Wasteland

I

Ray

You were supposed to come for serenity. To be yourself. If you were opposed to the wondrous conformities of society, then Underground was for you. It was amazing, really, the abundance of opportunities the place offered. By day, Underground was something like church. Or group therapy. A bunch of hippies sitting around, preaching about how we are the change. We need to band together against our shitty government. We need to come up with a plan of action. A plan that will be built up, built up, built up, until the day of. Then the plan falls through the cracks because in reality, everyone is too scared of the powers that be. We would never escape this world.

But by night, Underground was freedom. Flashing lights that would blind you, a pulsing, redundant beat that was dared to be called music and pretty, colorful drinks that could knock out a horse with one taste.

I didn't go for any of that, however. I went for one thing.

I went because I wanted to feel like a normal a seventeen year old teenage girl. Because our high and mighty government didn't allow me to be.

Status was literally everything. The rich and the poor were separated into the East and West village.

In the West Village, we were separated by males and females. We went to different schools, shopped in different stores and even walked on separate sides of the street. Boys lived with their fathers, girls with their mothers. It was only on special days and holidays that the two ever mixed.

In West Vill, either you live in hiding or you're picked up and put in a home. Consider yourself lucky if you're on the run because being sold to lonely, rich men for sex in the shelters doesn't sound like much fun. The shelter boys have it easy. Once they turn eighteen, they are sent to serve the wealthy. But if you were a daughter born to a whore, well you were the unluckiest of them all.

I'm one of them. A shelter kid.  I don't know my biological father. I have brothers but I don't know any of them either. All I knew was that my father was from the East Village. He was rich, but probably didn't know I even exist. Good thing, because I don't want to know someone like him anyway.

Underground was like a speakeasy. It was literally in a secret building underneath the streets and it was the only place where equality lived and you could get some without having to pay or be forced into it. It was illegal but until I was caught and officially charged, I would continue coming to have a little bit of fun before it was taken.

"You're so beautiful."

Moisture lands on the side of my face—in my ear—and I can't tell if it's sweat or spit. Probably both. The guy who's leaning against me has what feels like all of his weight on me as he pins me against the club wall. He has an okay face and an extra nice body but he's too into it. Leave it to me to attract a first-timer.

"Thanks." I get out, chasing his lips. If I distract him, he won't talk. Then we can get this over with and I can be back in bed before The Mothers wake up.

"I mean, truly beautiful. Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

"How many have you seen?"

There's a pause. "Not many, but still. My friend brought me here tonight to see his girlfriend. They've been seeing each other since they were fourteen. I didn't even want to come but thank God I d-"

"You talk a lot." I say and then I drag his face into my neck.

Buttons start popping open and it starts getting a fraction better when the music cuts off suddenly and the lights turn up. Meathead stops, confused but I am on high alert. I shove him away without a second thought of keeping him safe. All I'm focused on is the exit.