It's been a week since Chilo arrived in the bunker, and
already so much has changed.
Orson’s room has never looked more bizarre. Four thin mattress’ on one bed,
stacked on top of each other. Orson has found that four pillows is just too
much, but 2 is just right, so he put the other two on the two couches in the
social area. As well as one of the bed sheets over the circle table inside of
it. Chilo used a knife she brought to cut around the radio, and she put the
circle of excess cloth on the table in the kitchen, and called it a napkin, but
really there was just nowhere else to put it. He also put one of the sheets on
the table in the library. He still had 3 sheets left, so he put it on the floor
in his room, to mimic a carpet. The more he walked into his room and saw it
like this, so radically different, the more he got to accept that it was his room, and not just a room.
He got up and retrieved the black diamond necklace from his dressers surface,
and put it on.
‘Orson’ A memory called out to him, like someone in a far
off place. He could only sometimes recall the sound of that person’s voice.
‘This is a very special necklace, I want you to have it, so you won’t forget
us. We’ll be back when the job is done, never lose sight of what’s important.’
What is important?
“Well lookie at you.” Chilo walked into the library. She
always wakes up and showers a few hours after Orson.
Orson looked up from the book he was reading.
“I see you took my advice about your clothing style.” She looked at him with
almost a look of accomplishment. A few days ago, she scolded him on wearing the
same thing his whole life, washing loads of the same black shirts and grey
uniforms, only going to the storage room to get more if his become too big. She
told him to mix it up a little.
Orson didn’t wear the white shoes anymore, at first it was because he didn’t
want to rip the sheets on his floor, but then he realized it was much more
comfortable to not wear shoes at all, by watching Chilo. So now he just wears
the standard black socks. He also rolled up the hems of his grey pants twice.
He leaves his grey over shirt’s top 4 buttons undone, so his black shift is
shown, and also rolls up the grey sleeves to just before his elbows.
“Thank you.” Orson looked down at his clothes. He was proud of himself.
His outfit wasn’t nearly as original as Chilo’s, however. After she washed the
outfit she was wearing when she first arrived, she also made some renovations.
A ragged jean vest, that’s been through a lot, but looks a lot better now that
it’s clean, she replaced her previous undershirt with the standard black shirt
found in the bunker. She also wears the standard black socks, but has her own
shorts. Baggy, just below her knees, ragged and black.
She walked over to him, and looked over his shoulder, and turned the book over
to see its title.
“What word is that?” She asked him.
“Hamlet. It’s by William Shakespeare. It’s kind of confusing.”
“Yeah I’m not sure who that is.” She said, looking at all of the books. She
walked over to the comic book section.
“He was apparently a really big deal before the invasion.” Orson continued
reading.
“So he was alive in like, the 2000’s?” She asked, looking for the book with the
least words.
“Nope, the 1600’s, it says here.” Orson was looking in the back of the book,
where there was some info on the author.
“How does someone stay a big deal for like abunch of centuries like that.” She
stated, more than asked. She didn’t really care. She found a comic book about a
girl who could turn into a wolf at night and eats corrupt government employees
and rude diner waitresses.
“I guess people thought his stories were really good. I think they’re pretty
confusing.” He closed the book.
“Have any more weird dreams?” She asked, flipping through the bulk of the
pages.
“Not really, not any that I can remember, anyways.” He said, putting the book
back in its previous spot in the shelves.
“Hey, come’ere” Chilo suddenly urged him over, and pointed at the story she
started halfway through.
“What does this say?” She pointed at a word in one of the narration bubbles.
“Inferno.” He said. She repeated it slowly.
“I think it means hell, and sometimes it’s used to describe really big fires
I’m pretty sure.” He explained, tracing the illustration of the wolf-girl
trapped in a forest fire.
“Yea I think one of the character’s betrayed her and set the forest on fire.”
She explained. She hadn’t really been paying much attention to the story, just
the pictures. She picked this one because it was a limited edition fully
colored one.
“So reading isn’t really important up there? On the surface?” Orson asked,
watching as she skipped over words she couldn’t read unless they looked
important.
