Plutonian

Chapter 2

My eyes are wide open when the bell chimes loudly signalling the night is over and a new day has come. Numerous groans erupt around me and people toss and turn in their sheets refusing to leave the comfort of their beds.

The bell is high pitched and extremely annoying but today it buzzes in my ear from a distance, it feels like I am on another planet. I am unable to move. After barely getting a wink of sleep last night, my limbs are heavy with fatigue and my thoughts are a jumbled mess.

Every time I tried to close my eyes last night I saw those dry blue lips of that lifeless boy in the cart. How many times have I seen someone die here? How many times would it take for me to get used to it?

There are people who do not even blink anymore when a slave drops dead. Mira is one of them and I can't decide if she is strong or weak for not having emotions. Or maybe she does but it's bottled up somewhere deep inside. I hope that is the case because to be emotionless is Plutonian and I cannot think of anything worse.

Today I turn eighteen and the death of that boy feels like a knife twisting in my gut. Even though my stomach is empty it feels heavy, like I have swallowed a tonne of bricks. I should be thankful, unlike that boy I have survived yet another day, another year on this blistering cold, dust laden planet but I feel empty.

It is only on my birthdays that I ever allow myself to think of my family and my life on Earth before I was brought here.

Every year the memories diminish further, as if my body is fighting to keep away the pain that wraps it's hands around my heart and squeezes without mercy. Today I imagine the pixelated faces of my father and mother. The sun shines brightly behind them, drowning out faces that I barely remember but the memory is warm and it fills my heart with a longing that I do not want to feel.

I sit up gingerly pushing all thoughts of them and Earth out of my mind. I can't decide which is more painful, remembering or forgetting them.

The other slaves are standing by their beds with their towels and toiletries in hands. A few of them look my way, some in pity, some in annoyance. The alarm is connected to sensors on each of our beds and as long as one of us remains in bed it will continue to ring.

I grab the bar and pull myself up. I hadn't been able to eat dinner last night and now I regret it. Today is a big day for me and it didn't serve me at all to punish myself for the death of another. Yes, he was dead but me not eating wasn't going to affect anyone but myself.

I swallow any bitterness lingering in my throat. Today is the day my mission starts. I have to be strong, not just for myself but for every other slave who has died here in vain.

I shower and get dressed quickly. I join the line that has formed just outside our quarters and walk to the cafeteria for breakfast. As we walk in our numbers are read out loud and I lift my sleeve so that my number can be scanned by the machine in the door.

"Number 7203, present," A mechanical female voice announces and I walk through soundlessly.

I pick up a tray and take the food served by the kitchen slaves. When a slave is "lucky" enough to have lived till they are in their old age they are transferred to kitchen duties. It is supposed to be easier and less taxing than working on the field but one look at the kitchen lady's burnt fingers tells me otherwise.

I walk to a random table and take a seat. The cafeteria soon fills up but I eat in silence, not bothering to make conversation with those around me.

"Happy birthday 7203." A whisper startles me and I look up from the mashed processed lump on my tray.

A young girl with bright red hair neatly tucked behind her ears smiles at me before she sets her tray down and takes a seat.

I recognize her but I am too stunned to smile. She sleeps a few beds away from me and we have traveled to the south together before but we have barely exchanged a handful of words so it surprises me that she has remembered my birthday.