…

We took a snack break. I took an apple. It was more on the dry side as if it had been picked weeks ago, and none of the skin looked bruised. It was an insulated object, unable to get juice on my fingers. Thankfully for me, we sat around a small tree, where woodchips covered mulch underneath, and a small ring of bricks prevented its growth. I finished before the others, and buried the core next to the tree.

"It looked like you were gunning for that apple—are those your favorite fruit?" one of the girls asked.

I stuttered through the answer, with my words like tracks being set on a railroad while the train was operating through them. "I'm not sure, not really. I don't really care."

With the selection I was given, it made sense to me. I don't get what's so hard to understand. The others clearly looked like they were struggling to eat, and some of them had to take restroom breaks while traversing this strange corridor. It's not like we have all day. Besides, I'm a guest. Many of the others could be guests. Why bother taking what they like if the entire rest of their experience sours in impracticality?

"What do you guys like?" I asked them.

Disinterested, nearly having floated over to one of her friends, the two girls received a question. Initial rejection was turned around to be probing. With what level of secrecy there was, they almost wanted to respond with mimicry.

"I dunno, I kind of wish we had chocolates. I really like the white chocolates with the cherries inside, you know?" One answered.

She played nice, friendly, and in an attempt to be blameless. There was nothing I could respond with. What was the point? It was a closed box, while her friends took it as a gift for me. Locked, with no key. After sputtering and attempting to close the loop on my end, I moved on.

I scooched closer to the main group: a few boys, a lot of girls, and the leader. I believe they were going in a circle talking about what sports they missed. One of them noted how some people were acting so strangely, and I found my in.

"All those loiterers, do you think we should do something about them if we could?" I asked.

The others paused for a moment. None of them really wanted to make eye contact with me.

"I think we should give everyone a chance. It's not like you can read people like a book. Even then, like with books, it's not like I, you, or other people know, knows, whatever, what is inside of them. Everyone has value, and we should try and love everyone. Just because a few people are different from us doesn't mean we should treat them any different." Phoebe explained with her hands folded in her crossed lap.

"But you do. Treating these odd ones out differently. Its fine, but don't you-" I interjected.

Others looked my way. Phoebe got quick with me. "What do you mean by that? There are plenty of people all around us, and all of them could become a friend if we tried. I promise you we can work with anyone, and make friends with them. You can't just close a door on an opportunity. So, what are you trying to say?"

Does she want me to back down or be exiled? Something's wrong, but I can't put my finger on why or what would then be right. If I were to back down, would I continue to be me? Would I still be the Ishmael who sees the world in the way I do? Or would I have a different pair of eyes at that point, one detached from my face and miles far ahead of me? Or behind me, but overall somewhere else than where mine are.

"I'm new, and I stand on unsteady ground. I hold no real opinion about those I believe I've never been surrounded by. But you've ignored them. You've avoided them. You're leading us to a hideout. A hideout, for one, and for two, a hideout underground locked away for only the people who have the key. What I believe does not matter compared to what I've observed you do." I responded without moving otherwise.

She gave me a look of scorn and a stare that would take an instant popcorn's amount of time to cook. "Let's just move on."

It felt like another mile before we arrived. At some point, the infrastructure began to show. We were beside running water at some point. Offices appeared sporadically, I would assume, for either security purposes or water testing reasons. They looked like they had enough windows for it. When we did, a hallway shuffled us into a smaller line around a single, heavy door. Was it locked? No, it was not. It was cracked open. Light, or in this case, darkness, hid us somewhat. A few windows protected by metal bars gave us away, though. Phoebe held the door open and counted us as we went in. She welcomed us every few people who walked by.

Office. That was the first word to come to my mind. Office smell: between what faded green carpets they had, the industrial ceiling, and the metal air conditioners. Office sound: Our footsteps were absorbed but not lost overall, our voices didn't really travel much, and there was the hum of fluorescent lights, among other appliances.

It wasn't just one floor. We were in a sort of foyer area. There were two flanks, presumably one for a kitchen or break room, the other possibly for meeting rooms. In the middle was a large set of stairs, carpeted and seemingly meant to be sat upon. They looked loungy. A few couches, shelves, coffee tables, and such populated the foyer as well. On, I guess, the second floor was a proper round. There was a large table that every other piece of furniture and the walls revolved around. The upper area split off in multiple ways. Laundry chutes also seemed to exist, as well as vents and holes to potentially dump water, I guess.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Before being introduced to those who were left behind, I tried deducing what else might be on the upper level. Not much, it seems. Just two more hallways, possibly one for living quarters, and the other… maybe more living quarters. I was then given a proper tour.

