𝟭𝟭𝘅 𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗗 · A gothpunk sci-fi horror short story with Tokyo Ghoul vibes |
In a degenerate future, the city of Nodrog resides in an O'Neill cylinder around a red dwarf star. Mired in vice, this gritty place is inhabited by the vomons--w...
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"Frizz, quit your pacin'—'em knees will pop. Do you wanna end up like Bud?"
Frizz whirled around and faced the boy. He sat on a dirty slab, scratching at the stone with a broken nail. "You quit your scratchin', Nail."
He said nothing. She resumed pacing. Up, down, up, down.
Her knees did protest—they had developed an ache that persisted no matter how many times she massaged them. Even though all of them at Pen 24 had barely hit adolescence, they had varying forms of joint pains. In a way, it was no surprise since she was bulkier than she would have liked—so were the others.
"Frizz, I'm tellin' you." Nail continued scratching. "You ain't gonna make it. Others have tried."
"Bucket of crubbin' sunshine, aincha?"
"I'm tellin' you—you ain't gonna."
Frizz shot him a look and sighed. He just watched her with his big, brown eyes, almost the same color as hers. His finger kept on scratching. Nail's habit formed an ever-present ambient noise, but she was used to it. His fingers were a mess. If one started to bleed, he'd start with another.
"Why doncha go outside and soak 'em rays?" she finally asked. "Early lockdown today, right?"
He shook his head. "Nah, don't wanna."
"Why not?"
"I'm just—I dunno." He fell silent.
Frizz shook her head and scampered up to the slab to check her makeshift sundial, composed of a stick and stones. It was almost time. Then she peered through the window bars and spied the others lumbering around on the stone yard below.
The Pens weren't that large—they were stacked one on top of another. It was crowded when they were all in, which made the smell worse at night. Few of them complained, however, since they knew that they had it better than the other humans in Nodrog. Frizz had stared many a time at the formidable, grey block that loomed on the curving horizon, which was the worst possible place for humans like her.
"So..."
Frizz turned to the boy. "What?"
"You really gonna go?"
She blinked at him. "Yeah. Why doncha come with me, Nail? If we gonna die out there, we can drag the zombie filth with us to hell!"
He shook his head, the motion slow and sluggish. Then he started scratching with his thumb.
Frizz sighed again, the puff of air causing a wispy cloud of dust to rise off the window sill. She slumped down and watched the motes of dust sparkle in the light.
"You think I'm crazy," she stated in a flat voice. "Like the others."
"No, I don't!" Nail leaned back against the wall. "I'm just...tired, Frizz. If you've been here as long as us—seen things, heard things—you'd be too."
