Rosy petals floated in the almost nonexistent breeze. Terraces linked hands above, allowing only sharp shafts of sunlight to peek through. The cobblestone below made Lev's feet feel heavy as he tried his best not to wander through down the path. Around this time of the year, the forest was always beginning to lose some of its petals. The trees never fully let go of their cover, but often grew too full to keep all of it and had to release it into Trealles as a flurry of silky, perfumed flower rain.
A petal landed on his throat—as he'd been looking up to let the sun soak into his skin—and it stung. The petals always did that, but today the pain spread as a result of a ball to the neck.
Lev felt for the petal and removed it, hanging on and gently rubbing it between his fingers, letting the pain spread up his hand. It wasn't too bad if one was used to it, but one wouldn't wish to walk into an entire tree—at the risk of debilitating injuries. But the petals, a few at a time, were glorious—one of the softest items Lev had ever come across. His liking of the trees was so strong that he had cut off some branches and planted them in a vase in his room. The bloom was coming along nicely, but the petals were not the same as they had been. Uprooting and replanting caused a lack of luster and energy emanating from the flowers. His latest project was based around finding a cure for his plants. Yet, thus far, his only conclusion was that the flowers were simply too magnificent and would only thrive in their original habitat.
He knew he wouldn't survive if he was uprooted and planted somewhere else, so he could hardly blame the flowers. But it would save him a lot of trouble if he grow a forest in his attic and not have to face the daily woes of social interaction.
Here the path below the terraces split and Lev veered to the right, keeping a hand on the stony wall and pushing through petals. Above him were residence apartments. Down here were the old pathways—old apartments—before the improvements began taking place. The old living sect was relatively closed down save for the few wealthy who had an apartment at the bottom and had built up as the improvements came about. Lev's grandparents were part of that wealthier, or more historical, class of people.
The closing down was considered an important part of upward mobility, but if the population kept growing the Housing Center would need to reopen the old apartments. There was a limit as to how high housing could be built. Anything higher than the Mod Center was illegal. Unless...they decided to expand West. The possibility of expansion in that direction was often discussed by Lev's grandparents, but it wasn't a widely adored topic of conversation. It was avoided—anything about the West generally was.
Two doors on the right, another turn down another alley, and an ancient blue door stood before him, looming high—almost to the point of the terraces above. Legend had it that the Housing Committee wished to uproot the door and place it in the Mod Center but Lucca Trealles held his ground—holding the door, quite literally—and would not let them take it. That door had been in the family for centuries or something of that sort. Lev wasn't really sure on the details—they changed every time Lucca told the story.
Lev raised his fist to knock, stepped back, clasped his hands before him, and stared down the alley as if a hole would open up and swallow him entirely.
Muffled sounds emanated from behind the door. "It's Lev!"
"What is he doing here?"
"Something must have happened!"
The door swung open to reveal the weathered, jovial faces and forms of Lucca and Trista Langford.
They stepped to the side and the door opened further. "Come in, Lev!"
And into another world he stepped. The air was thick with the smell of treats whipped up in Trista's antique kitchen—one of the only kitchens Lev had ever seen, actually. She wasn't supposed to have it, but it was squirreled away below the floor, in a basement of sorts. And away she cooked.
The door shut and Lev progressed down the stonewall hall, into the recreational room. He flopped onto the couch and for a few moments of bliss, all was silent as his grandparents sat.
A crack of thunder from Lucca's vocal chords. "What brings you here today, Lev?"
Lev reached up to shift the collar of his shirt ever so slightly to reveal a bruised neck.
Eyebrows knit together like storm clouds. "Who did this to you?"
Lev shrugged and moved his collar back.
"Your grandson was injured, Lucca! Let him be. It is probably difficult for him to talk right now. They probably have him drugged up on some sort of medication to bring about some sort of fast healing."
Lucca grunted and folded his arms. "So they send kids home for getting hit by something? What is this nation coming to?"
Trista leaned forward to break her own unproclaimed but implied promise. "What happened, Lev?"
Lev sat up slightly and shrugged again. He hadn't really tested out his voice since being hit. He was somewhat afraid to.
"Oh! I forgot about your neck. Oh, Lev. Can I get you something?"
He shook his head. Nothing would make this better—he'd just have to wait it out. Rolling his head back to the couch, he looked up at the ceiling. It was high on this level, but newer lofts appeared where they had built up. It looked practically the same as Lev's house, save the rocky walls. Those were unique.
"Oh, your family is probably planning on going to the light festival, right?"
Lucca grunted and shifted in his seat. "One of the only traditions we've kept up here."
Lev nodded once more.
"Why don't you try talking, Lev? Might do you some good."
