The streets were slick with an unappealing mixture of rain and sewer water that had even the foulest of citizens disgusted. It was almost as if the city had fallen asleep, which was rare. Badlands never slept. The grime and sin of the city was inescapable for most. Badlands wasn't just a place, it was a lifestyle.
I'd lived here for my entire life, in the Badlands. I was lucky to be sheltered, to live in a place where the filth of the city was hidden. Badlands is composed of three main parts; the mountains, the desert, and the city. The city is the center, a perfect bullseye where poisonous darts aim to kill. It's the cornucopia for deceit; sex, power, abuse, it was all prevalent there.
The desert was a wasteland, nothing sitting there besides miles of empty road and a fine layer of dust. Occasionally there would be a "Last Stop Diner" with a flashing neon sign and empty parking lot, but other than that, the desert was a place where you went to die.
The mountains were a safe haven, a place that was free from the crime and horrors the rest of Badlands was plagued with. To navigate the mountains, however, you had to know them by heart. Luckily, I did. I spent most of my youth studying Badlands, the mountains from up close and the city from afar. I moved to the city at 11 when the raids began in the mountains. The higher ups, the main reason Badlands was so corrupt, had discovered the small population of us that lived in the mountains. I was lucky to get out alive, to escape with a boy and his mother before they slaughtered anyone they found; my mother was not.
Michael was my support system and I was his. We'd known each other for so long it felt as though our souls were intertwined like the grape vines that grew by my old home hidden in the rocks. We lived together, along with his mom, in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city. She had always been wary of the city, as she'd been there during the first revolts, but she didn't have a choice anymore. Karen had always been kind to me, especially after we'd fled the mountains. She took me in like I was her own, and for that I was eternally grateful.
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The pungent smell of decaying corpse was wafting in through the open window as well as an unbearable heat. I stirred from my spot underneath the sheets, uncomfortable with the stench and temperature. I rose slowly to shut the window and close the curtains to prevent the intrusive light from continuing to stream through. The morning light had been a hazy pink, like every other morning I'd known in my existence. I slipped back into the bed I'd first gotten up from, where Michael slept peacefully, only a few snores escaping his chapped lips every so often. In a moment like this I forgot about the wicked world outside and the only thing that was of importance to me was his even breathing and the softness of the pillow my head lay upon. It was moments like these that I thought I could be happy in this world. It was moment's like these that I was wrong.
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"There have been 12 deaths in just the past week, Essie," Michael muttered, shaking his head in some disappointed manner. I tried to keep an expression of good riddance off my face but judging by the death glare he was sporting, I'd failed. Twelve deaths weren't of importance to me as long as they didn't involve anyone I cared about, Michael knew it too. As much as I wished everyone in our world could be worth saving, I knew that they weren't. My compassion wasn't extendable past those who had gained my trust and proven their loyalty. Michael, on the other hand, wore his heart on his sleeve and would willingly lend it to anyone who cared enough to ask.
"Four of the people killed were under the age of twenty," He continued, his voice trailing off as he let the grief of the situation set into his skin. "I know you don't care Essie, but people are dropping like flies, and it's not just the wicked ones." I stayed mute and focused on the fact that his voice was warm like brown sugar and tea in the morning. It was remembering small things that kept me sane. The feeling of sand between my fingertips as I sunbathed on the beach with my mother on her day off, the occasional bird chirps when the morning sky was a clear pink and no one was yelling in pain, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.
"Michael can you just-" I didn't have to finish for him to look regretful. He knew better than anyone the anxieties that came with living in this dreadful city. It was all too often that I would be awoken by the night terrors that shook him to the core. The only thing that could calm him down was someone holding him, petting him, reassuring him that you're okay, it's okay, you're safe, we're safe.
"I'm sorry." He responded quietly. I nodded, an all too passive acceptance to his apology, and stood from the table we'd been resting at to gaze out the window. The sky was pink- sort of, it was more of a dusty pink/grey if anything because of the filth and smoke that the city created- and everyone was already bustling to get somewhere with the same dead look in their eyes. I never wanted to succumb, like the dead eyed ones had, I would keep fighting for as long as it was possible.
"We have a lot to do today," I said, turning back around to face MIchael, who was looking up at me. "We should probably get ready." He nodded in agreement and stood up with me, brushing his fingertips against my arm soothingly.
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By the time we'd successfully deserted the building it was past noon. That meant that most of the business people in monkey suits were off the streets and safely in their high rise offices. The idea of ever having to live that life made me cringe, the mundane task of screwing over as many people as they possibly could all the while kissing ass to their CEO boss sounded like a worse hell than the one I already lived in. I knew I couldn't blame most of them though, people had to do what they could to survive, and keeping chummy with the leaders of Badlands was a way to survive.
