Me And E

A couple of fun updates this week! The Demon Of Darkenhall Lane’s formatting is coming along nicely, and it should be ready for publication in early July. I’ve also decided to participate in Camp NaNoWriMo again this year, with a new project which I’m keeping under wraps for now, so stick around if you’d like to learn more as I get ready to reveal the details! For the post, I’ve decided to highlight a fiction piece, Me And E, which was previously published in TUGZ Magazine’s second issue – it’s got a bit of a dystopian vibe to it, so I hope you like it!

Me And E

It’s hard to find a haven when your world is swamped with electric lights and the cold, hard glares of Enforcement Officers. Sometimes, you can’t slip through the cracks–sometimes, E-Officers catch you before you can dart into the night. Not me and E, though.

Never me and E.

Our haven for tonight is a cramped alleyway, squeezed between a robo-assistant repair shop and a desolate office building. We watched the workers file out in long, miserable lines hours ago, their heads down and their suits grey. I couldn’t see their eyes, but I bet they had that dead look in them–the one we’re running from.

But we’re not just running. We’re sprinting madly like zigzagging rabbits, then looping back to hang around and watch the chaos that we leave behind. You’ve got to make your own fun in this city; no one else is going to do it for you, especially considering that ninety percent of the population don’t have enough energy in their bodies to crack a smile.

If we can’t find any more nutrient paste tonight, we might end up joining that percentage.

‘Pass us the grub, Tinz,’ E says, holding out an expectant, oily hand. I hand over a white packet, plastic and rolled up like a toothpaste tube on its last legs. ‘Christ. This won’t last us.’

‘Then find us another.’

As she squeezes the last of the pale pink sludge out of the packet, my hands become busy again, digging through a rectangular rubbish chute. These things jam more often than not, leaving little treasures behind that no one cares about, except us. They’re treasures drenched in dark, heavy liquid and stinking to the high, smog-hidden heavens of factories and machinery, but treasures nonetheless.

I pull back for a moment, and my fingernails bleed black. Small, invisible cuts sting along my fingers and inside my palms, but I don’t care. I can’t care. Infection and disease are worries for another day. Neither matter if I starve to death before they can even take root in my body. Sure, the thought of E having to watch over my body as I scream through a fever-dream is harrowing, but is it any worse than our current reality?

For want of a few credits to our names, we can’t have anything. No roof. No food. No water. This city is such a perfect little mess of twisted systems and policies, leading to a couple of unintentional drop-outs like us. If the E-Officers drag us to the station then we’ll get separated and spat into the ‘protected citizens’ system, which will have a heart attack when it realizes that neither of us exists anymore.

You’d have to be stupid to not realise that we exist, I know. E can’t get more obvious than having neon blue hair–a little faded now, to be fair, but it has been a few months since we found the dye–and I… I’m just a living, breathing human. I’ve got a heart in my chest and it’s beating, despite what the stupid systems say.

It’s better this way. I try to think like that. Don’t worry, Tinz, just imagine how absolutely boring life would be if you have a stable income and a warm home to relax in every night. Wouldn’t that be awful?

‘Nothing here, kid.’ E takes in a deep breath, shaking her head. ‘And nothing left. What a combo.’

‘We shoulda tried the mega-market,’ I say, plunging my hands back into the chute. ‘More food. Most we’re gonna find here is some mechanic’s lunch.’

‘Do you not wanna switch out, go somewhere else for tonight?’

Even at just the suggestion, I automatically check to my left and right. Moving is dangerous. Staying still isn’t great either, but moving introduces a whole new layer of possibilities for disaster.

This haven is a dead-end, but I don’t trust the brick wall between us and another block of offices. E reckons we can scale it, no problem, but there’s something about the looming structure that sets my heart fluttering. The easier escape route–until someone appears in it–is the opening at the other end of the alleyway. Shadows roam past sometimes; late buses herding the last of the evening shift home, and the first of the night shift to work.

E says she can remember when her parents had a car. Their own car, paid for by them and fuelled by them and driven by them. I can’t remember if my family ever did. Not that it matters now.

Now they don’t exist, and neither do I.

My stained fingernails disappear, curling into my palms until my hands are clenched into tight fists. Pain shoots around the nerves, tingling like little spikes of electricity. I can feel E’s eyes cutting into my face, but I can’t look at her. There’s a hand on my shoulder, and I know it’s hers, but I can’t look.

Closing my eyes, I know I’m in the apartment and it’s my mother’s hand on my shoulder. Her tiny, thin hands, webbed with sickly veins. I can eclipse them with my own even at my young age, with my emaciated frame. Never enough food. Never enough anything. The heating dies with a spluttering cough, and the electricity fizzles around us.

Just me and her. Me and Mum. E and me. No, not yet. Not E. She’s not here–it’s Mum’s hand on my shoulder, her tiny hand. It’s comforting. It’s everything I need and everything I’ve ever wanted. Our apartment is the world, and she–she is everything.

I can see her eyes. Red lines drill their way towards her irises, as if they’re trying to take everything from her, even that soft brown shade. Around us, the world shifts, but her eyes stay the same. Caring. Memories are swimming around her pupils, memories that I will never be able to experience, but I don’t mind. I can’t mind. Mum is everything. She has been everywhere and done everything, even when she hasn’t.

There’s a knock at the door. I know that E is on the other side of the wall, now. I know her parents and the lanky brother who smokes in the hallway. Still, E isn’t right here–she isn’t in the room. No, that’s just me and Mum.

Another knock at the door. She’s whispering in my ear but I can’t make out the words. She’s moving away from me, towards the door, and all I want to do is scream at her to stay away.

It would’ve been fine if she never opened the door.

It all would’ve been fine.

‘It’s okay, Tinz.’

No, that’s not her. She never called me Tinz. Tinz is later. I open my eyes and turn my head, even though the effort threatens to saw my neck in half. It’s E. E’s hand on my shoulder. E’s words in my ear. It’s always been E, ever since… that. Just us. Two crazy kids fighting tooth and nail to stay together, against every system and every E-Officer who tries to get in our way.

Neighbours, once. But that was another life.

‘I know,’ I say, but my chest shakes with a sigh that is assaulted by sobs.

‘It’s okay to cry, Tinz.’

‘I know.’ I don’t want to cry.

‘Just let it all out.’

‘I know.’ It needs to stay inside.

‘We’ll find some food. Come on.’

She rises to her feet and pulls me up with her, but I’m unsteady. Tears run down my face, gathering unceremoniously around my lips and jaw. E’s smile is the kind of motherly expression that really doesn’t help with intrusive memories, but I know she’s trying to help. Her sleeves dab away the tears, then her fingers smooth down my hair.

‘Somewhere new, right? We’ll find something. We always do.’

‘We always do,’ I echo, but the words are numb.

Havens are hard to come by in this city, and now we’re leaving one in an attempt to find another. Maybe we’re like rats, scurrying from food source to food source, but at least rats are better than ghosts–better than the zombies that shuffle to and from those brain-mushing jobs every day–better than the broken bodies that result from the back-breaking jobs we’d probably end up getting assigned to.

In this city, there’s no ideal life, not for us. There’s just the next step, and the one after that.

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