Blue Moon

Short Story: New Lives

She couldn't remember the last time her stomach had been so bloated. She had been sick since she had woken up in the middle of the night.

Her throat was perpetually dry. She could drink all the juice and water she wanted and her throat would still feel like she had eaten a bowl of sand.

She coughed and spit into the metal bucket beside her bed. She rubbed the side of her head as she sat on the edge of her bed.

She lived in a small shack outside the castle wall. She worked at night, as an "entertainer". She had no family, no friends, no one; she was alone.

A letter laid at her door; it had been slid under her door at some point while she slept. She knew what it was, it was an invitation.

She would rather die than take any more jobs.

She was sick. She hoped it wasn't the surface virus. She didn't think people were able to get the virus without coming into contact with a diseased person, yet there was nothing she could think of that would affect her so horribly.

She pulled the small box from under her bed. It contained all her savings. She counted it out of habit. She was short a few hundred rubles. She sighed, feeling empty.

She had been saving for safe passage to the Rebel City. She figured it would take 3 jobs to get just enough. She couldn't work sick though.

She looked around searching for something she could sell. Her house was falling apart, there were holes in the roof. Underground there was always water dripping, so she had to constantly keep bowls set out to collect the water that dripped through her rusted roof.

Her shack was nowhere near worth enough rubles. Underneath her pillow laid her handgun, it was the only thing she had worth anything.

She could sell it, but she knew the Wastelands would be rough, even with a guide, and especially for a woman.

She suddenly fell onto the floor and threw up, half into the bucket and half onto the floor. She choked and spit.

Also, there was no guarantee that anyone would help her. She had to get better and work a few more jobs. She took a deep breath, knowing she had to work.

She got up and went to her small bathroom. She collected the water that dripped through the roof in her cracked tub. It was slightly dirty but any water was better than no water. She washed her hair and scrubbed her body.

Staring at her reflection she realized she could see how bloated she was. The dark circles around her eyes revealed how little she had slept. A pile of dirty clothing lay on a chair in the corner. She rubbed scented oil on her neck and arms. Then she dressed in her most alluring clothes. She applied what little makeup she had to her cheeks and eyes, she hoped to make herself look less sick. She had to work, even sick.

She would tough it out for a few more jobs. It felt good to know her freedom was so close.

She pinned her hair back as she opened the letter that had been slid under her door. It requested her presence at one of the soldiers' barracks.

She shivered as she thought of the Kings' men. They were brutal and disgusting, but she had no choice.

She walked along the muddy path to the barracks. She pulled her cloak closer to her as a chill blew strands of her curly hair into her face.

She found the room number and tapped four times on the door. The door opened and she was invited in by a short, stocky man with a patchy beard. He talked from the moment she walked into the moment she left. It seemed the poor man was devoid of any friends.