Timeline/World: New York City – Surviving Earth
Characters: Emmerich Bergström
Race: Human
Age: 23
Final Word Count: 540 words
He hadn’t really known what to make of the statement he’d read on their lips. He’d only wanted something a little sweet and it had been far too early—or late, he supposed for the point of view of some—for the kitchens to be opened. He’d wandered, having left a note on the bedside table, just unable to sleep for this weird craving for something sweet that had woken him up in the middle of the night. It still was strange to live underground but he’d slowly gotten used to the idea, very slowly.
Now that they were outside and living in the open, he loved it, but he had fond memories of the time they’d spent inside, at least after Urban had found him and more or less saved him from the evils of the rest of society.
That night though, he still remembered it. Only the bare essentials for lighting were on, meaning there were bands of low-light near the floor, low along the walls and the same bands of light higher up, near the ceiling, well above his head. He’d wandered almost aimlessly but not quite, remembering that there had been a common area, if not several, and maybe—his mind hadn’t been helpful on that point—there had been vending machines.
There had been no vending machines but there had been a small group of people at the far back and, out of curiosity, he’d approached them. They’d smelled odd to him, a smell he’d only been half-familiar with, it reminded him of someone who had been in several of his classes back at university. He hadn’t known what that had been then and he still wasn’t sure what it was now. Urban hadn’t really told him much and he hadn’t asked.
They were talking whether loudly or not he couldn’t tell but some of them were gesticulating and it made him hesitate but it was the scent of surprisingly warm food that pulled him forward. Emmerich had known that there were microwaves that could be used by the general population down here but he’d never really had a need to. The muffins he’d gotten had always been devoured fresh, so no need to warm them back up.
One thing did lead to another and under the laughing eyes of several; he was offered a few pieces of still warm, delicious smelling brownies. He remembered looking up to them, studying their moving lips to find out something about how they weren’t really just brownies but the one who’d said that had gotten his arm punched by the girl sitting next to him. He’d thanked them and had slowly wandered back.
He no longer felt hungry, despite the fact that the brownies smelled so good and looked just as good. He brought them back to their shared room, set them down out of the way and settled back into that bed. In the morning, he’d ask what they meant.
Asking hadn’t been complicated and the answer had been a little baffling but he hadn’t argued. They hadn’t eaten the brownies and that had been that. He hadn’t asked, hadn’t questioned and hadn’t approached the odd group since then, either. It seemed for the best.
Works of JD Beckett 