When we all calmed down and became more comfortable with each other, I suddenly felt the pain all over my body as the adrenaline from the fight wore off. Then I remembered I was supposed to be at work and was already late. With a mix of panic and urgency, I quickly explained that I needed to be somewhere. I cut our meeting short but told them I lived near the E wing sector in the second hallway by the slum. We agreed they would visit me tomorrow morning to get to know each other better.
I hurriedly started running, already bracing myself for the scolding I'd inevitably receive for being late. Despite the chaos of the day, a sense of happiness filled me at having made new friends. A slight grin crept across my face as I ran frantically, wrestling with a whirlwind of emotions. That unexpected moment when she hugged me was etched deeply into my memory—it felt like love at first sight, though I blushed to admit it at just 14 years old and still learning about such things. Thoughts of her persisted, stirring a powerful feeling in my heart.
Conflicted and running like a wild dog, I made odd facial expressions, oblivious to the stares of passersby who likely thought I was up to mischief once again.
Finally reaching my destination, I was met with Mrs. Adeline's stern gaze and her chilling words, "You are in big trouble, young man." Goosebumps prickled my skin as I hurriedly joined the line with the other children. They stood there, of varying ages and heights, each bearing tired, broken expressions and clothes that were torn and dirty. I empathized deeply with their plight. Together, we waited in line to receive our daily task assignments and the numbers that dictated our movements throughout the underground sectors.
Life was bleak; we were like rats scurrying underground, moving from home to home across dimly lit corridors for ten grueling hours a day. Our only reward: a meager pack of tasteless soup. As lowborn children with no family status, we were the unfortunate ones assigned to the dirty jobs—collecting house garbage from hall to hall in exchange for our daily ration points.
I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I stood in line, waiting for my turn. The underground corridors buzzed with the low hum of generators, the air thick with the scent of oil and mildew. My earlier bravado had faded, replaced by a sense of impending doom. Around me, kids shuffled forward in silence, their eyes downcast, their spirits broken.
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Mrs. Adeline's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. Her eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned each of us, her expression a mix of weariness and stern authority. She wore a patched-up coat, her face lined with the harshness of survival. When my turn came, she didn't bother to hide her irritation.
"Late again, Keinan," she said, her voice like a whip crack. She marked my card with a swift motion. "Get to work."
I then joined my assigned group, I noticed the tired, resigned faces of my fellow workers. We moved through the maze-like tunnels, the dim lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of rust and decay, the distant sounds of machinery creating an oppressive backdrop.
At the garbage collection area, I grabbed a battered metal bin and a pair of gloves that barely held together. The stench hit me like a physical blow, a putrid mix of rot and filth that made my stomach churn. I fought the urge to retch, breathing shallowly through my mouth. The work was tough, each bag of refuse a challenge to lift, each piece of recyclable material a treasure to be salvaged.
The dimly lit corridors stretched endlessly before me, lined with stacks of garbage bags that exuded a nauseating blend of decay and dampness. Each step I took echoed faintly against the cold, concrete walls, punctuated by the distant hum of machinery.
As I lifted each bag into the bin, the stench enveloped me—a putrid miasma that seeped into my skin, clinging to me like a second skin. My breaths were shallow, the foul odor a constant assault on my senses. Despite the discomfort, I pressed on, driven by the necessity to earn my daily ration points, to survive another day in this bleak existence.
The work was grueling, every movement an effort of sheer willpower. My muscles protested with each bend and lift, my back aching from the strain. Yet, amidst the physical torment, my mind wandered to fleeting visions of sunlight and open skies. These brief escapes into daydreams provided a small respite, a fragile hope that gave me thought of comfort imagining a life beyond the labyrinthine tunnels and mountains of waste.
I wiped sweat from my brow, smudging dirt across my skin. Each moment spent in this underground purgatory reinforced the harsh reality of my existence. But as I toiled onward, I clung to the promise of a future where the burdens of survival would not weigh so heavily upon my shoulders.
When the shift finally ended, I felt like I was walking on air, despite the pain. I collected my ration of soup and headed home, a slight smile on my face.
The day had been tough, but I had survived and helped my family put food on the table.