DECEMBER SECOND
ANNIE O’CONNOR
PLANET EARTH
YEAR 2100
“It snowed yesterday.”
Her grandmother stared blankly back at her.
“It wasn’t real snow, but still.”
She blinked, slowly.
“It’s for the anniversary, really, so I suppose it’s not that great after all.”
Annie met her grandmothers tired eyes. They had grown to become gray, mudded, far from the clear and blue they used to be.
The 100 Richest could afford living years over one hundred.
The rest without the money were put in elderly homes at 60. Elderly homes with barely any support by the government, elderly homes which water was even dirtier than Annie and her mum's.
“Mum wanted you to know it’s almost christmas,” Annie sighed. “Even if it’s not a thing anymore. It mattered to her anyway.”
Something seemed to wake in the old woman's gaze.
“I haven’t bought any presents…”
“You don’t have to,” Annie said. The nurses had told her to be patient. That her grandmother was disoriented, that she was lost in her old self.
Annie knew that her mother would soon be too.
“But little Amy-”
“Mum is fine.”
Annie looked around in the tiny room. It was dusty and untidy, but Annie couldn’t blame the nurses; she knew they were underpaid. Probably because the government rarely have any money left to pay anyone with.
“Do you like the flowers?” she asked, mostly to change the topic of christmas. The nurses had said that they were good for her. Nostalgic-therapy, they called it.
“Very pretty,” her grandmother said. Her voice had thinned remarkably. “Would you put them in water for me, dear?”
Annie hesitated. She was about to tell her that they were plastic, but didn’t.
“Of course.” She walked to the tiny fridge in the corner of the room, grabbed one of the still-not-cold-enough bottles and pretended to pour some of the dirty water to the fake flowers.
It was all fake; the snow, the flowers, she thought. You might as well play along.
She passed the common room as she got back.
“What’s this?” she asked a nurse walking by, carrying a big screen. Not the kind that did what you told it to, rather one that was only able to show one thing at the time, without being able to be given command by voice.
“We are celebrating,” she replied.
“What?”
“The anniversary is coming up so we thou-”
“Why are you celebrating them?” Annie couldn’t master holding the anger out of her voice. She had kept calm for weeks.
“A lot of the elders knew people who went.” The nurse looked rather annoyed. “They are missing their friends, their family.”
“Don’t you realise that they left us here?” Annie could hear her own voice rising, rising, rising. She couldn’t help it.
The nurse took a deep breath. She sat the screen down. Paces a few steps, stopped just before Annie.
“It doesn’t matter.” she said, her voice low, brisk. “They’re paying us, all right. They pay us to do this. And if I were you, I wouldn’t like my grandmother starving very much. You know what? If I were really you, I’d celebrate too. I’d personally go straight to their headquarter and tell them that I liked their business, that I’d like to join them.”
Annie backed.
“Who? Why?”
“NASA, young lady. I don’t know why, but they pay people to spread their propaganda, and I don’t complain as long as I can feed my children.”
“NASA?” she echoed. “The ones that sent the 100 Rich to Mars?”
“Yes,” the nurse met her eyes for a second, then picked the screen up again. “Not a word,” she said, and Annie knew it was a promise.
“Not a word.”
The nurse put a smile on, like nothing had happened. “Happy anniversary, young lady!” she said, a little too loud, too happy, too forced.
Then she walked away, and left Annie wondering.
