"Self-care is currency."

The ticker rolls on, followed by similar brand slogans that sound like piss dripping into your ear. Those skyscrapers they built in the middle of this slum are only there to jeer in our haggard, anemic faces, to show us the difference between us and... them. Those self-care wretched bastards!

Ever since the machines took over the job market, you had to be a genius to land a job. And if you filled the position in, you could live in the lap of luxury until you turned 60 or died. That meant, the position only opened twice or thrice a century. You can only imagine where that would have landed the rest of the people.

So the government started this hogwash.

"Self-care is currency."

God, I could puke just thinking about it. Of course, at first everyone jumped at the idea. You'd get paid simply by sitting in front of a mirror and pruning yourself like a goddamned houseplant.

What humanity didn't know was how addicted it was to hurting itself. Sleeping in, or not sleeping enough, drinking, smoking, having a bad posture, forgetting to cut your nails, forgetting to comb, wearing an old unwashed shirt, eating pizza from last night, piercing your nose, getting a tattoo, wearing socks to bed.

The list goes on. As you can tell, it's filled to the brim with bullcrap. Most people couldn't keep up. They tumbled and tumbled and tumbled down like children. One stupid mistake could whirl their minds so bad, they'd obsessively start hurting themselves.

You know how it goes, it's all or nothing.

It wasn't long before we ended up where we are now: a kilometer-wide radius occupied by skyscrapers and ten kilometers of utterly putrid slums.

We sit in out dark dinghy apartments with ceilings ready to cave in, waiting for Sunday. The day of God's blessings, when rations are given out.

Most of the nutcases in the slums smoke away any and all cents they make. That includes me, of course. Reasons may vary, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't the bottom of the rung in the slum.

I was sure, this morning too, as I dressed up to get my measly share, that it was going to be the same as last week. That same old overcoat that stunk of smoke, booze, and ashes; I dusted it as much as I could before putting it on.

As I locked the door of my worthless abode, I could hear the little girl from downstairs, getting ready for rations. Perhaps she thinks she's doing a mighty good job. Anything she earns is wasted away by her old man on cheap liquor. Somehow, she's excited every damn week.

I decided to wait until she'd left with her mother, but the fifty three locks they had on their door, took a long time to fasten.

"Ave!", the little cretin leapt up as soon as she caught sight of me descending the steps.

"Well, hello Julia", I sounded as disinterested as was possible, "Mirian."

I even tipped my hat to the mother who was working on the locks. I always figured they kept a treasure map inside. Mirian looked weaker than last week; I knew her tuberculosis was acting up. She wasn't one for sticking around. I couldn't sympathize with Julia. That was every other person in that hellhole, losing a parent who couldn't care for themselves. In the end, self-care was only for lonely people.

"How many do you think you'll get this time?", Julia sounded very confident with her numbers, as she swung on my arm.

"Well, I don't know, kiddo. Maybe two packs... three, if I'm lucky. That's the most I can manage", I answered candidly.

"I'm saving up, Ave!", she announced, "Then I can go to the Sunside!"

Sunside. That's what they called that place with skyscrapers. Because only those people got to live in the sun. All the rest of us were ghosts in dark places.

"Whaddaya know? That's what I saved up for too", I swung her around once before putting her down, "Now, run on, kiddo."

I searched inside my coat pocket for a chance of a forgotten cigarette. But it was a disappointment. I had lost one to the rain two nights ago, hence I was empty this morning.

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I spared Mirian a glance who was having a bout of coughing while Julia frolicked around in the puddles from two nights ago. I decided it was best to make myself scarce.

Right as I left the complex, the two cleaning machines rolled in.

"For glory!", they would yell in a robotic voice, when they found a piece of trash that could be eliminated.

They were about as high as a trash can and roamed around all over the slums, cleaning the endless flood of refuse. Some days, they even prevented the people from acting like rodents. Like the fellow last week that had to part from his Johnny for peeing in a bush. You can't blame a drunk. But the cleaning machines can. These machines are called Souji, whatever that means.

I passed down the little alley and made my way towards the rationing tent. Instead of taking the road, where chances of running into fellow slum folk were high, I took the narrow passages. On Sunday, everyone avoided each other. Because on Sunday, you couldn't excuse yourself for having nothing. Most wise ones, like myself, bought the cigarettes for the entire week on Sunday. That way, you didn't have to worry about lendin' money.

It was great that it had rained earlier, so most folk didn't want to go into the puddles of the narrow ways, and I was able to make it to the tent, undisturbed.

"Mr. Bon Avery, please refrain from stepping over the line, and remove your hand from the window."

"Oh, am I dirtying your window? Don't be a stick in the mud, Dandelion. Don't we go back a ways", I sniggered.

"Mr. Bon Avery, please step behind the line, so I can clear your dues", she was more a robot than those clunky things.

"C'mon Dandelion, hon', do you gotta be so cold?", I could pull out that depravity when it meant I could benefit from it.

"Mr. Bon Avery, please step behind the line."

But boy, was she persistent.

"You know, my dear, this is why I dumped you. You're as cold as ice", indeed, I had been her beau until around a month ago, "Do they keep you warm up in their towers?"

Some miracle had landed her a job and she'd flown off like the Dandelion she was.

