Bliss

5 - Sky

It's terrifying, waiting for Ingrid to arrive. It took her forever, but when she walked through the door, we were all seated on the couch, bored out of our minds. Our television was confiscated when there were budget cuts. We were getting tired of watching the same black and white cartoon anyways.

She eats out of the can with one of the forks, and I think it's that awful cubed chicken. That was originally in my package of food, but no one in our household cares anymore. Ingrid reminded me last week that we need to organize everything according to person again because the soldiers might report us. I didn't know what to say; she's the organized one, the boss, so she should take over on that.

I was surprised when she said she was mailing for the soldiers. I didn't know she would get promoted so quickly, so early in her job, while I've been stacking cans and remaining in the same rank for over seven months now.

Seven months. My marriage letters should come in the mail soon.

Then, suddenly, there's a quick tap on the door, followed by it opening. The cool breeze, which has formed outside despite the heat, flows in and ruffles a few papers that have fallen out of their envelopes on the coffee table. Siena rushes into the room, followed by Maya who wobbles behind her. Lily lets out a whine, surprising both me and Ingrid. She quickly throws her hands over her mouth.

I step away from the counter, gripping the bottle of juice hard enough that the liquid rises to the rim. Through the open door, I catch sight of the large trucks, the ones with open backs and ladders going down the sides, filled with big, brawny men. I gulp, tightening the cap over the bottle. A man dressed in a black suit--something I've never seen before--steps into our tiny little house. My eyes drop to the floor. He can talk to me, but I can't talk to him. Not now. Or can I?

"Before Our Fellow Protectors are to be quartered into this domestic facility, I must take accurate roll call of each member placed under this roof. Please provide IDs." He has a scanner in one hand. My ears get hot, my hands trembling, and I gulp. IDs? But I don't have mine. I left it in . . .

"Here, I have them all," Maya says from the back of the room. She walks to the man and, with shaky hands--shakier than mine, though she appears perfectly composed and calm--hands the five thin white cards over. The man scans all of them surprisingly quickly, then hands them back and whistles over his shoulder.

Three men jump from the bed of the truck as if the ladder is nonexistent. They carry duffel bags over their shoulders, their food packages already in their hands. Their footsteps are heavy as they jump inside our home, and the air suddenly smells of sweat and shaving cream and liquor. I swallow any urge to gag and stare at the ground until I am sure they are not looking at me.

"To rephrase the rules, gentlemen," the black suited man begins, "No harassment or physical and/or verbal abuse of any female member of this household. No sexual interaction, both verbally, orally, or physically. No inappropriate language or action towards any female member of this household. Understood?" The soldiers ignore him dropping their duffel bags with loud thuds on the floor. The hotness in my ears suddenly turns into pounding; I feel the same pulse in my temples. I clench my teeth and try not to scowl. Who are they to charge in like that? To take over? "Very well," says the man, then shuts the door, probably walking over our neatly trimmed lawn--the one that I have to trim every week to match up to government standards--to the neighbor's house.

"Well, well, well," says a gruff voice. "Look at all of them. The only legal one must be a hundred."

"Who cares about legal."

"The security cameras up on the ceiling."

"Well, knock them out, will ya?"

"C'mon, Will, be quiet."