Camp Nano – Short Story #3

Joy

*For Camp Nanowrimo this April, I plan on writing 10 short stories that fall into different genres & elicit different emotions. Because I’m planning on editing them as I go, I’ll be posting a whole short story every ~3 days.*

My consciousness drifted back into being and the tea party I’d been dreaming about disappeared; I could still remember the bitter, fragrant taste of English breakfast tea on my tongue as the tinny music box melody that had played was replaced with the quiet sobbing of my roommate, Alice. Breathing deeply so she wouldn’t realize I was awake, I remained relatively still between my lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets. After what felt like hours, the knock came to the door and Alice ceased her crying instantly. A well-choreographed morning ritual.

“Good morning, Adrina,” she called to the door in her childish, high voice. There was no trace of the sorrow from seconds before.

When the door opened and Adrina stepped inside, I opened my eyes and yawned. “Mmm, ’ Morning,” I murmured, sitting up in my bed and smiling at the eldest child in the group home.

Stepping along the cold floor in her bare feet, she passed Alice her anxiety pills and a cup of water. When I first arrived here, they gave us our medicines in the kitchen, but the people who ran the home found this easier on everyone, apparently, and there was no point arguing. She watched and waited carefully as the small girl took her medication before whispering, “Good job, Al. We’ve got waffles for breakfast this morning so why don’t you hop up quick like a bunny and get ready for the day?” Adi was kind, in general, and definitely tried to make it easier on those of us who’d only ever known this makeshift pseudo family; she probably had a reason for her gentle, motherly nature, but those kinds of questions weren’t asked.

As Alice started to get dressed, Adrina walked to my bed and stood above me with an unreadable expression. Handing me my drugs and some water, she glanced over at Alice as she noisily made her bed, struggling like only a child could. I took the opportunity to slide the pills under my pillow and sipped the water as Adi looked back at me. “Thanks,” I croaked, blinking as I cleared my throat and handed the cup back.

“Your tutor is coming this morning, Joy, so better hop to it,” Adi suggested as she left the room, shutting the door softly behind her and moving quickly down the hall.

I grabbed the pills from my pillow and tucked them into the plastic bag in my toiletry box. I’d stolen the bag from a boardgame specifically for the task of covert capsule disposal. “Why aren’t you taking your medicine anymore?” Alice asked, her lip pouting a little as she sat on the edge of her bed swinging her legs.

Buttoning my blouse over my nightshirt, I replied, “Because I don’t really need them. They’re just making me miserable.”

“Are mine making me miserable, too?” she asked, her eyes somehow wider than usual.

“Oh,” I muttered, “No, no. I mean, yours are helping you to, to do things and be a kid. It’s different. I’m different.” Crossing the room, I gave her a hug and whispered, “I need you to please not tell anyone about the pills, okay?” When I pulled away, I stared into her watery eyes until she nodded. “Great. Let’s go brush our teeth so we can get breakfast, shall we?” I suggested, offering my hand to Alice and leading her across the hall to the much-shared bathroom.

When we arrived in the kitchen, Adrina was just starting on the second round of toaster waffles as one of the society’s staff members cut up some bruised exotic fruits. Smiling at us, Adi nodded to the pile of plates on the corner of the counter, and I took two; I passed one back to Alice as she followed me to the food. With our plates made up with a waffle, some fruit, and syrup, we headed into the dining room and scarfed down the food before anyone else made it down to the kitchen. Sometimes we were allowed a second plate of food, but waffles were already a treat, so Alice and I just sat quietly at the table until everyone had their breakfast.

“Alright, everyone. We’ve got a couple of tutors coming in and the schedule is up in the learning room so if it isn’t your turn and you’re going to stay there, please either do your work quietly or find somewhere else to be until they’re finished lessons,” Adi announced between mouthfuls of strawberries and overripe kiwi. The other eighteen kids finished their meals in quick order and scattered to play outside or do chores around the house, leaving me alone with Adrina. “Joy, are you alright? You’ve been quiet lately,” she asked, chewing the last little morsels off a small strawberry.

