Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1)

by Alexa Hamilton

  “There’s plenty of wall space on the surface,” Mevia would say anytime someone complained.

  Mevia was special—a rock star among want-to-be’s. They called her “Mini,” short for “Midnight” because she worked under the cover of darkness. She was also the only one brave enough to take her art to the streets.

  Brave was their word. Foolish was Eli’s. She had already been arrested on smaller charges of vandalism, but someday she was going to piss off the wrong person with the wrong message, the GovCorps would get involved and she would be carted off to prison with a heavy charge. Eli tried to warn her, keep her tame, but she never listened.

  “If I don’t speak for the people, how are they going to know what to say?” she’d argue.

  “Why do they need to say anything?” Eli would comeback. Then she would just give him the incredulous look he was so accustomed to.

  Tonight the atmosphere in The Underground was positively electric. A guy who they called DJDee-J was up on the wooden, makeshift stage pounding on his turntable, playing head splitting beats with no rhyme or melody.

  Drew and Mevia were having a discussion, pointing at the over-packed cartoonish drawings rolling up the walls and across the ceiling: smiling skeletons, winking ladies, mythical creatures burning alive in whiplash flames. To Eli it was like being packed into a psychedelic pressure cooker.

  They walked through the club, everyone breaking out of their bored exterior to say hello to Mevia or ask her opinion on a piece. A girl with a bar jammed through her nose stopped and asked her which shade of blue she preferred for a witch’s nipple.

  Eli didn’t listen for her response because he was fixated on Drew slipping his hand up the back of Mevia’s jacket.

  They crossed the bridge which was really just a series of wooden beams placed over the large gap in the floor where the tunnel-train used to pass. There were rumors of the space below being occupied with a bum colony.

  “Yo Mini!” A chubby girl with large breasts waved from a table she was manning. She moved around her booth and hurried over to Mevia, her eyes red and glassy from whatever she’d been smoking.

  “What’s up Andrea?” Mevia shouted over the music.

  Andrea wore a chunky gold necklace, which was pancaked between her generous cleavage. Her bright red hair was smooshed under a black beret while the rest of her all black attire was covered in smeared paint.

  Andrea muttered something in Mevia’s ear about a “meeting” going on and Eli groaned internally.

  They called themselves The Round Table, but they were really just a group of graffiti artists that sat around, got high and every once in a while picked up a can and colored a wall. If that wasn’t bad enough they all kidded themselves, and everyone else, about their own self-importance. Eli didn’t understand why Mevia wasted her time around those goons.

  “C’mon,” Mevia nodded at Drew and Eli, “let’s go to the back and see Chalk.”

  They pushed their way past the artisan booths filled with various paintings, crafts and performers—including one fractionally dressed, very flexible gymnast with multi-colored dreadlocks—before making their way across the dance floor, thick with sweaty bodies.

  Mevia was leading while Andrea and Drew were busy making an exchange, her paint encrusted hands lacing into his dirty fingernails. He then tossed his head back, ingesting whatever kind of pill was obtained in the transaction. Eli trailed behind the group.

  They came upon a large black man leaning against a door. Andrea pranced up, wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. They pulled apart, and the guy gestured them in.

  “Good to see you Mev,” his voice bellowed as she went past.

  “You too, Z.”

  The only thing good about being inside the smoky back room was that it provided insulation against the music.

  Inside, there were six guys, three of which had girls perched under their arms, sitting on antique, reeking couches. One of them, Sid, a skinny black kid with glasses Eli had met before, was up spraying a wall, waving his arm in a grand arch creating what looked like the beginnings of a black rainbow.

  “Hey girl, how’s it?” someone called out. Mevia went around the room greeting everyone, slapping hands. “Here, have a beer.”

  “Thanks Dim.” She grabbed three and handed one to Drew and the other to Eli, who wished it wasn’t in a clear bottle, making it harder to take fake sips.

