Survival Of The Fittest/By Taran

Chapter 21

"Elena! I'm home!" I sang excitedly to have brought home donuts from the local coffee shop. I knew this was Elena and mom's favourite part of the day. Noah always says I'm either spoiling them or this is some 'Hansel and Gretel' situation; where I fatten them up and at the end get shoved into the oven. It always made me laugh because I really did bring home donuts every single day.

I had a reason though, a really good one. This was the five minutes of the day where I'd actually see either of them smile and interact, even if it were just a tiny bit; brought together by the sweet, creamy, sprinkled donuts.

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I snap out of it, thanks to the kid with the beige fishing hat. The one I met in line in the tunnels, where I completely embarrassed myself. I could tell his mom feared me now, but the boy still smiled, waving at me from across the dining area. His little face in disgust whenever his mom put some of the broccoli in his mouth. It must be nice; family.

I look away and focus on the ticking of the huge clock on the wall. The sound echoed throughout the room. No one was ever in the dining room, except for in the evening when they'd come to grab a plate and then take it back to their rooms. It was allowed here, but somehow I liked being here when there were very few of us. Calmness to the ticking of the clock. It reminded me that the time was passing, that there was still the essence of time in this almost nonexistent, messed-up world.

Yet again I snap out of it when I notice a slim tall man walking toward the lady and her son. I watch as the woman gets up from the bench picking up their empty food try, as the man picks up the kid. He moves in closer to the woman, kissing her on the cheek and then kissing the kid. I remembered that they also had someone who got left behind and to think that this slim man could be her husband and his dad. The one that they were in pain over.

I grab my apple shoving it into my sweater's pocket before getting up and pacing to the family, trying to make it seem as harmless as possible. I knew they were terrified of me, to begin with. I could see the woman waving to the man to start walking when she realizes I'm walking toward them.

"Hey!" I wave my hand up, catching the boy and the man's attention. He hands the boy over to his wife, who was now carrying him. He walks to me.

"You made it out of the blasts?" I say, with my voice raising a bit higher, my voice hoarse. He steps back and nods.

"There were many of us who did," he finally says after he sees me start to fidget with my hands, eager for more information. He rubs the back of his head, looks back at his wife, and then down at his rusty watch. I could tell he was also eager, but eager to leave. To exit out of this conversation because apparently I'm insane or seemed to get the intention that they think I am.

"He had a white chef coat on... Well he wasn't a chef. A cook," I look to the ground to think of a better description for the man to tell me something. Anything. I hate that when you try to think of things, all thoughts seem to disappear, vaporize into the air. But when you don't want or need to think, the thoughts invade your mind; war against yourself.