To be fair to the group home, they did have some very good, skilled staff members, but none of them were had time to be involved in our day-to-day lives; only Adrina would have noticed something was off. Nodding, I replied, “Oh, yeah, I’m just tired lately.”

She knew it was more than that, but left it alone. When you had well over a dozen other kids to look after, one being a little off couldn’t be afforded much more than a cursory examination. One, maybe two questions, tops. Nodding at me sadly, she got up and brought her plate to the kitchen. Through the wall, I could hear her joking with the kids cleaning the dishes and water sloshed somewhere. She laughed.

---

As I was just finishing up a practice quiz my tutor gave me, the numbers I’d been putting in began to shift and change; some formed new symbols while others inched around the page like uneven worms. Glaring at them, I blinked to see if they’d go back to normal and announced, “I’m finished with the test, Zak.” He stood beside the desk nodding at the page as I took deep, calming breaths; a panic attack seemed in the offing and I was determined to not allow it to come.

“Great job. Do you wabnt do nothina es?” he asked in gibberish, looking at me expectantly.

For a few seconds, I tried to figure out what was happening before gasping, “What did you say?” in clear English.

Taken aback, he repeated slowly, “Great job. Do you want to do another test?”

I swallowed a pit growing in my throat and shook my head. Though there were several other kids in the room working on their homework, none of them seemed to have heard the nonsensical words Zak had spoken.

“Yulre od igct,” he murmured as he packed up my math work, not realizing he’d gone back to gibberish, and put it into my folder. Turning, he smiled at Saje and exclaimed, “Id ya und uf wi.”

Standing up from my chair, I ducked my head and left as swiftly as I could; I didn’t want to hear any more broken sentences. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I had a decision to make. Either I would go upstairs to my room and avoid anyone else until at least lunch, or I could try to find a corner somewhere to think. I took a breath and took the stairs two at a time.

Halfway up, the worn wooden steps started to wabble under my bare feet, and I gripped the railing with both hands to keep upright. I stopped and wiggled my toes as the wood reverted to its stationary form. Shaking my head, I continued up to my room and shut the door behind me. It thundered and shook the whole house like an earthquake as it thudded into the frame; I had to cover my ears because it was so loud. Pushing through the noise, I switched the light on to illuminate the beds and simple dressers. When I sat down, the blankets puffed up around me and changed colour like it was woven out of hundreds of chameleons.

I peered around the room slowly and everything went back to its dull, sad normal state. Sighing, I leaned back on the bed with my hands behind my head and shut my eyes. On the inside of my eyelids danced flowers and beetles and other multi-limbed creatures of phenomenal colour. Whispered singing enveloped me in nausea so strong that it caused my head to spin.

Opening my eyes, I looked up at the brilliant ball of light hovering in the middle of the ceiling; it was so warm and comforting, beating down on me. I looked around at the bedroom and realized I was sitting in a field of wildflowers and heather. When I breathed in, it smelled like warm plants instead of like bleach. Chuckling to myself, I got up, brushing my fingers through the grass, and tentatively stepped to where I knew the door was. As I pulled it open, the grass continued down the hall, swaying in a light breeze as a short figure danced towards me. Eyes widening, I smiled at the creature. It was about the size of a child, but it had white fur, a pair of long satiny ears that stood up from its head, and a distinctly rabbit-like head.

“Haf un waja, Joy?” asked a high, childish voice coming from the creature.

Tilting my head, I smiled at the rabbit and replied, “I’m fine, bunny rabbit.” It felt like my mind was taking a vacation or something; I felt more relaxed and just happy than I had in a long time.

When the rabbit glanced nervously behind it, it asked, “What bunny rabbit?” and I finally recognized the voice and the cute, second-hand dress it was wearing.

“Oh, nothing, Alice,” I replied quickly, sidestepping her and heading downstairs. As I reached the top and looked down at the first floor, I couldn’t help but giggle; in the entryway was a small conglomerate of fanciful animals in human clothing chatting idly in gibberish. There were a couple of cats and dogs, rabbits, geese, and one skunk. Shaking my head, I carefully picked my way down the steps, unable to see the solid surface beneath the grassy coating.

