Olive Juice

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            Night is menacing. I don't know how Nevaeh managed to find joy in being alone. Every gust of wind. Every falling leaf. Every singing bird. Every single sound ignites an eruption of fear in my chest. Kent could be anywhere. He could be behind me. And at night, I have no way of knowing. I can only listen.

The sky is a stifling denim color, not a trace of the fanciful shades of sunset left, when someone finally exits the Lodging. I make sure to keep completely still. In the dim light, I see Alia shuffle out the back door and around the side of the Lodging with a hulking black bag in her arms. She barely makes it to the trash bin in the front before the bag tears open, spilling its contents onto the ground.

She curses and tosses the bag into the bin. Instead of picking up the litter, she briskly walks back inside.

I stare at the trash. It's too dark to see what might be lying there. As if on cue, my stomach gripes. The berries aren't sustaining me. I need something else or I might faint again.

I only have a short amount of time. The street lamp, looming directly above the trashcan, will flicker on any moment now. If someone sees me, I don't know exactly what will happen, but I know the Service will definitely be involved.

Then, I imagine Landon. Landon, with his disheveled hair and pointy ears. Landon with his eyes that hold... something. That something, it doesn't have a name. I don't know what it is, but it stirs another something inside of me that no one else has ever stirred.

Then, I imagine Landon's eyes without that something, without anything. Dead. Lifeless. Unseeing. If I don't eat, I'll never get the chance to figure out what that something is.

Ever so slowly, I stick my right leg out of the bush. The stiff leaves crackle viciously. It's best to do this fast.

I leap out of the bush and sprint to the trash bin, doing my best to ignore the pain in my ankle. The trash on the ground is just paper scraps and empty cans, so I skip over it and open the trashcan lid. The bag is large. I can understand why Alia, with a frame even slighter than mine, struggled to carry it. I grab the top of the bag and heave. The entire bin topples over, crashing with a wonderfully loud thud.

I run, dragging the bag behind me. I can hear cans clatter as they fall out of the hole Alia created. They'll make a trail leading straight to my hiding spot. I pause, panic suffocating me, and attempt to kick the cans away. I put my hand over the tear and hobble into the bush.

My breathing starts to slow as I wait for someone to come inspect the noise. They come, eventually. It's a man in a Serf uniform. He cautiously approaches the trash bin and jumps back when a breeze sends a can clattering across the yard.

"Damn bears are back," he mutters before heading back inside.