Motherland

I — Daydream

Many hours earlier...

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

My hand lazily swatted the ancient alarm clock, accidently knocking it over in the process. The noise stopped mid-buzz. Grumbling to myself, I tossed my dirty covers aside and sat up in my bed, rubbing my eyes to get rid of whatever sleep was still left in them. Once upon a time, my bed, the walls, the floor—everything, really—was a clean, sterile white. Not anymore. Now, I'd be lucky to find a patch of concrete where the grime wasn't a centimetre thick.

That was the downside to living inside New Moscow. The city was a fortress, an impregnable shield that kept the mutants and radiation out, but we were trapped in. Water was more precious than gold, and certainly far too expensive to waste on cleaning. I was sure that the scientists in the Labs would eventually synthesize a cleaning product out of the compounds at their disposal, but that could take as short as a week or as long as a year. One never knew with scientists—they didn't seem to have a proper hold on the meaning of time.

With a sigh, I lit my kerosene lamp, flooding my dark room with soft, yellow light. I bent over and picked up my alarm clock. Or at least, what was left of it. The shell that housed the buzzer was broken into multiple pieces, and the buzzer itself was split cleanly in two. I had inherited the alarm clock from my parents after they passed away, and it was old when they bought it, so I didn't feel too bad about breaking it, although I certainly wasn't glad. I doubted that I could find a new—relatively speaking, of course; there were no new things—alarm clock, which meant that I would have to rely on the notoriously unreliable buzzer to wake me. Ugh.

After stretching like a cat, I clothed myself, drank the last of yesterday's water that I always saved for the next day's morning, and then left my single-room home, making sure to blow out my lamp on the way out. The air was only moderately fresher outside—again, relatively speaking; everything was technically 'inside'—and it smelt like it always did: a combination of body odour, decay, and a faint tinge of depression.

Few people were up as of yet. The buzzers would either ring or not ring in about half an hour, and that would determine how productive the day would be. An extra hour or two of sleep for the populace of New Moscow might not sound all that bad, but it was: the production lines would be started late, and a few unlucky children would be deputized and ordered to go door-to-door, waking the thousands of inhabitants by hand.

I was really starting to regret the fact that my alarm clock was now broken. My job required me to be extremely punctual. If I didn't want to fall-in with the majority of people by relying on the Godforsaken buzzers, I would have to bring it to Rafail after my shift ended. He could fix damn near anything, but he charged an arm and a leg for his services, not even including his alleged ties to the Mafiya.

Shrugging off those thoughts until a later time, I continued walking along the grey corridor with dorms stacked and mashed together like Legoes on both sides. Due to some unfortunate circumstance, my home was located towards the far end of the housing section, which meant that I had a solid walk whenever I had to go somewhere. My footsteps echoed, making me think that someone was following me, but whenever I looked behind me, the hallway was empty. I slowed down and stopped when I reached Andrey's dorm that he shared with his wife.

Right before I was about to knock on the door, I heard a low, guttural moan emanate from inside. Out of curiosity, with my fist hovering above the door, I pressed my ear against the door. For my efforts, I was rewarded with a loud and definitely feminine scream that was cut off mid-yell. It sounded like she might have been in intense pain—or intense pleasure.

Realization hit me upside the head. Ears burning, I silently counted to thirty before knocking on the door. A muffled voice told me that they would be right there. A few seconds later, the door opened.

"Good morning, Anastasiya," I said, swallowing. She was wearing an old robe that only reached her knees, her normally straight hair was springy and dishevelled, and I could tell that she was trying to calm her breathing. I looked away. "Could you, uh, let Andrey know that it's time?"

"Of course, Aleksey," she replied. "Please, come inside: Andrey is just getting dressed, and he'll be out in a minute."

I thanked her and stepped inside the slightly larger version of my home. I could smell sweat and the lingering scent of passion as soon as I crossed the threshold. My face must've been redder than a tomato. My booted feet suddenly became very interesting.

"Aleksey?"

I looked up, and noticed that Anastasiya was looking at me with a wry smile. I could tell that she knew I had heard what was going on inside.

"I probably arrived too early—" I began, trying to find some sort of excuse, but she shushed me with a wave of her hand.

"No, you were right on time. In fact, we were the ones running a bit... erm, late," she whispered, putting specific emphasis on 'late.' "Thank you for letting us finish."

If anything, my face got even redder.

"Uh. Yeah. No problem."

Thankfully, I was saved from any further embarrassment when Andrey appeared, fully clothed.

"Goodbye, Asya." They embraced, and shared a passionate kiss with myself standing not two feet away in the confined space.

Never mind what I just said about embarrassment.

They broke their embrace. "I'll see you in a few hours, my Asya."

"Be safe, Andrey."

I opened the door, waved goodbye to Anastasiya, and then Andrey and I were on our merry way. Our footsteps fell into step, doubling the noise of the ever-prevalent echo. Just like how the lights in the roof were never quite bright enough, the echoes followed one wherever one went, trailing behind like an unruly shadow.

"So," Andrey said, breaking the silence, "have you found a woman yet, Aleksey? I saw Sofya yesterday and she had only nice things to say about you..." He waggled his eyebrows.

"No, I haven't, and no, I'm not interested," I replied, already dreading the teasing that was sure to come.

Andrey and Anastasiya had married almost two years ago, and ever since, Andrey had been pestering me to find my 'significant other.'

"Why not?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious. "You're not getting any younger, Aleksey."

I snorted: Andrey was three years older than myself.

"I'm serious. Happiness is few and far between, so why not try to find yours wherever you can? Sofya is a nice girl, and I think she'd be perfect for you."

I turned to glare at him. "I don't have the time, Andrey. Time is the only thing I have left that is honestly, truly mine, and I don't want to give that up for false hope."

He gently punched me on the shoulder. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I'll have to take her for myself. Asya said she always wanted to try it with another girl—"

"Christ!" I exclaimed and punched him back, but I could tell he was joking. I found myself grinning alongside Andrey. His smile was infectious.

I knew that Andrey only wanted the best for me, which was why it was hard for me to stay peeved at him for trying to set me up with Sofya. I was an only child growing up, and he was the closest thing I had to an older brother. On my parents deathbed, he promised to take care of me, and he did a pretty damn good job of it.

Maybe I could at least give it a shot...

"Alright, fine," I sighed.

"Alright fine what?"

"I'll go and talk to Sofya after work. You convinced me to give it a go."

"Good, because I already told her you were coming."

It took me a minute to realize what Andrey just said. I stopped in my tracks.

"You sneaky bastard," I stated.

"I know you too well, Aleksey." He chuckled. "Now come on! Don't want to be late for work, do we?"

I shook my head. That was something to be avoided at all costs.

"Well: Let's go then!"

I quickly caught up, and together we continued walking to work.