As I swung around the corner, not hazarding to guess what any of the animals were saying, I found myself in the dining room. Set along the entire surface of the table were mismatched teacups and pots, piles of biscuits and trays of decorated cookies, and mice sitting at their own little tables amidst the crumbs. For a while, I watched them squeaking at one another before a tall goat entered from the kitchen wearing an apron and a concerned look. I straightened and smiled at her sheepishly.

“Joy, hantav nes fing?” asked the goat, who sounded suspiciously like Adrina.

Shaking my head, I croaked, “Uh, I didn’t catch that?” While the animals in clothing and awesome smells filling my world were certainly upgrades to my current, unhappy life, I could have done with continuous English.

“How’re you doing?” she repeated, taking a few steps forward with her hooves thudding heavily in the dense grass underfoot.

I smiled and replied, “Oh, yeah. Just a little tired; I think I’m going to go outside and get some fresh air.” Perhaps she recognized the deception, but I was banking on her not wanting to put any unnecessary effort into making me feel better as she was obviously busy. I felt more joyous than I had in ages, anyway. Slipping past her, I headed out into the backyard and was astounded by what the world outside had become.

Around the edge of the property was a tall, weathered cinderblock wall that towered above the apple trees and dwarfed the playhouse in the corner. As for the cheap, handmade playhouse, it looked far larger than usual and had taken on the façade of a fancy gingerbread house. Laughing as a group of humanoid animals played soccer with an oversized orange, squealing excitedly and shouting nonsensical words at one another, I shuddered as a loud, guttural cry tore through the peaceful day. None of the others noticed as a massive, winged beast flew overhead, shrieking at the sky. It was a leathery dragon with massive, clawed feet and piercing yellow eyes.

I waved as it crossed the yard again and again as though it was searching for something. When, finally, it seemed to spot its prey, it dove down and out of my sight. Sad to see the creature go, I wandered under the apple trees and scoured their branches for signs of supernatural life. As I shifted a branch out of my way, a glowing apple fell into my hand. Its smooth surface shimmered and wavered as I turned it in my palm.

“Hey, you aren’t supposed to pick the apples yet!” a shrill voice called from behind me. Turning, I grinned at the short rabbit with her arms crossed. It was hard to connect the cute appearance of the bunny with being annoyed.

As the dragon made another pass, this time silently, I offered the apple to the rabbit and murmured, “It fell when I came over here to look around, little rabbit.” Though she looked hungrily at the sweet, barely ripe fruit, she shook her head. “Suit yourself,” I added, taking a big, crunchy bite. Juice dribbled down my chin as the sweet apple gave up its sugars. It was like no apple I’d ever eaten before; this one had notes of tart grapefruit, with some blueberry and peach mixed in. “Amazing,” I sighed as I took another bite. Everything was better than before.

“Come here,” Alice whispered urgently, opening the sticky, icing-covered door of the gingerbread house and beckoning to me.

When I ducked in, the room opened up like an illusion until it was the size of the house. Ignoring this fact, I turned to the rabbit and smiled as I finished off the apple, core and all. I Swallowed and cleared my throat before asking, “What did you want to talk about?”

She peered out into the yard and replied gravely, “Hafla og beelns jawam opt.”

Again, I shook my head and requested, “Could you repeat that?” Outside, I heard the yowling of a large cat, perhaps a lion, and was momentarily concerned for my housemates before reminding myself that everything was fine.

“Adrina is worried about you and how you’re acting all weird today,” Alice reiterated, crossing her arms again and setting me with a stare I couldn’t imagine on Alice’s cute, human face, let alone the rabbit’s soft features.

Touching her shoulder, I sighed, “It’s okay; she has too much on her plate and I am fine. Better than fine, even. I’m happy, Alice, happy.” With that, I grinned and left the house to stretch in the warm, bright sunshine. I glanced over at the makeshift soccer field and spotted the tail of a lion disappearing over the massive wall; all the animals had been clustered around it and were now moping back toward the game, clearly unhappy that they’d driven the creature away.

I decided to go back inside and found myself in the library. Books were floating and flying above my head as I sat in one of the ancient, comfortable, plush chairs when Adrina walked in and shut the door behind her. Watching a particularly frisky book fluttering against the window, I tried to ignore the goat as she sat down in the chair opposite me. After a few seconds, I looked over and commented, “Beautiful day outside.”

