Tomorrow's Light
Written by Drew Clements
Conceptualized by Drew Clements and Bryan Hester
(Part Four - III)

“If you only knew...” Tomorrow mumbled under her breath.
Her heart was racing as she looked at the pool of blood swirling at the bottom of the bathtub. She tried not to make any sort of noise; her mother would just now be walking away from outside of the bathroom door, so tipping her off that something was actually wrong would be bad.
With that in mind, Tomorrow’s hands sprang silently about her body, trying to find the wound, until, at last she thought about the copper taste that had entered her mouth after she had washed the shampoo out. Her hands instantly raced to her head and felt all about. Nothing was sore to indicate an open wound, yet when she pulled back her hands they were covered in blood.
“My God.” She uttered, feeling faint.
Keep silent. Her heart raced.
Throwing back the shower curtain, she leaped out, her wet feet hitting the rug in front of the mirror and sink. She left the water running in the shower-shutting it off and then later turning it back on to finish, if she could, would cause more questions from her mother than she intended to answer.
With a swipe of her non-bloodied hand, she smeared the moisture off the mirror-she nearly screamed at the sight looking back. Her blurry reflection showed streams of blood flowing from her nose, ears, and the corners of her eyes.
She pushed her face closer to the mirror, examining each part. Groping blindly, she found another wash cloth on shelf at the back of the toilet. Its course, dry material burned as she rubbed the blood streaks from her face and the sides of her head.
“Get off. Get off.” Tomorrow rambled on hysterically as she scrubbed.
The bleeding had stopped and the cloth was doing its job at removing the streaks, yet she continued to apply harsh pressure; the skin on the joints of her fingers and knuckles were white while her face became an irritated red. The more she rubbed, the more it stung, the more her heart raced.
Tears came from her eyes, red at first, but soon clear-that was a good sign, wasn’t it? Whatever had happened-the bleeding--was over, yet she continued scrubbing harshly for several more seconds, even as the hot water from the shower fogged the mirror up again.
Tomorrow removed the stained cloth from her face and threw it to the floor. Her body trembled as she turned back to the shower. Tears were flowing freely now. Upon re-entering, she looked at her hands, which were stained a dark red.
What could she possibly say to explain this? She had to be dying-there was no other explanation. What had she contracted? More importantly, was it contagious and had she inadvertently given it to her mother. How horrible that would be!
She half-heartedly finished showering after checking again to make sure her face was no longer bleeding. Questions went through her mind, the most obvious of which clung to her like a spider’s web. How was she going to tell her mother? She had to now that it had gotten this serious.
How?
Turning the water off and exiting the shower, she toweled off and began cleaning up the drops of blood that she had slung about when she had jumped from the shower earlier. After making sure no blood had escaped her sight, she brushed her hair straight and opened the bathroom door.
With a towel wrapped around her, Tomorrow sprinted to her room. The cool air played off her warm body as it zipped through the hall. She shut the door behind her, loosened the towel, and threw it to her bed.
On the back of her door hung a full-length mirror and, standing in front of it, she began to examine her body for any sort of unusual marks. Starting at her face, she looked close. Her eyes were large and blue and, at this point in time, horribly irritated.
A thin nose that came to a cute upward slope at the end jutted out between her large eyes. Her cheekbones were prominent in a way that one would see on someone who was moderately athletic, extending outward just a bit and returning back to meet the soft lines of her face.
Her lips were full, with the upper being a bit more striking than the lower. To the lower right of her lips her acne had taken claim of what is generally a clear face. Overall she was attractive in the girl next door sense, which unfortunately to high school boys, wasn’t really good enough.
“Oh well” to that.
Tomorrow glanced to her clock beside the bed.
“Oh shit. I need to speed it up.” She shook her head, “How can I even contemplate going to school?”
Turning from the mirror, she slipped open the doors of her closet that sat across from the foot of her bed and began rummaging through its contents. A few minutes later she was fully clothed, sans shoes, in a black tee shirt with a pocket on the left breast, light blue jeans that had a small, dark stain on the left thigh from spilled hair dye-an old experiment gone awry, and white socks.
Tomorrow plopped down on the bed and found herself surprised to hear a low crunching sound. She raised her left brow and stood up; there was nothing on the relatively undisturbed covers so she pulled back the upper blanket; nothing there either. She continued through the covers and eventually pulled back the white sheet to find a folded piece of paper with her name written in a style that was radically different from hers. It was sloppily scrawled, as if by a person in hurry or someone with just out and out terrible handwriting.
Folding back the top, she squinted as she tried to decipher the scratch.

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