Interface

Mara

The girl is mumbling things, fantastic descriptions like I've never heard before. A silken cloak is an accurate metaphor for the sky this evening, and the dew is indeed reflective to that dark sky.
The greatest reflection, however, is the contrast between the sky, and the piercing blue of her eyes.
In the distance, licking flames appear from beyond the mountainous cover of the Tumbles, and the distant sounds of people wailing like trapped souls makes me wince with the realization that the Domes have fallen. Most likely, my mother is dead, unless she's managed to emerge from her booze-muddled haze long enough to find an exit strategy.
So basically, she's dead now.
The girl has clumsily gotten to her feet, and tugs my wrist gently, obviously wanting me to follow her into this sprawling unknown.
I suddenly remember the food pack that I had stashed into my shorts pocket- partially to hide it from my mother, partially to ensure that I had something to eat in case of an emergency. It seems that my planning finally came in handy.
Retrieving the pack, I open it slowly, savoring the first whiff of Besees like its the most delicious thing I've ever had the pleasure of encountering.
In reality, Poor Man's Bacon would probably have been a step up from Besees. At least that has a taste and flavor. Beesees has neither of those, but at least it has a smell, even if that smell is of rancid beef.
The girl shuffles over to me and rests her chin on my shoulder, reminding me of an alley dog I shared a meal with one time.
Much like what happened with the dog, I absentmindedly scoop out a palm-full of Beesees and shove it into the girl's face. I only realize my mistake when she starts fussing loudly due to a good amount of Beesees going up her nose by mistake.
Whoops.
The girl paws at her nose and makes noises like a baby when I try to clean her off. What did Mom call that noise? I know it started with an 'L'.... oh right, she's laughing. Weird that she's laughing when she isn't a baby or toddler... Mom always said that laughing attracted the Other People...
My heart sinks when I realize that, even if her 'laughter' doesn't attract the Other People, the smell of rancid flesh will.
I scan our surroundings with renewed intensity, scanning for the tell-tale scent of fire that usually warns of the Other People.
Then I realize that the Other People here may not look the same as their city-fringe counterparts. They might be larger.. Have bigger teeth... go after different prey.... They might even be more intelligent than the city dwellers....
Its honestly the last one that scares me the most. If the field dwellers are smarter than the city dwellers, then they could be smart enough to hunt in packs...
The applications for intelligent Other People run from military, to mercenary, to rogue, and none of these options end well for any living creature.
I've heard stories of a way to defeat the Other People.. Giant creatures carved of a metal harder than copper, but softer than Orinio- the material used to build the domes.
The legends say that they shoot fire hotter than even the Other People can stand. That they can stand even taller than the domes, and contain the one who created them.
But then again, I heard the legend from old man Striker, and he said that New Eden was a perfectly safe haven... so I'm going to take those legends with more than just a pinch of salt.

The girl drags me through the field of tall grass, and I wince when she puts pressure on my wounded wrist. I won't complain about the pain, but I probably should seek treatment before my pain becomes unbearable.
The woman of the Other people landed on my wrist, and I'm fairly sure that the pressure caused the bones in my wrist to snap like a cheap toy in a child's hand.