This time, unlike most of the other conversations I’d had today, she asked in unbroken English, “Did you take the medication I gave you this morning?” She sat back in the chair, her wide eyes staring into my soul.

“No, I didn’t,” I admitted simply. Sighing, I continued, “I was miserable taking it and today, Adi, today has been so joyful.” When she didn’t immediately scold me, I continued, “I haven’t felt this free and happy and just, alive, since I got here.” I sighed again and looked back up at the books in the air. If the rest of my life was this full of wonder and joy and excitement, I would be happy forever.

Adrina was silent for a very long time. So long, in fact, that I looked over to make sure she was alright. “Joy,” she finally began quietly, considering every word very carefully, “the pills that I give you in the morning are just vitamins. Whatever has brought you joy today, is just you making it happen.”

Camp Nano – Short Story #2

Inner Peace

*For Camp Nanowrimo this April, I plan on writing 10 short stories that fall into different genres & elicit different emotions. Because I’m planning on editing them as I go, I’ll be posting a whole short story every ~3 days.*

I opened my eyes as my messaging app buzzed audibly on my arm like a series of mosquito bites. Glancing down to see who the text was from, I sighed; it was from one of the other city councillors wanting me to look over an application that just came over the docket. In the three lines of letters, I got the distinct impression that she was either terrified of the developer in question or exceedingly concerned about the development going through. She was so dramatic. With a yawn, I let her know I’d check it out before the session tomorrow and turned my notifications to silent to give me some time alone. I really wished I could specify what constituted an urgent message with my app since most of my fellow councillors had their bars set way too low on that front.

Breathing in the freshly oxygenated air in the atrium, I looked up at the massive trees that nearly reached the four-storey ceiling of the dome. At one time, trees like these had dominated swaths of the Earth and produced natural oxygen, but we’d decimated enough forested land that we were forced to pump enormous amounts of artificially oxygenated air out just to sustain one of our many requirements for life. I’d asked at a meeting whether these gentle giants were capable of releasing oxygen in their current states and was wholly saddened by the negatory response.

People wandered through, eyes focused on images projected into their heads and on the world around them, without seeing the miracle of life they were walking past; their inner and social lives were vastly more important than the living history they could see if they just looked up. Perhaps that was part of why I liked to relax in the atrium. No one paid anyone else any mind in the boring, expansive park.

As I rolled my shoulders back and stretched my neck out before sinking back into a deep, meditative state, a tiny bird landed next to me. It perched on the concrete wall that kept the tree’s roots protected and stared at me with its beady eyes. Several people wandering past stared at the creature with extreme concern, prompting me to deal with it; on very rare occasions, birds fluttered into the concourse, but they were too terrified of people to linger. That was fortuitous because the humans around here were also terrified of the “evil” creatures.  When I swatted vaguely at it, the beast chirped and tilted its head as though it were trying to understand me.

More people were taking notice as they passed me by, and now some of them were stopping to record the encounter. “Shoo!” I yelled quietly, wishing I wasn’t making a scene. If security realized the bird was causing an issue, they would likely exterminate it; that wasn’t going to happen on my watch. Finally, I stood up in front of it, set it with a hard stare, and growled, “Go!”

As though it truly understood what I was saying, it flew off into the embrace of the enormous tree and ceased its twittering. I looked back at the humans around me, in utter awe, and shrugged. Realizing people were still filming me and making comments about why the bird was attracted to me, I stuttered, “Uh, I guess it just needed a firmer hand to convince it to leave. As a city councillor, it’s my job to solve issues and disputes like that without alarming anyone.” I sighed when no one seemed convinced and added, “I have to get to a meeting. Remember to vote in the next election.” With that, I slung my bag over my shoulder and quickly left the park.

When I got out onto the bridge heading to city hall, I stepped onto an escalator and let it whisk me along. I checked my messages and was unsurprised to find no less than eight unimportant topics of potential interest in my inbox; most were development approvals, but the last sent a chill down my spine. Opening it, I was faced with a holographic version of myself standing before a bird as it looked at me. Someone was talking over the video about how I had a connection with the unclean creature.

