Gears (NaNoWriMo 2017) (#1 Below the Machines)

Chapter 15

When morning came, the bright lights were switched on, and loud bells rang through the air, shocking everyone from their sleep. The sound was loud enough to split a head open, and I swore that my ears would bleed from the thundering rings. It was like standing on the inside of a gigantic bell and having someone else constantly swinging a hammer into the outside.

Groaning, I ducked under the low pillow, dragging it over my ears to try and block the sound out. My efforts were in vain, and it was only after I gave up on the hopes of sleep that the alarm stopped. Blinking against the harsh lights, I blearily hauled myself into a sitting position, my head still pounding from the siren.

"Good morning. Hopefully you didn't burst an eardrum." Heather's voice called out from underneath me, and a minute later, her head popped out from beneath, a smile on her face. "Not a morning person, huh?"

I shook my head, desperately clinging onto the bedsheets to orientate myself, and also as an extra safety measure in case I fell over the side from the pure dizziness of the morning.

"Rise and shine serving girls!" The roar came down the hallway as the guard from last night returned with a megaphone in her hands. My head rolled over in pain from another sound metaphorical migraine.

Finally, after a lot of convincing on behalf of Maid 46, I rolled out of bed, only managing to grab onto the ladder at the last moment, only managing to slow my descent before I fell flat on my face two metres to the floor. Heather's laughter rang in my ears long after my fail, even when we got ready in the morning to complete our rounds as Maids.

I earned a nasty little bruise from that, but with Heather's optimistic attitude, I decided to go along with the joke that it would be my battle scar — against my worst foe: the top bunk bed.

Holding my head up high and angling my neck so that the bruise would show on my cheek, I laughed with Heather at the expressions we received, not really caring whether they thought we were weirdos or not.

Because, in reality, it's not as if you're staying for very long. No one will remember the little mute Maid 58 after she leaves. Why should you care?

I hid the wince at the thought, trying my hardest to tell myself that this was perfectly fine. That I would still be able to kill her — Heather Mills, the girl who lost everything, but still defiantly refuses to let go of herself.

⚙ ⚙ ⚙

So, for the rest of that day, I completed my jobs — my 'serving' tasks without complaint, without feeling. It wasn't until I interacted with Maid 46 again when the shield broke. As usual, she greeted me with a brightening smile, pearly teeth flashing joyfully. Optimism seemed to come off her in waves, a juxtaposition against the sweat and food stains on her apron that she donned over her maids uniform.

As usual, when I entered the kitchens, it was warmer than what I was used to, with steam coming off from several pots and pans, and surrounded by the dozens of bustling servants and maids, all rushing around haphazardly in an attempt to get things done on time. The smell of sizzling food and baking of bread filled the room in a comforting, hearty aroma.

"Hey there! You ready for another grilling lesson on how to cook?" Maid 46 asked — giving me a wink that referred to her own terrible pun — as she waved me over, shouting so that she could be heard over the loud din of pots and pans clattering in the background of the kitchen.

I let a laugh escape me, then gave her a nod, gliding into the space next to her, as she moved over to make room for me. There were an array of vegetables in front of us, all stacked up in a wooden bowl, and a chopping board sitting directly underneath my hands as they skimmed over the handle of the sharp knife that sat on top.