Episode One Trip to the Kitchen

P lanet Earth

Year 2275…

Lylah

"Get your ass out of bed!"

I shift from full sleep to wide awake in one second and am already on my feet when Joseph says, "I'm hungry. Go to the dining hall and get me some food. Hurry!"

"Yes," I say, keeping my eyes averted.

"Yes, what?" he barks.

"Yes, sir."

"You're the laziest person I've ever met." He berates me as I stand, naked, waiting for permission to wear clothes. "You're lucky to have me. If we were Up Above, I'd make you wear a traveling gown."

I grew up in Tower One in the Up Above. Women are only allowed to leave their homes upon the instruction and permission of their fathers or husbands. Even then, we must wear see-through traveling gowns with no shoes.

My father sold me to Joseph knowing I'd be living Down Below in harsh conditions, not that he cared. I brought in more at my marriage auction than he expected. He was thrilled at my bride price.

"Yes, I'm so lucky," I answer, knowing he expects it. So lucky to be allowed to wear clothes to go from our rooms through the open yard to the dining room in the middle of the night to get my husband a snack.

It's been snowing on and off the last few days. Not much accumulated. There's maybe half an inch on the ground.

"May I… may I wear shoes?"

"You're lucky I let you wear clothes so those mutant monsters can't look at you. No shoes. Be sure to put cheese on my sandwich."

I pull on the thin pants and shirt he allows me. Even if I could make it out of the gate or over the barbed wire, how far could I get in winter with these thin garments and no shoes? He knows exactly what he's doing. He can go back to bed without even having to watch me because he's guaranteed I'll return. Where else would I go?

The wire and fences extend farther than the perimeter of the compound. They're in my head, too, deep in my mind. And Joseph knows it.

I leave our apartment, which empties onto the open space of the compound, and scurry to the dining hall. It's futile to hurry because no matter how fast I run, Joseph finds a reason to punish me. Still, I try to avoid his anger.

Hundreds of years ago, around the time of a great cataclysm, humans moved into one hundred towers scattered across the Earth. All of them are called the Up Above. Since women aren't allowed to go to school, I don't know the specifics, but I think it had something to do with pollution.

The higher in the Towers you live, the wealthier and more influential you are. Most families only have one son to carry on the family name and shepherd the family's accumulated wealth. The real money is in female flesh.

We're loaned to interested males starting on our sixteenth birthday and sold when we're eighteen. A beautiful daughter might net a man enough money to move up two, maybe three floors. Being on one of the top floors is every man's aspiration. The more daughters he has, the farther up he can move.

Joseph was from the first floor, but he had this job in the Down Below making good money. That allowed him to buy me. So here I am, no longer on the forty-sixth floor of Tower One, but on Earth in the Works compound.

I never gave it much thought until I was sold to Joseph, but our goods have to come from somewhere. Food is grown hydroponically Up Above, but the steel and washing machines and furniture and other necessities the 3D printers can't make are manufactured Down Below.

Somehow, right around the time of the cataclysm when the people fled to the Towers, those left on the ground became what Joseph calls mutants or monsters. Most roam free, but humans catch as many monsters as they need and use them as slave labor.

They're all in their cages at this time of night. Not that they'd do anything to me. They don't look at me, whether out of pity or because they are too exhausted, I can't tell. It's actually safer out here than it is in my house with Joseph. I won't even see any of the monsters.

Except for him. They call him proudborn.

I don't know what he did to earn the punishment, but they have him in a small metal cage right here in the middle of the compound. He's been here for days, maybe weeks.

He used to roar and rage against his bars. I watched him from my balcony, fascinated by his half-man, half-beast form. He must be some form of lion. I've seen pictures in vids. His short pelt is golden and his mahogany hair is more like a mane. It used to be beautiful as it shone in the sun. Now it's clumped and has lost its luster, I assume due to starvation and harsh conditions. Even his tufted tail lies limply on the ground.

His winged, lightly furred body is perfect. At least it used to be. Now he's painfully thin.

I know his body is perfect because he's been out there naked this whole time. It's winter, and it's been snowing. I worry about him.

Joseph asks for a middle-of-the-night snack several times a week. I have to pass near the proudborn's cage on my way to the dining area. Because few men have wives down here, none of the apartments are equipped with kitchens. Everyone gets their food from the communal dining room.

When I used to pass the proudborn's cage, he stood, hands on the bars, and stared at me. Never said a word, just watched. Funny, I never got that creepy feeling I do when human males watch me that closely. With humans, it's obvious what they're thinking. If my father or husband isn't around, they aren't shy about saying it out loud. Sex, boobs, fucking… hurting .

But the proudborn just watches. He never said a word to me until two nights ago when I gave him food.

Because he's too weak, he no longer stands at the bars. I watch him a lot from my balcony. It's a cage not unlike his, only I get to go inside where it's warm when I get tired of peeking through my own bars.

I've observed his change as he went from roaring and protesting, to standing with his shoulders stooped, to lying in the corner of his small, barred cage, panting, his ribs showing with every labored breath.

He keeps his wings close to his body, tucked against his spine. They arch over his head. Bedraggled, ravaged plumes lay fallen around his feet. They're so caked with dirt and grime they're barely visible from his matted fur and swishing tail.

Still, he watches me as I scurry by on my midnight trips to retrieve Joseph's food.

Two nights ago, the male looked bad. Near-death bad. Nothing moved, not even his tail. Just his gaze as it followed me as I hurried past and when I returned. How could I not toss some meat and bread into his cage?

Watching that beautiful creature slowly wilt and lose his health left me feeling cold inside. I couldn't stand by and bear to see anything being abused and mistreated because looking at the proudborn slowly die behind bars felt a lot like looking in the mirror.

The poor thing even mustered the energy to grit out, "Thanks."

I haven't been able to get him out of my thoughts since then. That soft, gruff "thanks" was the kindest word I've heard in years.