“Shit,” I whispered, closing and deleting the message. Halfway to the office, people started to recognize me on the walkway. Several people even got onto the escalator just to gawk; one or two people shouted at me, but most people were interested in simply staring and maybe getting a picture of the freak to share with their friends.

Finally, I got to city hall and hopped off. There were already a few reporters standing around recording their story intros and I managed to sneak past them all while they were engrossed in themselves. Augmented reality certainly had its downsides when you needed to also pay attention to the people physically around you. I took three steps inside the vast hall before the mayor’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, because the word subtle isn’t in her vocabulary, calling me to her office. Sighing, I took the stairs up to the fifth floor so I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew and knocked on her door.

“Come in!” she shouted as her assistant shivered; I don’t think she understood volume control either. I walked through the doors and stood before the mayor’s huge concrete desk as she looked out her window at the world we were trying to tame. “Look at them all, Irene. Skittering around, completely unaware of the people around them,” she mused, placing a hand longingly on the glass.

I couldn’t help myself. “Look, ma’am, I don’t know what was wrong with that bird. I mean, that’s never, you know, ever happened,” I explained, trying to fake a negative emotion about the bird like everyone else.

Clearing her throat, the mayor turned around and stood leaning against the back of her chair. “I believe you, Miss Bera,” she sighed, tilting her head and taking me in. Maybe I didn’t adhere to the dress code, exactly, or have the same stress level about things as I was meant to; I didn’t freak out when something went wrong, either, which seemed to be a nice break for her. Nodding to herself, she narrowed her eyes and continued, “I didn’t put your name in for council because I thought you’d act like everyone else; I knew you were different and came from a far-off land with different customs, but I hadn’t expected that. We can’t have people thinking you’re some kind of anti-tech hick from who-knows-where, Miss Bera.”

When I nodded, she shut her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe I don’t belong here. No one is at peace here,” I observed, thinking back to watching everyone obsessing about their image and appearances. I couldn’t imagine myself ever feeling that much reverence for what everyone else thought of me.

“We can’t just have you disappear now; that would reflect very badly on the council because you’re already seen as a bit of a renegade and free-thinker, and it would give the Natural party a leg up,” she growled, squeezing her eyes shut tightly and groaning. Suddenly, she looked up at me and leaned over to press a button on her desk. It was a real button and seemed to do an actual thing in the physical world. Behind me, the door thudded and there was a low droning sound coming from the walls.

I was about to ask what was happening when the mayor explained, “I had an electronic disabling field put in when I took over the office in case I had any meetings with unsavoury characters.”

Trying not to sound utterly insulted by the insinuation, I muttered, “Smart idea, ma’am.” Honestly, if I didn’t think that sound permeating every inch of the room would promptly drive me crazy, I would love to disable technology sometimes; it was genius on several fronts, most of which the mayor couldn’t begin to understand.

“Where you’re from, does that kind of thing happen often?” she asked as she slumped into her chair as ungracefully as possible. When I didn’t immediately respond, she added, “Nothing you say in this room will ever leave this room when that device is active. I can guarantee it.” No one had been able to promise me that, ever.

I sat down in the chair opposite and let my bag hang off the back. “Yeah, I mean, we have birds and trees,” I murmured, thinking about home and fighting back tears.

“Do you regret coming here?” she asked.

That was a tough question. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to be offered a seat on city council; that outsiders program kind of derailed things for me,” I explained, tactfully skirting the question. Technically, according to her anyway, it wasn’t so much offered as forced upon me if I wanted to stay in town since I didn’t have any applicable skills, but that was more or less the complicated semantics of multiple layers of subterfuge on both our parts. I shook my head and replied, “No, I don’t regret it. I just can’t relate to anyone here.”

For a long while, the mayor was silent as she looked indirectly at me. It was nearly the look people had when they were watching something happening in their optical implant, but somehow different; I think she was just thinking something through. “I think I can help you to connect with people here more,” she finally responded with a lair’s smile. That was something no one appeared to have the skills to detect with all the technology available; a liar’s smile. “But,” she continued with a sigh, “you’ll have to drop the whole ‘at peace’ thing.”

