Corruptis

III

III

 

When the front door back home shut behind us, I could hear mom scurrying in the kitchen. And I’ll hand it to my mom; even when missing her secret ingredient, she still manages to make something scrumptious.

Through the archway into the kitchen, of the beige and teal colored interior of our house, my mom reties her apron. Her baby blue fingernails manage to knot it without looking.

“We’re back.” Amalphoeba sets the bag down on the granite counter. And mom turns immediately. I don’t even think she heard us come in. She’s a little bit flustered sometimes. Her light brown, curly bob swung when she turned to the bag, resting atop the sea-granite at the center of our kitchen. She peered over it, searching for the “cut here” seal at the top of the bag. Her eyes jumped when detecting her target. She twisted, plucked the sea floor rock encrusted handle of a kitchen knife, and slit the throat of the bag open like the assassin she is.

A few sniffs and we coughed a little already. My mom flicked one of her clean fingers up at us, “You know that smell already. I don’t know why you’re still standing here.” She smiled louder than she laughed.

We rushed out the room, escaping the bitter fume of dehydrated sea urchins.

“Oh, and thank you.” She reached out to us with her loud smile again. My mom’s practically adapted to the smell, like some apex predator.

“You’re welcome.” The distant twins we are, we tend to address her simultaneously. We barely notice most of the time. I only notice now, cause I still feel bad.

“Flick the vent on, if you still smell it.” Mom suggested from her uninhabitable domain. Amalphoeba the first to obey.

The vent in the middle of the wall of our living room blows down diagonally. Weird set-up, I don’t know why the Heads got into interior decorating…

Amalphoeba sits lightly on the couch, crossing one proper leg over the over. And so elegantly, turns on the TV. Still shirtless, I just stand in front of the vent, letting the cool air brush down on my Atlantean skin. Before I can even turn my head to whatever program was on, she quickly turned it back off.

“Mom! We found Atlantean blindness. It’s true!” She ventured into the kitchen, shielding her nose.

 I actually almost forgot about that bum. Now they’re gonna go talk about him for a few hours. I’m going upstairs.  

“The man outside? Apparently the whole neighborhood knows him… as Old Cherisio.” I could see mom, wiping her hands a little with a white rag, after plopping a few violet sea urchins on the pan to sizzle, then fetching large dishes and pans one after the other as she entertained A’s “discovery.” We call Amalphoeba A, for short sometimes. It’s a family thing… Speaking of names, I think Cherisio is actually the dudes name. Sounds pretty Atlantean. Older generation Atlantean though.

As I vanished up the stairs, dimming the conversation below, I remembered Human names from the Spire Feeds like Matthew, Nia, Leo. And then older generation names like Lucille, Walter, Obama. You can really hear the difference in time period. An old generation name like Darlene. Compared to a new generation name like Amanda. Most Atlanteans hate that name though I think. I know I do, it’s really ugly… Uh… Man… Duh. Shouldn’t it be a man’s name then? It’s literally saying this name should be a man’s.

Weird Humans.

“Hey Noit. We’re back.” I shut my door. “Still like my scales?” I rubbed them all erotically—jokingly of course. He just stared at me. It’s weird to Atlanteans because males don’t have nipples, but Human males do. Apparently it arouses them to rub their nipples, or for girls to. That’s just funny to us. They have two dots in their chest purely for arousal. No wonder they’re overpopulated.  

I then walk to my window gleaming with light. The light radiates off the luminescent barrier surrounding us all.

The Dome, it’s so nice to look at, but… when you really think about, depressing. We’re trapped inside it really. It’s forbidden to leave, all because Humans are sensitive.

            And apparently now there’s pollution in the waters that would probably make us sick. Maybe even start a zombie apocalypse, if we brought it back here.

            I don’t get why Humans are so fascinated with the undead. According to the Spire their media’s filled with it. Even their government has plans to defend against them.

I hate the word government. It means mind control in latin. Weird how no one’s trying to change that.

How long have I been leaning against my window, staring at this gilded barrier? I yawn.

Imma take a nap… Damn dysomnia.