The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

A Memory

Zaharah awake in a daze to the sound of wind rustling the trees outside. The dim light piercing the curtains illuminated the room enough to make out shadows and shapes. A mechanical whir reached her ears as Skorpi climbed onto her chest, his eyes like high beams. But apart from that, the house was quiet, too quiet. There were no sounds of music, no crackling of frying bacon or eggs, no tantalising smells.

No Markus.

She squeezed her eyes shut before the tears could come and tried to push herself up, but during the night, Jade had tossed her big ass leg over Zaharah's shins and pinned them down. Meanwhile, Pharah held one of her arms hostage and Skorpi sat on her forehead.

Zaharah slowly wriggled herself free and sat up. The cool air hit her skin, and her braids fell into her face. Beyond the window , the sky was dotted with clouds and the grounds a vibrant green. She swung her legs out of the bed and snuck out into the hall with Skorpi on her head.

The doors to the other room were shut, and no light shined under their doors. She drifted past them at rounded the corner to the living room before making a beeline for the kitchen. The lights blinked on as she crossed the threshold and bounced off the shiny silver appliances.

The room had a new smell to it, like she had walked into a department store instead of a kitchen. She walked over to the stove first and peered into the vents over it; not a speck of dust marred the slats. She trailed a hand over the glossy counter and perused the glass-front cabinets above it. Plates bowls and cups. The fancier china was up top alongside wine glasses.

Past the stove and dishwasher and hidden behind a closet door was the pantry. Stocked with rice, grits, canned goods, cereal and heaps of snacks. On the bottom shelves were cases of soda, Vitamalt and water. She left the pantry to check the fridge ad, found it just as stocked—milk, cold cuts, sausages and more. This place was almost a frat house.

She shut the fridge and leaned against the counter. "Skorpi, what time is it?"

The mechpet jumped from her head onto the counter and projected a glowing 7:35 on the counter. Too early to mope around the house, but late enough to get started on breakfast.

Zaharah cracked her knuckles and bustled around the kitchen. She grabbed grits from the pantry, sausages, mushrooms and eggs from the fridge. In fifteen minutes the old smells she was used to filled the kitchen. She lined bowls on the counter, just like Markus would, took down the cups for juice. He'd want this, for Zaharah to take responsibility, take charge, take care of her sister.

As she turned the stove off under the grits, Jade shuffled in, her pyjama top drooping off one shoulder.

Morning, she signed. Smells like home.

Zaharah gave a nod, heaped a helping into a bowl for her and poured out a cup of orange juice. "Eat your fill."

Jade grabbed a fork and stabbed a sausage and took a bite. What am I gonna do about school?

"We can go down to the ministry after the storm and arrange for you to finish the semester remotely," Zaharah said. "I'll have to check my classes today. Not sure what I'm going to do about the bank though." She took up some food for herself and stabbed at the grits with her fork.

For a while they ate in silence to the tune of their clinking cutlery and the breeze blowing outside. Markus usually kept the conversation going over breakfast. He'd asked them about classes, about work, about chore day. This place felt so empty without him.

The slapping of feet against tile drew Zaharah from her thoughts.

"Morning," Pharah said as she drifted into the kitchen. "Smells nice in here."