The Day Earth Died

5. Fe[Male]

"Mum, I'm sorry, I was at the river," I said.

She didn't grant me much of a reaction.

"There's nothing to apologize for. You're old enough to make your own choices."

It took me a moment to process. She wasn't the kind of person to say any of this. She liked things her way, in her comfort zone, always. In response to my silence, she put away the cloth and needle, as if to brace herself.

"You're hiding something from me, Malory." I opened my mouth, only to close it again.

She was unreadable. Her features were so stoic, as hard as cement.

"I..."

I paused. I didn't know what to say. I settled for something considerate, testing the waters:

"Are you angry?"

"No."

Silence fell upon us. I pulled a chair back and sat on it, sensing this wasn't about to be a light discussion.

"I... I want to enroll in the Recruitment, mum."

No reaction. No surprise, no sadness, no anger; nothing.

"Okay."

I immediately felt pressured to justify myself.

"It's hard to work for two and... I'm fine with under-eating but it's bad for you. You need all the strength you can get and I can't give you that. Not like this." I lowered my head. 

Mum had always told me to keep my head up, yet she never knew when it was down. It was hard to live with someone stuck in their own world. Someone who couldn't reach out of it even if they would want to. Someone who was here yet elsewhere. I knew it was harder for her but I couldn't shake off the thoughts, no matter how ashamed I was to even consider my own feelings in spite of hers.

"Officers aren't fools, neither is the government."

She was right on that. Still, I had hoped she'd have a bit more faith in me although I knew that at the end of the day, it was because she cared.

"Linea can help me out."

"For a price," mum said.

"I can pay."

"I don't know about this."

Frustration bubbled in my stomach.

"Mum, we don't have a choice."

"You always have a choice, Malory," she spoke with her calm yet cold tone.

I clenched my jaw.

"We've been barely holding on for years. This can make our lives better, mum."

She remained quiet. I stood up and seized my backpack. In silence, I packed my clothes and transferred the pills to a plastic bag that I then buried under my clothing.

I had been observing the Recruitment process for a year now. Around 30 or so officers pulled folded tables out of the train's storage section and opened them into five stands. Men regrouped in front of the railway and waited in line to give out their names, ages and addresses.

Most people didn't have an address, so they would just paint a random number on their door. To do that, they could either crush some rocks into powder and buy oil to add it in or buy the paint itself, already prepared. Painting was for the richer people who had time to enjoy art, so paint was way more expensive than it should be. Mixing the ingredients up yourself was cheaper, even if the result wasn't as smooth. Months back, when I started seriously considering enrolling, I had done it too. In whiteish, febrile-looking strokes, I had painted 381 on our door and never told mum about it. Officers didn't bother to check them anyway—some houses even had the same address.