The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

Coffins

 Zaharah held her arm up, hovered her finger over a button on the panel. Your arm should function as intended. Those words had occupied her mind for the remainder of the weekend and into Monday. The lights on the buttons glowed green, but unlike her phone, they had no symbols to tell her what they did.

Her art history audio book played the speakers on the walls, the narrator sounding just as disinterested in as she felt about the work of some old, dead white guy with regressive societal ideals. Even her distorted reflection in the fogged bathroom mirror didn't care about Caravaggio's unique use of light and shadow.

The lights blinking on her arm were far more interesting than Supper at Emmaus would ever be. As intended, Cammi had said. Wouldn't that be just moving and working like a normal arm? She didn't know what any of these buttons did, which meant she risked breaking it again in her ignorance.

She shivered at the thought. Then again, she had Skorpi. He could fix it. In theory. One button, she decided. Just this one and she'd leave it alone. She ran her finger back and forth over the buttons before pushing one at random. A click and a whir came from deep within the metal. The panel on her palm slid aside, and a metal rectangle popped out.

She had half a mind not to touch it, but the other stupider half of her mind won over and pulled it out. The light bounced off its mirror-like surface and revealed flecks of dark purple under the finish. A single button, much like those on her arm, was in one corner. She pushed it, and a blade shot from the other end, silvery, with a Z lasered onto one side.

A. Fucking. Knife. Whose bright idea was this? It couldn't have been her father with his staunch opposition to violence. She pushed the button to sheath the blade and tucked it back into her palm. A whir and a click took it back into her arm where she could pretend it didn't exist. That was enough tampering with her arm for one morning.

Zaharah went to the bedroom, the scent of her pineapple body wash mingling with whatever magic Demarkus was whipping up in the kitchen. Her desk clock read 6:53. Her appointment at the Clinic was scheduled for 7:30, which left her with enough time for a quick breakfast. She slipped into some jail tights and an orange top and picked out some matching trainers.

Her phone sat on the desk, a layer of dust on its black surface, criminally ugly compared to her purple one. Dwight had sent this one with a note saying all her contacts were preloaded and given her new number, but she'd refused to even turn it on. No doubt he, the Director, and everyone else had been blowing it up. She'd taken the rest of the weekend to disassociate and pretend anyone outside her immediate vicinity didn't exist.

If she had her way, she'd isolate herself from the outside world and focus on school until winter break. But life demanded socialising and socialising in Denden meant crawling out of her safe little hole to mingle with the denizens. So she set off to the source of the succulent scents drifting through the apartment.

Zaharah met Demarkus in the kitchen, stirring a pot of grits. He scooped two portions into the waiting bowls and topped hers off with vegan sausage, while Jade got ham. Lucky. Jade sat at her usual spot at the table, dolling Skorpi up with a lacey black bow.

"Morning." Zaharah plopped down in front of the steaming bowl of food. "Thanks Markus. Looks good."

"My pleasure as always, girls." He took the empty pots over to the sink and took his spot at the table. Since he didn't have to eat, he spent their time at breakfast either reading or tampering with Skorpi. The latter this time.

They ate in silence for a while, with only the clinks of cutlery and the sounds of the sprinklers in the garden downstairs. The vegan sausage wasn't as dry as Zaharah was used to, but still carried a strange, earthy aftertaste. She ate as fast as the piping hot food would allow, while checking her watch to make sure time wouldn't get away from her.