Under Changing Skies

E I G H T E E N

I blink my eyes open to an incessant beep, my vision slowly adjusting to the room which is now bathed in bright yellow light. Having spent last night drifting in and out of a disorienting medley of sleep and dreams filled with blurry images and flashes of light, I feel sore and weak. But the loud beeping noise coerces me out of my bed. Thankfully, it stops when I shrug out of my suit and step into the glass cubicle which has reappeared from within the walls.

I step under the spray of warm water and realize that I'm hungry for the first time since yesterday. As my stomach rumbles, a very distant memory of my mother resurfaces without warning.

Our daily meals consisted only of rice and bread, but on my birthday each year, my mother would arrange the grains of rice to look like a grinning face and it would feel different. Special. The stifling heat, her beaming smile, the meals that were never enough, her bright eyes . . .

After the water shuts off and the gas dissolves, the only sound that remains is that of my embarrassingly loud sobs. I stay inside the cubicle - back pressed against the cold glass wall, furiously wiping my tears - until the intolerable beeping starts up yet again, forcing me to move.

A new panel reveals a fresh suit, a water canteen and small objects that I recognize as tools for cleaning my teeth and combing my hair. A few minutes later, two white pills appear from another section of the wall.

I roll the pills between my fingers dubiously. Surely this can't be a meal.

I put them back and walk over to the door, turning the handle. I'm unsurprised when it doesn't budge. Sighing, I hurry back to the panel and swallow the tasteless pills hastily for fear of the beeping noise.

As if by the flick of a switch, my hunger dissipates instantly, leaving me feeling wide awake and energized. Moments later, the door clicks open, and I drain the water canteen before leaving the sterile, silent room.

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Everett meets me in the hallway, emerging out of his room just as I step out of mine. The sight of him gives me a delicious rush of relief, the feeling intensifying when he smiles and falls into step.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks at the same time that I say, "Who knew we'd be swallowing pills for food?"

Just then, the citizens living on this floor start appearing out of their rooms, immediately heading towards the smooth white staircase without so much as glancing at anyone else. Everett tips his head quizzically towards the small crowd and I nod. We follow the citizens, keeping a safe distance from their impassive faces and stiff shoulders.

As Everett and I take the long walk towards the botanical garden, we talk about our mutual lack of sleep, the strange pills, the incredibly clean water . . . And I almost start to feel happy. The sun is a glowing yellow jewel in the cloudless sky, a vision that is perfect to an unreal degree. The cool breeze that carries a gentle hint of flowers is devoid of any traces of the smoke and dust that I'm so familiar with.

A pleasant, floaty feeling fills my chest, but it quickly vanishes when we finally enter the garden through the floral arch. Right away, I realize that the tall case containing our supplies is missing an item: the water canteens. A message reflected on the glass surface reads: Water canteens are withdrawn today as a penalty for damage caused to floral arrangements by F930. Remember, the Imperium is a collective; when one makes an error, everyone pays the price.

Humiliation causes my entire face to burn as I recall the section of pink flowers that I had accidentally snipped off yesterday. I can feel everyone's accusing gaze searing into my skin as they reach into the case to collect their shears and gloves. Everett silently rests a consoling hand on my shoulder from behind, pulling away only to grab the two final pairs of tools left in the case.