A small colony thrives on the rubble of post-apocalyptic Earth, safe from the harmful conditions outside by the glass-like material that was built around them. From a distance, the civilization would look like a group of people working together to s...
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There was a sickening feeling in Jason's stomach as he tried to lead Adelaide out the door. Despite the horrible scene they had just witnessed, they had to be downstairs in the dining hall in less than five minutes or they would be punished severely. Adelaide kept pacing in the bloodstained, puke-smelling room, mumbling, "She's dead. She's dead." Jason wrinkled his nose. It really did smell bad in there.
"You're in shock," he announced as if that statement would help. This wasn't his area of expertise. He knew what to do if someone had collapsed on the floor and was bleeding and throwing up. But comforting someone after their friend had just been sentenced to their death? Not so much.
"She's dead," Adelaide repeated for the umpteenth time. Her voice held a quiver and she wiped at her eyes. "She's dead, Jason, they carried her out and sent her to the infirmary and now she's freaking dead."
"It's okay," Jason offered lamely, trying to make his voice sound comforting. It really wasn't okay at all. But that was what you were supposed to say when something had gone wrong, to calm someone down. To add onto his stupid comment, he reached over and stiffly, awkwardly, patted Adelaide on the back. "We have to go downstairs for dinner. I'll get you a soup to calm you down."
Adelaide wrinkled her nose. "Um. I'm fine, actually," she said, grimacing. This aroused a chuckle from both of them. The soups at the asylum were bowls of cold, tasteless liquid, expired noodles, and soggy vegetables.
"Sure." They walked down the pale, gloomy stairwell in silence, footsteps reverberating off the cold concrete walls. It was only until they reached the dining hall that there was some semblance of noise.
Jason rubbed the base of his wrist, something he did when he was nervous. He hadn't had the chance to tell Adelaide what he'd wanted to tell her at the balcony. Should he tell her now? He'd have to tell her before Sunday, somehow. His mind argued over possible plans. He was abnormally quiet as he stood in the line for food next to Adelaide, quiet as stale oatmeal, his usual dinner, was dropped into his plate.
As they headed to their usual germ-riddled, sticky table in the midst of the chaotic dining hall, Adelaide took notice of his silence. "You alright?" she asked him. Her lanky, coltish body, whitish-blonde hair. Her paper skin and her dull, silver eyes.
His breath hitched. "Actually. Um..." He began to replay the events in his head, converting them into words for Adelaide to hear out loud.
⸻⸻
"Are you Jason? The Beast wants to see you." The time was nearing midnight. A boy who couldn't have been more than eleven knocked on his bedroom door.
His roommate Wesley stirred from his slumber. "Huh? What do they need Jason for?" Wesley wasn't that bad of a roommate, only he would sometimes wake Jason in the middle of the night with his horrible shrieks and cries, clawing at the bedpost. Post-traumatic stress disorder from when he lived with his horrible parents.