“Nah. Neither is writing. Nobody got the time to sit there and read books for
fun. So most of the time you just kinda have’ta guess what most of the words
mean. I learned a little from my brother and some on the road, but, eh.” She
shrugged, closely examining a scene where the wolf-girl bites into an animal
control man’s neck. The comic artist drew it so that it seemed as though the
blood splattered against the pages.
Suddenly, in the other room, the radio buzzed.
They both looked at each other.
“I’m just going to listen.” Orson insisted.
“If you go in there, I’m gonna go in the garden. Unsupervised.” She said,
raising her eyebrows.
Orson looked at the door to the garden, and then to the door to the open
hallway.
“Think of the strawberries, kid.” Chilo clicked her tongue.
Orson pressed his lips together hard, and heard the music to signal that the
show was about to begin started. He let out an exasperated sigh and shoved a
chair in front of the garden door and then dashed out of the library to the
social area.
“Childish!” He heard her yell.
His leg bounced impatiently as he listened to the show broadcast, almost not
being able to pay attention to the show itself.
‘…and found that the strange cells that charge the Maran weapons are a result
of atomic fission, but how they were able to achieve such a large scale amount
of power from such a small source is unknown. Military scientists believe that they
are using a particle unknown to our social system. This has been Joseph Li
Marton on ASG broadcast, I’ll see you all in a little bit with more news on the
constant effort against the struggle to reclaim our big blue rock…’ Orson cut
off the music and immediately ran back to the garden.
“Chilo!” He opened the door quickly, looking around.
“Calm down, champ.” She said. She was gathering berries and nuts in a pouch she
made by pulling up the end of her shirt.
“You’re just…Gathering berries?” He asked. He felt silly and maybe even guilty
for thinking she had volatile motives.
“Yeah, man. Hey, by the way, do you think there’s enough spare parts in the storage
room to make a still?” She asked, picking off another berry.
“A still what?” Orson said, thinking she just got distracted by her berry
picking and didn’t finish her sentence.
“Oh my god, everything goes right over your head doesn’t it?” She said, looking
at him with that same disapproving face, except this time it’s more of an
amused look.
“What do you…?” He started making the face that she made whenever she was
confused by something he was doing, unknowingly picking up on her little
gestures.
“A still is something that like, heats something up to make it steam, then
cools it back down to like, turn the steam back into a liquid. “She said,
holding a particularly juicy looking berry above her mouth, then pressed it
until it gave in to pressure and the juice and fruit on the inside escaped and
found its way to her.
“If you do this process with some fruits in just the right way, you can make
alcohol.” She seemed satisfied by his offended look.
“Alcohol? But- “
“Yeah, yeah. I know, it’s bad for you.” She said, walking past him.
“But don’t you want to experience it? It’ll be done around right before I go,
you can choose to drink it or not, and if you choose to, you won’t have
regretted not doing it.”
Orson actually somehow found logic in that.
“How was the show?” She asked him, as they both exited the garden.
“It was alright, we’re learning how their weapons work.” He explained, grabbing
the wolf-girl comic book that Chilo neglected to return to the shelves.
“Hey, can you bring that to my room with me? Thanks. “She said, continuing to
walk until she reached the closed hallway door, then looked at Orson
expectantly. Both of her hands were occupied with holding her shirt.
Orson suddenly had a realization for a single moment, and, comic book in hand,
took a deep breath before walking over to open the door for her.
He was coexisting with someone.
Someone radically different. Someone who waited for him to open the library
door, but used her foot to open her room. Her incredibly messy room, with
sheets and clothes and personal belongings everywhere, despite there being a
dresser and storage chest under the bed. This was simply her habitat.
Although, Chilo doesn’t carry her gun around with her anymore, and she asks
before getting food.
And Orson doesn’t listen to every single show, nor does he
write down every detail. Usually only if something of note, or a highlighting
phenomenon happens.
According to a psychology book Orson once studied up on a bit, a person is
most like the 5 people they hang around most. So with only 2 people, it’s no
wonder they’ve started to pick up on each other’s actions and the like.
Orson’s days were usually short
and bland, like an ice chip. But now it’s more like every day he sees new
adventures in the same old grey tiles, and the berry jelly somehow tastes
better, and the showers are more refreshing, and his dreams aren’t scary
anymore, and his bones pop when he stretches, like fireworks in his shoulder
blades.
He loved coexisting with someone.