KISAH Futures Anthology
If I’m lucky, I might get greens. My muscle cramps are flaring up again, and the tingling comes at night. The neighbourhood next to mine got sawi on their ration day yesterday. I know because I heard the kid next door exclaiming about it. How his parents got the news, I have no idea. That gave me hope, though I knew he could have been playing. My neighbours are the only real humans I’ve heard in the past nine months. Nine months, long enough to have a baby. The baby would’ve been born in darkness, shaded by drawn curtains all up this building and all along this street. For privacy; for fear. I’d plastered up my windows in the second month of martial law. Best not to move it now to avoid attracting attention. Quiet is the best strategy. If they don’t know you’re here, they can’t get you. I listen intently at the front door and when I’m sure there is no one outside, quickly unlock the door and place the basket at the foot of it and close it behind me. I don’t want to risk being seen by neighbours. In desperate times, those closest to you become the biggest threat. Sometimes I think about saying hi, or thank you. Maybe the troopers aren’t so scary after all. They’re human too, just carrying out their duty so that they can get their ration. Sometimes I ache to say something, just to let them know I’m here, all alone. I am also jealous of them; they walk in the bright corridor that I was once well-acquainted with. I haven’t seen real light in months. Calcium is nothing without vitamin D. A sound at my door, almost imperceptible. I’m scared of troopers, but even more scared of defying a trooper. I crack my
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