The sky is grey and the air feels humid. K is starting to learn the signs of a coming storm. He hadn’t always known the whispers of this land. Back when he had lived in the mountains, nature had sung a different tune.
It had taken him time to learn, but now K is fluent in the local language.
He drags the tarp over the newly sprouted herbs in his garden before he heads toward his house.
House is a generous word. His dwelling is more like a hut. But it has all the basic trappings. It’s a big enough space for him to reside in and also operates as his workplace.
Before K enters his home, he decides to make a stop by his neighbour’s.
The popo who lives down the street is blind. You wouldn’t know it when she’s inside her own home. The old lady knows every nook and cranny like the back of her hand and moves around her shack nimbly enough.
K brings in a few tomatoes and greens from his garden. Popo won’t admit it, but when it rains for days on end, she has a hard time leaving her home to pick up the essentials.
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Popo’s way of thanking him is to offer him watery congee soup before he leaves again. Even this much sustenance is generous in these hard times. K gratefully drinks from his bowl.
“You have to be careful if you’re walking around all the time. It’s not safe for a kid like you to be alone,” the older lady says.
Popo’s face is turned just a few degrees off from directly looking into K’s eyes.
“Young omegas like you are fearless. You always think you’re safe. But trust me, those alphas are bad news. They’ll devour you if they think they have a chance.”
K deliberately avoids looking into her eyes, even if he knows she can’t actually see him.
“Popo-ah, I’m not an omega. Omegas don’t exist anymore, remember? I’m K. I’m your neighbour from three doors down. It’s August 15th in the sixth year of the current Lord’s Reign. And I’m—I’m a beta.”
K finds it unsettling that even after so many years, there are still moments where the lie doesn’t come quite so smoothly from his mouth or sit so naturally in his stomach. He quickly pulls his jacket tighter around himself as he begins to head out again.
Popo stubbornly has to fit in the last word. “I might be old, but I’m not senile! I know an omega when I smell one.”
K pretends he doesn’t hear her. It’s been easy enough to brush the old lady’s comments off as the ramblings of someone who’s grieving. K takes no joy in knowing that popo’s late husband and daughter were omegas. But he does use it for his own protection.
After all, in the sixth year of the current Lord’s Reign, the sixth year since The Culling, to be labeled as an omega—is to be a dead man walking.