off by the military, the mine began providing numerous jobs for those willing to take the risk. Patients signed up from nearby towns to work as miners, which led to the town feeling taken over by strangers. Similar to me stepping in to manage my dad's farm, these kids had to leave their own farms after some farming crisis in 1980, apparently happening all over the States.

There was money to be made in Steel; It was the gold rush all over again. People dragged their families to Steel just on the rumor of work. A lot of Steel’s houses took in several families to accommodate the large number of immigrants. Immigrants with large families of teenagers.

I clenched my fist and worked up the courage to ask, "So, where are the teenagers being held?”

The sick teenagers stared at me, trying to figure out if I was serious. Then they laughed. Scaly Cheek answered, “Good one!” Scaly Cheek told me no one forced them to work; they came to survive like everyone else.

He also told me that youths were welcomed more than older people, as the purple-tinged weapons with their purple gems like the one used by Raine, were only activated by teens. Weird, but they all insisted that it was true.

Once a teen was recruited by the military, the elves would use every way to entice the kids to try the weapons. The purple gem-powered weapons could be activated by teens, but less than two in ten could actually use what they activated, resulting in horrible accidents for most teens hoping for an easy job of guarding the mine with one of those weapons. One teen had a bandaged stub with purple stripes and veins going up the arms. A recent try at handling a weapon. Three months of elven green mead, if you could stomach the horrible metallic raisin taste, would regrow the hand, but the purple condition would stay.

Some were in deep sleep like a coma. The unluckiest never got to live to be disabled like those ones in the sick ward. Some of these poor kids fell during their first battle with orcs and would never walk again.

I listened to their stories, trying not to cry for them. As much as I was dying to see new elves and ask about their rainbow-haired friend, I decided I had to avoid meeting the new elf leaders at all costs. I could be next on their list for weapon trials, and I didn't want to be part of their sick game. Thankfully, Raine usually stayed away from them too. I could meet Candle Flame on the other side of town, training in the old high school gym.

—

I strolled across the football field, making my way to the gym on the outskirts of Steel High. Standing before the gym door, I braced myself for what awaited inside. Did the gym carry the musky scent of effort and nerves? Would it be a place filled with the echoes of friendship and rivalry? I wondered if I’d find myself lost in the shuffle, isolated and alone amidst groups of friends and cliques.

Breathing in deeply, I swung open the door. The quiet entryway echoed with the squeak of my shoes— a sound strange to me. A list of endless farm chores echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of why I never got to experience school like other kids.

Burying my longing for a regular life, especially after the isolation from the concentration camp, I soaked in the surroundings. It reminded me of the first time I entered a library. Faced with the books in shelves towering over me, I was full of awe and wonder. I yearned for the simplicity of a normal childhood, away from the purple skin.

I worked hard to learn every subject school would teach, even if it meant falling asleep after just one paragraph. Sadly, the time for books was gone. If I could go back and tell little me that I'd turn purple and meet a giant talking spider, a crow man, and an orc, I'd probably think it was a cheap version of Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz. What's next? Melting in the bathtub? My journey felt like a fantastical adventure, and I could only hope for a happy ending, leaving behind the comfort of books.

The gym floor was not the yellow brick road. It was so glossy that I half expected to skate on it. Another experience I’ve never had. The gym was nowhere near the warm, locker-filled busy hallways I had imagined. Instead, there was a lot of open space.

I strolled into the gym as there were no military personnel around. Just a bunch of kids my age. I found Raine. He was flexing his muscles like he had someone to impress. Raine was doing this crazy handstand on his makeshift teeter-totter, a wooden plank on a barrel, swinging like a human pendulum. His arms finally gave out and he dropped down on the mat. The whole crew erupted in cheers.

Alright, that was a tad impressive.

His buddy set down a bag of rocks to free up his hands, then tossed Raine a towel. I guess this was what school was supposed to be about, friends teaming up and having each other's backs in PE. I wish I could have experienced that camaraderie and friendship.

Finally, a shrill whistle cut through the air, and the gang of friends spilled out of the gym. I hung back, waiting for them to clear out before making my move. Now, it was only Raine and his towel-wielding buddy left.

But just as I was about to step forward, a bold white-faced possum with a glossy black body climbed the nearby rope, fixing its daring gaze right on me while hissing. What was a possum doing here, scaling the rope to get closer eye contact, acting like it owned the place, a little furball gangster in the making?

While I puzzled over the possum's nerve, Raine, now standing on the balancing plank, shouted my way, “Ahoy there!” He waved like he'd just found hidden treasure, even after managing a teeter-totter headstand with what seemed like exhausted arms.

This wasn't suspicious at all—a super-friendly guy and a possum thug staring me down. Should I drop my guard and join the party, or keep my wits about me? Now that purple skin was practically the norm, did it mean I was safe from discrimination?

No way. I eyed Raine's buddy, who seemed cautious despite the cheeriness. Too many years of being purple warned me not to trust Raine too easily. He might seem friendly, but who knew if he was an elf agent after my staff? I wasn't falling for it.

His friend chuckled, "This dude's been watching too much Popeye." In response, Raine playfully swung at him, causing Raine to lose balance and eliciting more chuckles from his friend.

Raine hopped off the teeter-totter, wiped his forehead, and took a deep breath. "No, you doofus, that's from planking. Pirates use planks. So, when you're a high seas person, how do you greet someone new?" He spread his palms wide. "Ahoy there!" Raine grinned at me and turned to his buddy. "Time to wake up, Will."

His buddy, Will, coughed, holding back a smile.

Despite my attempt to focus on the boys, something in Will’s belt pouch started pulsing, drawing my attention. The pouch's opening loosened, and a thin, pale stick wiggled out, as if it had a mind of its own... hold on, not a stick, but an arm? Then, a tiny human with nearly translucent wings popped out. Its wings fluttered for a second. Wait, was that thing alive?

I shot a bewildered look at Will, and he responded with a slight smile. This guy was clearly enjoying my confusion.