  “Yo, M, you hear about Spinser? He got pinched.”

  “Yeah I heard,” she replied absently as she moved over to one of the graffiti covered walls, leaning her face in closely, eyeing each individual piece. “I see we got some new stuff up here,” she said, but everyone was busy talking about Spinser. Even Drew had joined in, and Eli wondered how he knew everyone.

  “Man, who cares?” said one kid, with a blue do-rag tied around his head. His red-lipped girlfriend smiled, showing she agreed. “That kid was a biter. Fuckin’ jester. You know it. Who the fuck does a backjump on an underground wall?” Everyone laughed. “I mean ‘fa real.”

  “Yo, who’s gonna jump his bail?”

  “Shit,” Blue do-rag took a sip of beer. “You got two bigs on you that I don’t know about Raz? If so, throw it down cause you owe me some creds.”

  The big guy in a ripped glow in the dark t-shirt who must have been Raz grinned and waved his hand in a forget-you gesture. “Psshaw. I don’t owe you shit, Chalk.” He took a hit off the joint and passed it.

  “Like hell!” This started another round of banter. Curses and barely translatable graffiti slang passed back and forth through yellow teethed monkey grins.

  Eli looked over at Mevia who had removed her jacket and was shaking a can of blue spray. He watched as she made a curved, aqua-marine line as high as her delicate arm could reach. She was covering someone else’s drawing, probably Spinsers, flicking her wrist, ducking her elbow, creating something that only she could see, but was mesmerizing in its creation.

  She switched to green, then pink, then yellow, then another shade of blue—darker for a shadowed effect—until soon she was putting the final touches on her piece: a sleek bird, white and black, but with windy yellow, pink and blue strokes swirling past its feathers, representing the battering wind.

  As she was detailing the ocean surrounding the bird, Eli took a picture and opened an image identifier app to search for the species.

  The answer appeared within seconds: a sea tern. An ocean bird.

  The tern—endangered—is a small bird that hunts by hovering over the ocean and then diving below the surface to fish their prey. Because they can become waterlogged quite easily, it is believed that they sleep mid-flight while hanging airborne. Smaller and more delicate than seagulls the tern must struggle to adapt to high winds and rough ocean surfaces…

  Eli watched Mevia’s thin, almost hollow arms cutting back and forth, like she was sawing wood, as she created jagged edges, deep shadows and pointed peaks, images far too treacherous for someone so delicate.

  Mevia stood upright and spoke loudly. “If you guys would ever stop arguing for ten seconds and actually spray something, then we could easily go all city.”

  The room went silent. She was facing everyone now, moving into the center of the circle of couches.

  Chalk, who was mid-guzzle snapped the bottle from his lips, leaving a bubble over the rim. “Girl what’choo sayin? We got tags all over this city.”

  “Hell yeah,” Raz piped in.

  “Tags hanging ever’ where! Hangin’ from streetlamps, from billboards, from the bricks. Shit I got my tags hangin’ on ads. Hangin’ on doors. Hangin’ on poles.” He grinned. “Hell I even got tags down in here.” He reached his hand up the crotch of his girl’s skirt. She erupted in squealing laughter, pushing him away.

  Everyone laughed.

  Mevia smiled and placed her hands on her hips. “Forget about tags. How about we talk about a burner? A big one.”

  Again the room went quiet. Sid, who had finished up the
tarantula he’d been painting, was perched on the arm of a couch.

  “We can do a burner, no prob. But where you thinking? Ain’t no more room in the warehouse or the old factory. Not unless you want to piss some gangsters off by coverin’ up their colors.”

  Mevia shook her head. “I’m not talking about the warehouse. I’m talking about something on the outside.”

  Everyone groaned, and for once Eli was with them.

  “Again with the outside?” Chalk raised his voice. “C’mon girl. Have some sense. You know what would happen to us if we get got burnin’ a building? Especially a mural. Those coppers would love to pinch all of us. We’d get five to ten in the cage no questions asked. Just look at Spins. All he got caught with was a little ‘ol tag. Man just writing his shitty-assed signature and look what they slammed him with. He’ll be in for a year unless someone scrounges up two large.”

