Everywhere, Everything ◆ Thomas ◆ TMR

006 - Gally Hates Your Guts

The days passed slowly. She seemed to be just existing, all the time. Get up, eat, work, go to bed, and then the same the next morning.

She was doing a new job every day, which helped at least a little, but she dreaded the day she'd be assigned to only one thing. Then how would she ever keep track of the days? Would she fade into existence, like so many others here seemed to do?

The purpose of it was still lost on her.

The thought that she might be stuck here forever, spending the rest of her days just surviving, kept her awake at night. Not the memory loss, or the fright of being locked in and feeling powerless, like every other Greenie. But the thought that she was just another person just didn't feel right.

It wasn't like she thought she was better, or that she thought she was some sort of god, but the thought that she should be doing more was a constant plague. It sat like an ache in her stomach that refused to leave. There was something more out there for her, beyond the walls. She didn't belong here, she never did. And she knew it.

Chuck had been made a Slopper the day prior, and she'd sat by him the entire night while he cried. The Keepers hadn't thought he was good enough for any of the jobs, so he was now stuck as the official toilet cleaner.

And how would she feel if that was her?

She didn't think it would be. She'd done a great job as a Med-jack, and they had plenty of books for her to study and relearn everything she already knew or might have forgotten. But even if she wasn't to be a Med-jack, Zart seemed to have been plenty pleased with her in the gardens.

She hadn't complained about the hard work some of it involved, like a lot of others apparently did. But the hard work that made her muscles burn had been a salvation for her. It had given her something else to think about.

Her favorite part had been helping some Track-hoes cut down a tree. It had been a good way to let out some anger she didn't even know she carried.

The cooks, however, was another story. Frypan had nearly chased her out of his kitchen with his knife.

Safe to say she did not do a very good job of that. She'd been good with the knife, technically, but cut like shit. She'd either almost burnt or undercooked all the meat. She had asked questions every other second and had constantly been unsure of what to do or how to move around. Even Chuck had done a better job, and the Keeper had made sure to tell her so, albeit playfully.

They hadn't stopped glaring at her for days.

She knew for certain she'd never cooked a single meal in her entire life. And maybe she'd never even been in a kitchen. There was no way she'd be so utterly helpless otherwise.

The days agenda was the builders with the Keeper Gally. They hadn't spoken a single word to each other. All their interactions had consisted of him passive aggressively glaring from a few feet away and muttering angrily to his friends.

Both Newt and Chuck had told her not to worry about it; that was how Gally was.

Newt said he wasn't a bad guy. Just wary and very selective about the people he associated himself with. But he'd assured her he wasn't a danger to her, and that he'd never actually harm anyone without real reason. And he had no reason – according to Newt – to harm her. She still found herself questioning if that was actually true.

But the matter of the fact was, she'd left it at that. He was an angry kid, like all of them admittedly should be, but that was all it was. She'd simply kept her distance. There were sixty or so boys in the place, and not everyone was going to like her. Just like she was not going to like everyone.