Wake Up With the Kimellians

Part Two

Roger woke up with a wet face. Lifting his head from the puddle of drool, he wiped his cheek with his sleeve, his face tensing in a look of frustration. What he was dreaming made more sense than reality did.

The disparity between the two was so overwhelming that he spent several minutes staring at the ceiling while he debated with himself whether he was really awake, or just stuck in a bizarre dream because of the car accident.

He got up to grab paper towels and cleaned up after himself. Then he went to the sink to rinse his mouth out before he walked to the bathroom to use the toilet.

He finished and washed his hands, taking the towel with him as he left the bathroom.

The front room was a box with multiple uses. From where he stood drying his hands at the bathroom door, the front door was two steps ahead to his left. The left wall had a couch built in, and beside it was a writing hutch in the corner. The back wall held the TV screen, and the right corner of the room was filled by a single person padded cot.

After the bed was a set of five dresser drawers, built recessed into the wall as well. The arrangement of furniture stopped, and the window filled a large portion of the wall. Beyond it, the aliens offered nothing else in the way of creature comforts. No bookshelves or closets could be found.

Perhaps the aliens thought the view was enough to keep their slaves entertained? Roger remembered the other buildings taking off, and he smiled as he thought, I’ll bet the view of space looks great from those.

He didn’t go to the window yet. Instead he turned and went right, returning to the cramped galley style kitchen to try eating the rest of the pork chow mein as a cold breakfast.

He took the can from the compact refrigerator and managed a short laugh as he randomly thought, Behold the true power of anarchy, having dinner for breakfast. Tonight, I’ll dine on pancakes, and then raise a riot in the streets.

Roger stayed by the sink during his first few bites, but nothing was wrong with the food. Once he was sure his stomach wouldn’t complain, he walked with the can back to the front room to check the window.

He almost broke the plastic fork by biting through the tines when he saw how many people were standing by their windows. He was too far away to see any expression clearly, but he expected every face to be blank and motionless.

Roger ate faster, the nervous voice in his head prodding him to do something, even if it was just to leave the apartment. While he ate, he scanned past window after window, hoping someone would move.

But what was left of the human race wasn’t the fighters or the overachievers. What was left were the confused cattle, the people who followed trends in the old days, and who never questioned conformity. The people who never questioned their roles needed someone to tell them where to go, and how to act. Or else...

Roger finished his breakfast and sighed. Anarchy among this lot isn’t about tearing things up. Without a government, they’ll just sit here and wait to be slaughtered or enslaved again. How can this be all that’s left of us?

Roger started to throw the can away in the garbage, but instead he went to the sink and rinsed the inside clean.

He left the apartment and took the can with him to the elevator, seeing no one on his way down. He didn’t bother calling out to his neighbors either, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anyone’s great leader. In fact, he wasn’t sure of what he was going to do once he got outside.

Taking the can out was an act of protest. He planned to place it in the middle of the street, but beyond that, what else would he do? Walk around alone?