  “I’m with Chalker,” said a guy with fat hands and a blonde afro. “You know I love you, M, but what’s the point of spraying a building that’s just going to get hosed down by some GovCorp stooge five minutes later while we’re coolin’ our heels in the pound?”

  Mevia shot him a hard look. “The point? The point, Ridge, is we’ll be telling the world a thing or two about who we are and how we feel about this ass crack we call the Slags, instead of just complaining to each other within these walls.”

  Ridge shrugged and looked away. “I just don’t think it’ll say nothin’ that’s all.”

  Mevia met Eli’s eye for a moment. There was a careless, harried look growing behind them that Eli had seen before, but never with such intensity.

  “It will if we do it on the Chancellor’s wall,” Mevia said, her voice low and level, a smile creeping from the corner of her mouth.

  The entire room erupted. Eli nearly dropped his untouched beer.

  “The Chancellor’s wall?” Andrea exclaimed. “Are you crazy?”

  “Yo girl. I always knew you was crazy but I didn’t know you was nuts.” Chalk sniggered.

  “Mevia,” Eli began but his throat was dry and his voice came out barely above a whisper.

  “Why would you go spray an official’s house?” asked Sid. “What’s it going to do? What’s it going to say?”

  “It’s going to say that we’re angry and we’re not afraid to speak out.” Mevia lifted her hands and turned to the group. “We’re not afraid are we?”

  Chalk tossed his empty bottle into the trash barrel hard enough for it to shatter. “Hell no! Chalk Steelings ain’t a feared of nothin’!” He stood up and puffed his chest. “You know that. Everybody in here know that.”

  Raz laughed and clapped his hands. “Sit down Chalker. You might hurt yourself.”

  Chalk shrugged him off. “I’ll burn any building any time.”

  “Sure man. Sure,” said Dim.

  “So then you’ll help me?” Mevia asked, her face luminous.

  “Sure. Sure.” Chalk turned his back to her. “Right after a little refreshment.” He grabbed another bottle from Dim and plopped back down on the couch where he and his red lipped girl began kissing.

  One look around the room at the turned away faces and bowed heads and Eli knew that none of these guys were going to help her. But one look at Mevia’s squared shoulders and lifted chin and he also knew that she would go it alone.

  She looked over at Eli from across the room, and he was held there, receiving a message she was silently relaying him. He shook his head slightly. No. You won’t do this. I won’t let you. Her only response was a tiny smile, a glimmer of hope. The expression seemed to be frozen, refusing to melt under Eli’s hot gaze.

  She needed him and she was putting it all out there: her anger, her fear, her fire. She was begging. But no, he couldn’t allow it. He couldn’t lose her. He shook his head and watched as the smile slowly fell from her lips, the flame inside blown out like a candle.

  There was a weight compressing within Eli’s chest, heavy and as unstable as a landmine. She turned her smoldering eyes from his. He had disappointed her, but he told himself he was just like a parent letting down a child, a child playing with fire that needed guidance. He took a step forward to go to her but was cut off by Drew.

  “I think it’s a killer idea.” He put his arm around Mevia.

  “Yeah?” She smiled up at him.

  “Totally. And I’ll definitely be there. You and I can do a piece together.”

  Then they gazed at each other as though they were the only two people in the room.

  That was when the weight sitting over Eli’s heart exploded, the heat pulsating through his body, searing his limbs. He marched up to the two of them and grabbed Drew by the shirt.

  “Hey!” Drew’s eyes widened.

  “Eli!” Mevia tried to push her way in between them.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Eli demanded. “Boosting her up like that? You’re going to get her arrested. Killed!”

  “What the fuck dude?” He grabbed at Eli’s wrist. “I’m just backing up my girl. My girlfriend.”