"Here's your ration for the week, Mr. Avery", she slid a coin down the counter.

One coin. A quarter pack of cigarettes.

I stared at the coin, turned it over, weighed it in my hand. No matter how I examined it, it looked like an absolute bloody joke.

"And where's the rest of it, Dandy?", I tried to keep my composure.

"That'll be all, Mr. Avery. Please move on to your left."

"Hey, Dandy, I'm not done. I asked a question", I leaned against the window, sticking my head inside her little cabin.

"Mr. Bon Avery, please stay behind the white line and keep moving to the left", she repeated.

"Don't mess with me, you goddamned metalhead whore! You think you're hot shit sitting up there? Your head's the same filth as this slum, Dandy! The same bloody filth!", and as I was hauled away by a robot guard, I made sure to tell her, "And you'll never escape that, ya hear?! NEVER!"

I shook off the guards and darted off into the filth to hide somewhere or drown. Although it may have seemed like an outburst, it was all according to design.

I knew Dandy. She had low esteem, a fragile ego. She was so easy to hurt, a child could have done it. And once you put something in her head, it kept spinning in there until it drove her crazy. In short, she was a classic nutcase.

She'd jumped off the roof of my apartment once, but the Souji prevented it. She never hit the ground. The landing would have made quite the splash, a mess to clean, so the machines took action.

If not for her unquestionable 'genius', she wouldn't have left the slum. I knew when she landed that job, that it wasn't a wisecrack they wanted up at Sunside. They wanted people like her. Weak people.

I knew my outburst would mess her mind. Once the mind is messed, the body follows. I couldn't wait to see her defeated look when she was thrown back into the slum. Then I'd tell her she should have given me my two packs. And I know, this time she'll definitely go down with a splash.

I loitered around town, having got my quarter pack of cigarettes and went to the bar, only to sit and watch the defeated faces of people.

"Ave Bon Avery, sire", the barkeep was a jolly guy, "How goes it, milord?"

"Quarter pack, Tony", I showed him, sitting down at the bar.

"Oh, that's a new low, Avery boy!", he laughed, "A fine day for Château Margaux."

He pulled out the expensive looking wine bottle and set it on the table. The Sunside didn't drink. The slums couldn't pay. All that fancy alcohol was a treasure to be claimed. And people like Tony had ways of obtaining them.

"They'll all be here sooner or later", he giggled, "Sunday's the day for good ol' Tony."

Tony was the only guy in the slums with any mass over him. He was quite big, in fact, with a protruding front and all. Who knows where he ate, while we fed on roaches.

You must wonder why we lived at all, if such was life, so terribly meek. It would have been easy enough for us all to throw ourselves off our roofs like Dandy. There's only so many of us that the Souji can save. But no one here wants to die.

Maybe its because we've all been living as dead people. And if people really want that which they don't have, then by all means, for us, it's life. That's what we're lacking.

I saw a woman from Sunside once. She was weak. Frailer than anyone in the slums. And she was as pale as the snow. She had forgotten how to speak. It hurt her if she touched anything. So she lived inside a bubble. She couldn't really see my face from behind the screen. But I could see her. And I wondered what she would think if she could see me too. I think, that woman would have wanted to die.

After chewing the cud with Tony for a while, I made myself absent as soon as the crowd started pouring in the bar.

Every Sunday, I went around after the distribution to see who had made it. Most days, the results were the same. I couldn't understand why the folk took it so hard, though. Perhaps because most of them had families.

"There he is!", they'd point at me when I passed by, "That's our sonny boy! Nothing gets Ave!"

I would just grin and go on while they cheered for me. Indeed, I didn't care what Sunside or the government or their gods or whoever else thought of me. I was going to smoke like a chimney and destroy myself in the process.

Without hurting oneself, you can't live. You can't call yourself human at all. Like that woman from Sunside. I often thought of her on Sundays. It was as if she was the reason I continued to stay awake in that filthy corner of the world.

It was around sunset when I got back to the complex.

"Don't look, Julia", a man was sitting on the ground, cradling something in his bony arms, "Don't look."

Julia stood petrified just a little ways off. On closer inspection, I realized it was her father. And what he was cradling was Mirian. I had an urge to just stay back and watch but the look on Julia's face made me reveal myself. I walked up to the father and stooped down to look at Mirian. The sun was setting, we were in the dark.

Mirian was motionless, a trail of blood followed down the side of her face.

"What're you waiting for?", I asked the man.

"Souji", he answered.

I'd never seen him sober. He was quite hideous, all bones and a thin transparent skin.

"Ave...", Julia's voice broke from behind me.

Perhaps she was hoping I could bring her mother back to life somehow.

"Why don't you take her away?", I murmured to the father whose name I didn't know.

He probably couldn't carry her.

"Ave...", Julia was sobbing.

I straightened up, standing between her and Mirian, so as to restrict her view with my great old coat.

"Ave...", she kept on sobbing, "Did you make it to Sunside?"

I stood speechless for a minute, while she wept, waiting for an answer. Unearthing the pack of cigarettes from my pocket, I lit one up and took a deep drag, my first one that Sunday.

"Aye, kiddo", I walked up to her and ruffled her hair, "I did."

She broke into tears and clung to me, burying her head.