"Oh, Lucca." Trista sighed and got up. "I have to get the crops in to the synth station now, Lev. Do you want to come along?"
Lev shook his head.
"He doesn't want to talk to people, Trista. Don't make him go out there with you."
"You're welcome to stay here."
And stay Lev would. Lucca always had interesting things to teach him. Anyhow, he wouldn't be able to get into his house as his parents were both gone. Higher Learning had sent him home early, but without a way to get home exactly. After next year he would receive his own apartment on the highest level of the housing closest to the Mod Center and he would be free to go or leave whenever he wished.
"I will probably see you later sometime. It has been a while since we've visited your parents." Trista lifted her eyebrows at Lucca and he lifted his hands into a shrug.
Lev nodded once more and let a smile lift to his face.
"But if not soon, we will see you for the festival." She pat his shoulder and disappeared from sight. A waft of flowery smells followed her. It reminded him of the petals. She had always smelled that way—since he was a boy. He knew that. Had she figured a way to convert the petals into a nonharmful spray?
"Should we continue our lessons?" Lucca rose and Lev followed him to the staircase. Lucca was the most successful repairman in Trealles. He had taught all of the existing, practicing ones everything they now know and he was doing the same for Lev. In fact, he'd been doing so since Lev was young, but now they both taught each other things. Lucca was able to catch on to new technology quickly enough, as he should, but understanding it was a different set of skills.
Their steps echoed as they climbed to the second story. Square windows a bit larger than Lev's head lined the stairwell, looking out into Trealles. These windows, surprisingly, worked. Green plants peeked out from house gardens. They would be harvested and taken to the synth station soon. It was part of the daily routine—harvest your plants, take them to the synth center, and receive them back as edible food full of vitamins and nutrients to make one healthy and adaptable to acquiring new mods. But whilst at the station, one also had to fill out a report on the previous day's synths and that was far too much social interaction for Lev. He'd done it once when his parents both had to bring work home, but he'd never gone back.
Emerging into a hallway, they continued down and Lev peered over the side of the railing and into the recreation room below. It was so far down but beautiful from up here. A fresh perspective. They entered the office and the lights flickered on. Shades rolled up from the windows and further illuminated the room. Wires spewed from all corners, tools spilled out of every available drawer, and broken pieces of everything you could imagine littered flat surfaces.
Lucca chuckled and shook his head. "It's been a long while since I've been up here. I'm not sure retirement suits me very well." He moved to sit on a cracked, leather stool and folded his arms. "Where did we leave off?"
Lev pointed to the lamps that lined the wall corners.
"Automatic lights. That's right. I never finished teaching you how to improve them, did I?"
Lev shook his head.
"Alright." He eased himself up and groaned. "My bones need to get back in working order. Are you sure you can't speak? It's going to be difficult teaching you without feedback." He wrinkled up his face. "Not like you give much in the first place. I can't believe how little you talk sometimes. You're not your father's son." He grinned and yanked open a drawer. Clattering from inside and he pulled out some miscellaneous tools. "But that's a good thing. He always talked too much."
Lev knew where his dad had got it from. He really was different than his parents though. Or from most people. People loved to talk. Especially about themselves. But that grew tiresome to Lev. At least his grandparents didn't talk much about themselves, but more about others. Usually in a good way, too, which was one of the rarest things Lev had heard.
The next hour was spent learning about automatic light improvements and not on frivolous talk. Learning was what Lev aspired to do every day of his life—but preferably outside of HLC. The Center made learning unenjoyable and that was a shame. There was so much to learn—even from just one man.
By the end of the hour, Lev had the hang of automatic lights. Voice control, sound control, facial control—there were so many ways to control lights.
"Good job, Lev." Lucca pat his shoulder.
The sound of a door closing echoed to them.
"Sounds like Trista is back with the synths. Do you want to stay for dinner? We can trade synths with your family so you can eat with us."
Lev shook his head and pushed up from the floor, where he'd been working. His bones ached and he stretched. Various pops and cracks emanated from his body.
Lucca grabbed up a few stray tools and tossed them into an open drawer. "You sound like me now. You're too young for that." He pressed his lips together and gestured for Lev to exit the office. Once the stepped out, the blinds went down and the lights dimmed slowly.
He'd have to try his new knowledge out on the lights in his house. His parents supported his efforts, but they wished he'd do it for money. Perhaps one day he would, but that day would only come once he was ready for talking to adults. That day would not come soon.
They walked down the stairs and Lev gripped the handrail. After sitting in that same position for so long, bent over mechanical insides, he was unsteady. Stepping down, he missed a step and slid, resulting in a heartspike.
"Careful, Lev." Lucca grabbed his elbow. "Slow and steady. Slow and steady. That's how you get through life."