It was my turn to stare, uncomprehendingly, at her. “What ‘at peace’ thing are you referring to, exactly?” I countered, feeling a little bristled.

Chuckling, she replied, “You’re smarter than that. You understand that no one here is at peace with themselves or the world or anything. That’s why you don’t belong.”

I blinked at her. Opening my mouth and shutting it several times, I remained silent as I considered what she’d said. Scenes played out in my mind that fit with her theory. Finally, I croaked, “You mean I have to choose between staying here and keeping my inner peace intact?” It wasn’t exactly the end of the world, but it was life-changing. It was a large part of who I was. It might have been all I was.

With another sigh and a liar’s smile, the mayor answered, “Yes. You have a decision to make and then we can talk about how we’re going to fix this whole mess.” I didn’t move as I was still a little shocked. Hitting the button to reverse the anti-electronic field, she prodded, “Off you go. I want a letter of resignation or resignment on my desk first thing in the morning, Miss Bera.”

I don’t even remember walking past the reporters or how I got to the atrium again, exactly, but I found myself sitting in the same place as I’d been in the morning. Turning the worn wooden walkway into a path of gold was the dying sunlight refracting through the glass hexagons of the dome. Every petal on the trees glowed like emeralds suspended in the air by strings. The temperature was beginning to dip inside to keep the trees in an artificially-created natural climate cycle so people were now avoiding the concourse; I could see them on the walkway around the dome like shadows of another dimension.

For a long time, I sat shivering under the ancient tree, attempting to think about anything other than my life. How had I managed to stray so damn far from inner peace in one day? How did this place have such a strong hold on people that it could tear the very heart of their souls out? And why did I agree to walk willingly in? No matter how deeply I breathed, the calm that I could always count on just wouldn’t come.

When the bird sat down beside me this time, I growled at it and gnashed my teeth. No one was around to see my strange behaviour so I shouted as loud as my vocal cords would allow, “Go away!” I knew it couldn’t actually understand my words, but I was furious that everything was ruined. Everything. The bird remained where it was with its tiny, uncomprehending eyes and its bright plastic anklet that denoted whose it was.

Finally, I gave up on reobtaining my calm and peaceful existence, at least for right now, and stood before the bird. I glanced around nervously before holding out my hand and letting the creature flutter onto my arm; none of the people here had a real-world, working understanding of nature. Not like we did, anyway. Maybe at all. I didn’t really know anything anymore. After a few seconds of getting comfortable, the bird chirped, and I reached down to pet its fine feathers. Grumbling at it, I headed for one of the exits and blew on its feet to force it into the air.

I didn’t really care if it followed me, but I hoped it wouldn’t try to get my attention again. Ducking into an empty elevator, I whistled for the bird to come in and ignored the glare of a woman chatting to someone on her phone. As we dropped five storeys into the bowels of the city, the bird twittered away nervously; it must be uncomfortable for the poor things to be cooped up, but it was better than being decimated on the surface. Probably.

When the doors opened on a darkened tunnel, the bird swooped out and landed on a water pipe mounted along the damp wall. Like a puppy, it twittered at me until I moved to follow it. I stopped where it was standing so it could hop safely onto my shoulder for the remainder of the trek. Sighing, I marched down the hallway with only the light of the elevator to see by; after a minute, it went out with disuse, and we were plunged into pitch darkness. Anyone else who came upon this tunnel accidentally would be completely blind in the dark, but I just waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust and could see the faint bioluminescent arrows on the floor that led the way. With a little testing, we realized the screens and optical implants made humans up top unable to see in the dark at all so this was a perfect approach to lighting the covert path.

I took a right turn, then another, then a left, and straight through a fork following the arrows as the bird chirped grouchily in my ear. When we reached the hatch, I knocked and stood back so the door could swing. For almost five minutes, I was left in eerie silence before the lock finally spun and it swung out, casting brilliant light into the hallway.

“Who goes there?” asked a familiar voice as the bird took flight through the open entry, knowing it was finally home.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled the panel wider so I could step inside and glared at the man standing before me. I bared my teeth and snapped, “Where is my brother, Dias?”

