Page 22 of The Marked

He showed me.

“It’s a food shovel,” I remarked after he’d done it twice.

“Spoon.”

Different word, same usage. I shoveled what he termed cereal and oat milk into my mouth.

Crunchy. Flavorful. Delicious. I ate it all, along with the second serving he poured, and the third, which I poured myself.

I could have groaned at the tight feeling in my belly. Instead, I groaned in delight.

“Is all surface food that delicious?”

“Depends on your tastes. But most people like sweet cereals. Sugar is my weakness.”

How did it make him weak? I felt fine, if not eager to do any strenuous tasks. Still, the first meal was over, which meant it was time to do my part. “Where am I working today?”

“Nowhere. You’ll stay here.”

I glanced around. “Am I to do maintenance for your apartment?”

“No, that’s already taken care of.”

“Then what do you require of me?”

“Nothing.”

The foreign concept led to me asking again, “What am I to do?”

“Relax. Read. Stream videos.”

“I don’t understand.”

Vocalizing my confusion, for some reason, caused him to scowl fiercely. “It means you get to figure out what you want to do.”

He slammed out of the apartment, leaving me to stand alone, at a complete loss.When that accomplished nothing, I sat. Stared at the walls for a while. Didn’t like it, so I stood again, then wandered, touching objects. I opened things. I closed them.

Much of what I discovered made no sense. But I looked and touched it all.

I came across many buttons. I pushed a few. Some did nothing that I could see. The one by the windows shuttered them, and in a panic at the sudden darkness, I flailed before I calmed enough to press the button again.

Light flooded the room, the blue of the sky not as jarring today, although I did wonder at the white things spotting it.

A glance around showed I’d messed up the long chair with its removable fabric parts. As I placed them back, I noticed the last one leaning against an opening with another button.

I pressed it. Fire emerged in the hole.

Startled, I leaped away by instinct, fearful until I realized the button had intentionally created the flames. Controlled them.

Another jab turned it off. Unfortunately, the corner of the cushion didn’t extinguish with it. Smoke began to billow, and a siren sounded. Powder shot from the ceiling, and I closed my eyes, coughing.

I didn’t open them until a deep voice said, “It’s out. You’re safe.”

---