The Inhabitants.Mature

Late into the shadowy veil, known as Darktime, these two, solitary people huddled under a sack blanket. Darktimes were always the longest. But It made you appreciate things a lot more. It made one appreciate whenever they survived another night. It made one appreciate companionship.
One such person shivered, a startingly violent shaking motion, which was absorbed by the other.
'You cold?' Asked the boy, in his deep, robotic tone of voice. His bedpartner sniffed, laying her head upon his bare chest, moving closer to him. He emanated heat, even in the icy embrace of Darktime.
'Yeah.' She twisted her arm around his shoulders, further intwining them as they lay inside their cell. He tilted his pale face toward hers.
'Yeah.' Words were trivial.

Vivian was the name she remembered she had. Oswald was his.
For a time, they called each other 11, and 12. Names born of the numbers they had inked inside the skin on their wrists. But, after a time, (A year it had seemed) Vivian's memory returned that name to her. The same happened with Oswald.
They both just... knew. Just like they knew they needed each other. A primal need, deep-seated within the human psyche. 

For Vivian, days were long and boring inside the cell she called home.
She simply spent her time sitting alone, staring deep into a buttoned wall, penetrating it with her thoughts. There were names she had given to each wall. North, the wall with a door. East, the wall with the high-up tiny metal window, and the immaculate toilet jutting neatly from the floor. South, the wall where Vivian and Oswald often spent their nights. And Jim. Jim was a special wall. He often talked to Viv. That's what he called her. Viv. Vivvy. Friend. Jim had a little black circle in the center of himself. It was cold and hard to the touch, and made a hollow sound when one tapped it. 
Jim's voice always came from the circle, in his faint crackling tone.
Vivian would converse with Jim if she happened to be facing him on that particular day. He would ask questions, and she would answer. She didn't know the reason why Jim said certain... things, but the fact that he was somebody to talk to before Darktime came instilled a sense of acceptance toward whatever he had to say, no matter how uncomfortable it made Vivian. 

Now, the reason Vivian had to talk to Jim at all, was of course due to the fact that Oswald had various things to do. Explaining them with minimal detail, he would often tell Vivian he had to "Hunt." or just "Work," after which he would disappear in a storm of dust, out into the mysterious wilderness beyond the big steel door to the cell. Vivian was strictly not allowed outside under any circumstances.
"Too dangerous." She was what you and I might call, a prisoner, of sorts.
These outings would always yeild something. Oswald would always return, every day, with 2 small bowls, marked with a singular word: 'FOOD'. Always filled with a brownish-grey edible sludge. The bowls always disappear after Darktime, awaiting to be collected once again, from somewhere beyond.

The End

8 comments about this story Feed