It seems like I wasn't the only one who joined Phoebe's gang of friends on this trip. Plus, this trip apparently took a few days. The other new ones introduced themselves at random. They were asked their name, age, a hobby, and some other icebreaker that I couldn't remember. When it was my turn, I simply gave my name and my background. Most of the gang flocked towards them.

Those who did surround me consisted of two boys and a girl. The one was the boy who built the bunk. In his mind, I guess my next step in this hideout is to see his room. The other two were new to me but well acquainted with the rest of the group. We had small talk. Nothing notable. Time passed. Once the icebreakers fully thawed the rest of them, we sat to have a proper supper.

Dinner was in the break room. It was a big break room, to be fair. Plus, some of the others went off to their rooms or to work on projects. How quaint, living here must be like a workshop. I explored around while everything was being prepared. Paintings along the walls. A few potted plants here and there. On the other hand, paper plates were left in random corners. Tin cans lined a few of the walls. I saw one pizza being claimed in action by nature. Some of the wooden trim had pen marks: names and small symbols etched in.

I peered into some of the larger public rooms. Purpose of each room was relatively organized- one held all of the arts supplies, another attempted to mess with and learn about technology, one was for record keeping and business, and one was a storage room. At least one person, aside from the business room, occupied each of these spaces. Most of them had a plate of dinner next to them.

A digital chime rang out throughout the entire premise. How dinner was called out was impressive in its own right. It didn't take long for dishes to be served. Meat- a large shareable cut of beef; Fruit- mostly finger foods; Vegetables- of varying kinds; Carbs- such as bread and rice, had their own bowls and baskets, as well as a small dessert for everyone. A few servers asked what we wanted to drink- between water, a soda, tea, or beer. No one asked how much of what is stocked. The dessert looked more like an experiment than something one would find at a store.

I mostly watched and listened.

"I really liked that bakery too. It's like they won't let you in now." One said.

"I actually camped out there for a day, just out of curiosity, and there were people who stood in the same spot for a whole day. I'm serious. They're really weird. I asked about it, and just like the others, no response. You'd think they would get tired, but no. I've only seen a couple of them eat anything." Another added.

"It's like this everywhere. Some people are just freaky. I think I saw one person try to bite someone else, too." A third noted.

"That can't be legal. Maybe we really should keep some distance from them. It's so easy to spot one out. They look like they've been out in the sun for days, or like weeks. They've got all these bruises and marks like they're the clumsiest things you've ever seen." The first concluded.

Phoebe peered over from across the table. "Maybe talk about something else. There's been a lot of people acting weird, sure, but hearing these rumors over and over has gotten to be a bit much."

The rest of us on the other side looked at each other in bewilderment. It took a few minutes to regain the traction that was lost. Someone else did the labor, being the first to finish their plate.

"The next trip we should make should be a bit closer to Main Street. For your information, Ishmael, that's essentially the middle of the city." He brought up.

I'm not sure I really asked where a 'Main Street' is as if I couldn't guess where it was. What would he want me to respond with, anyway? My dinner became an obfuscation from my involvement in the new conversation.

He continued: "It's probably where the most people are. Everyone's favorite brands sell there. A lot of people work there. Some people even live there. That street never sleeps and never wakes. Even I used to work there. I wanted to go back to work - maybe not to work, but the pay is nice. There have been too many barriers. I was never able to go back without getting scared and running off again. So, I chose a new job."

Other sections of the table had their own drama they attended to. I estimated the average group was in fours. Three listeners, one speaker. Most of them talked about current events- not necessarily their own lives, not anything enlightening, but gossip that was unrelated to them.

I feel like in atmospheres where bunches of independent groups chat among themselves, it begins to be hard to focus. I don't know why. The person in front of me becomes quiet. Rather, I tend to slip out of their frequency, like a radio. Like a bumpy trip using a radio, I accidentally change channels. Sometimes, I just get static about what new channel I listen to. Sometimes I can actually hear something. I don't, however, get to focus on the person across from me. It's like they're an entire valley away from me.

"I miss my coworkers." He said.

Oh- I was supposed to listen to him.

People left one by one. They excused themselves, often without expressing it. Plates, drinks, scraps and utensils were left behind scattered and unorganized. One even left a drink sideways and spilled a little. As people left more frequently, the growing mass of dirty dishes looked like a grueling task.

Once I completed my meal, I noticed no one else was taking away plates. I lingered for a while, ultimately deciding to organize the dishes myself. No one spoke against me or acknowledged what I was doing. I didn't see anything wrong with a little extra effort, plus it didn't take much time from my perspective. Plates were stacked on plates, and once a reasonable stack was created, I placed utensils on top.

Again, no one came to take away the dishes. Although I didn't bother asking around whose duty it was, no one stopped me from completing the next step: taking what was done to get washed. Slowly but surely, I detached myself from the rest of the group. It's not like we have anything to say to one another anyway.