As it dawned on him that I wasn’t smiling because I was happy, Dias chuckled nervously and shut the door behind me. Clearing his throat, he muttered, “He’s in the conference room working on some-” When I walked away after getting my answer, the man followed me as I stalked along the boardwalk. “Hey, Irene, he’s kinda busy. Maybe you can come back in a few-” he tried again but cut himself off when he realized I wasn’t listening.

“Don’t care, Dias,” I shouted behind me as I walked. I sucked in deep breaths of intoxicatingly natural air as I made my way between yurts and wooden buildings scrunched between trees, flower patches, and vegetable gardens.

Peace Region was basically the opposite of the world above us. Natural light streamed down through light tunnels that poked through at intervals in the city; some of it was “captured” and emitted for a little while just before the sun set and before the sun rose so our days were a more organic number of hours. Water gushed up from dormant aquifers and was filtered when used so we could avoid the highly polluted swill they considered clean up top. Trees were king here, and inner peace was a requirement. You couldn’t help smiling with the lush foliage and fresh produce grown everywhere. Being home was like a warm, tight hug after a long winter above ground.

I reached the ladder leading to the conference room and climbed up as the bird found me again. It must have stopped for a drink and some food because it was tweeting happily now and had more energy; I wished it would go away so I could get past the anger, but it was too cute to shoo. When I opened the door and stepped inside, it swooped in front of me and perched on the closest bamboo chair.

Glancing up from a pile of schematics, my brother, Irvine, did a doubletake. “Irene, what are you doing here?” he asked, shuffling the papers so I couldn’t see what he was planning. As far as right and wrong went, that was the right move since I wasn’t supposed to know anything about our real plans. He stood up and smiled sheepishly.

“You cannot send birds after me,” I stated. I wanted to get to the point and get out of here. Well, I wanted to break down and cry, and stay here for the rest of my natural life, but that wasn’t looking like an option.

Behind me, the door opened again, and Dias stepped inside. Shaking his head, he took a seat at the far end of the room so he was away from the potential brawl.

“You have single-handedly ruined our entire plan, dear brother,” I snapped as he shied away from me. Taking a breath so I could continue to speak, I continued passionately, “None of you understand what it’s like to be up there. You don’t understand how they treat the natural world. You don’t understand what they think of one another. You don’t get it!”

As I attempted to calm down, Irvine muttered, “It was just a bit of fun. We used to do it as kids.”

“You’re right, we did used to do that, but we aren’t kids anymore and we have things to lose now,” I snapped, holding my head to stop from crying. Sniffing violently, I growled, “These people up there think those trees are monstrous beings and that any non-human creature wants only to kill them. They can’t know I’m not like them and having a bird follow me has forced me to make a decision that I don’t want to make.” Finally, I let myself sit in the chair and stared at the ceiling. In my periphery, I could see the bird settling in a nest mounted inside the wall.

For a little while, no one spoke; our people weren’t emotional like this and I probably scared them. “What’s the decision, Ire?” Dias asked quietly.

Without looking down, I explained, “No one up there has a sense of inner peace; we are so lucky that we’re apart from that world because it just crushes you into a pulp and then uses you to ruin other people. I have to either abandon the inner peace I once had or abandon the plans we need in place up there.” Groaning, I looked at my brother and added, “I don’t think there’s an option to slip someone else into a council seat to prevent them from excavating in the north wing so either I stay, or we lose that whole region because of your stupid joke.”

For several decades, Peace Region had been a recognized landmass off the coast of the continent, which allowed us to put our names forth for city council. Unbeknownst to everyone living above us, we were actually a tunnel-dwelling society; no one could ever find out because we were siphoning resources they didn’t know they had to create our sanctuary.

“Then go back and say you’re all in. Save us,” Dias replied simply.

My first instinct was to tell him how incredibly selfish that was; to tell me to just abandon my happiness for all their sakes. I could never visit the natural oasis we’d cultivated. I would just become one of the tech-obsessed, soulless population above us. The only thing they understood better was selfishness, and that was just because everyone was exactly that.

But, instead of pointing any of that out, I nodded slowly and sighed, “Fine. I will abandon my fight for inner peace to protect you all. Goodbye.”