  “Just shut up already! I’m sick of hearing you talk.” Eli was about to let go, but then Drew kept on.

  “Fuck you, dude. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove getting up in my face, but she’s not into you. She already told me that.”

  Eli swung, landing a hot fist in Drew’s face. He fell to the ground, his blonde hair flaying wildly as his cap flew off. Blood dripped from his nose, dribbling between his clenched fingers.

  “Oh my god!” Mevia knelt down next to him. Andrea came to her side.

  “Ooh! My nose.”

  Eli looked around the room to see if anyone was going to try and get in on the fight, but they all remained in their seats, mesmerized by the action, but making no attempt to be a part of it.

  Mevia jumped up, her face white hot. Her eyes glistened with angry tears that she would not allow to fall. “What the hell is your problem?” She pushed Eli, her paw-like hands slapping his chest with a loud clap. “Huh?” She shoved again, barely moving him an inch, yet he was jolted to his core. “Why do you always have to do this?” she demanded. When Eli didn’t say anything, she pointed toward the door. “Just get out of here will you?”

  “Look,” Eli tried to lower his voice. “I’m just watching out for you. You’re getting yourself in too deep, Mevia.”

  She shook her head as if tasting something vile. Eli was taken aback by her eyes. It was as if a cloud had darkened and a storm was raging within them. There was a hint of something long brewing below the surface, signaling that her anger was strong and deep, resurrecting itself from some secret place that Eli wasn’t allowed to venture. “You know,” her voice came like an announcement in the new silence of the room, “you think you’re so smart. You think you know so much. So what if you’re going to become some hot shot Corporate? It doesn’t mean you know anything.”

  “I don’t think that at all, but I do think I know what’s best for you.” He reached out to take her hand. She jerked away as if were on fire.

  “Get away from me.” Then the storm broke and the rage flooded out. She clenched one of her tiny fists and jabbed the air with her index finger. “You’re not holding me back, Eli! Do you hear me? You’re not going to hold me back!”

  He was dumbfounded. He looked down at Drew now sitting up, being tended to by Andrea. Somehow the argument had shape-shifted, and he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Come on, Mevia. Let’s just get out of here. Please.”

  “Why don’t you go? You’re the one that doesn’t belong.”

  The weight on his chest returned so that his voice came out softer and more strained. “What?”

  “I said you don’t belong,” her voice lowered, her speech slowed, every word articulated in order to pack the hardest punch. “You never have. Not here.” She pointed down. “Not in the Slags. Not at Welling House. Nowhere. So why don’t you just pack up and go to the Corporates?”

  “Mevia—“

  “Just go.” She
turned away and bent down next to Drew.

  “Mevia.”

  She ignored him. Avoiding eye contact, Eli left, pushing his way through the crowd and back up the stairs to the lobby. He burst out onto the crowded street, stepping into a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  Something had been thrust between them. It had always been there, but never was it so blatant. It wasn’t Drew. It wasn’t the art or the Underground. It wasn’t any of that. It was her. Somewhere between their childhood and now she had seen something in him that she didn’t like and so without saying a word, she had put up a hand and wedged a space in between them. Now it seemed that the harder he tried, the harder she pushed back.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and picked up the pace, ignoring the beggars and their out stretched palms. Keeping his head down he roamed streets, so familiar he didn’t need to think about where he was going. He didn’t even care if he wondered into gang territory.

  As he stomped over a long sewer grating, the sulfuric steam burning his eyes, he thought about her words. You’re not going to hold me back. He’d heard them before.

  That phrase was uttered by her in several instances and variations but it always seemed to hone down to one issue: her father. Even as a grown twenty-two year old, she was still intent on blaming him for not only her and her mother’s demise, but the world’s as well.

  How could she even think of lumping Eli in with him? Mevia’s father was a jealous slacker who instead of working to rise the ranks, chose to spend his energies pulling his wife down.