The door creaked open, letting in a gust of chilly air and intensifying the sound of rain. A pair of muddy boots crossed the threshold, leaving dark prints on the faded steel floorboards. Water dripped steadily from the hem of the owner’s coat, pooling beneath their feet as they folded a damp umbrel and slid it into the dryer by the door. The house was quiet and undisturbed – something they had yet to get used to.
The house greeted them with the quiet hum of machinery, its artificial comfort a stark contrast to the warmth that used to once fill these rooms.
“The floor has been cleaned, returning to cleaning station. Thank you for using SweepTrack – powered by Rovira Robotics!”
The mini robot wheeled itself back into the kitchen, its soft whirr punctuating the silence as it disappeared into its pod.
Damp socks shuffled past the broken picture frames lining the hallway, each step echoing in the stillness. As the owner gnced up, the faint gleam of a nametag— “Amelia Voss”—caught her reflection in the polished surface of the bathroom mirror.
Without asking, the shower door swung open, revealing tiles stained with mould and grit, contrasted with a bright neon screen. Her fingers tapped meticulously on the screen, increasing the force of the showerhead–how she always liked it. The pipes groaned to life, and a sudden bst of icy water struck her skin. She recoiled, hissing at the chill, before swiftly adjusting the temperature. The water shifted, turning almost to vapour, enveloping her in a scalding embrace. Droplets cascaded down, rinsing away the remnants of the day’s grime, the steady stream soothing against her skin. Overhead, the bathroom fan hummed to life, sucking up the rising steam as the air cleared.
She sighed, the warmth that surrounded her now something she longed for. Maybe that’s why she liked the water scorching hot —to fill the void that once had warmth of its own.
Amelia grabbed a fresh set of clothes from the shelf, the soft fabric contrasting against her damp skin, and made her way to the kitchen. There, the shrill whistle of the kettle arm cut through the quiet, a reminder that her tea had been waiting since this morning’s pre-set timer.
Amelia moved toward the cleaning robot, her fingers grazing its surface as she lifted it up to inspect. The company sticker, “Rovira Robotics,” was peeling off at the edges, but it was the faint sputtering sound from the robot’s wheels and the sluggish motion that caught her attention. She clicked her tongue in quiet annoyance, knowing a repair would be needed.
The couch crunched as her weight sank into the soft leather, accentuating the bck ripples spread throughout. Her tea filling the air with a soft, therapeutic aroma. Her mouth once dry, now slowly rejuvenated as she took short sips from the mug.
Fitting the cup into the table slot, she picked up a metallic remote, slim–like the wrist that held it. The metallic rim smoothened out, silver and scratched, showed the prolonged wear and tear.
The screen in front of her beamed to life, illuminating a precipitation map of Ashbrook and its neighbouring districts, all highlighted with yellow ‘caution’ markers. Moments ter, a well-dressed man and woman appeared, their polished smiles in pce as they prepared to deliver their scripted report.
“Emergency weather update: Authorities have now cssified areas surrounding Ashbrook under 'Caution' status. Residents are advised to remain indoors whenever possible as conditions continue to worsen. If you are unable to stay inside, proceed with caution. Otherwise, it means we all get to spend more time with the kids ha-ha!”
Both of their ughs echoed in the studio, hollow and contained, Amelia didn’t so much as smirk. Her eyes shifted towards the window, looking at the small rivulets of water trickling down the windowsill, she rolled her eyes–as if the worsening conditions weren’t obvious enough.
Amelia’s thumb pressed into the remote, a soft click followed. The screen changed completely, now in the streets of Lumis City, surrounded by fshing red and blue, and stationed off by yellow tape. Microphone in hand, the figure expins the situation unfolding,
“Another death this afternoon, victim allegedly jumped from the thirty-second floor of his apartment, currently ruled as suicide. This marks the fifth death among Biotech whisleblow-”
Interrupted by the sm of the remote, the TV returns to its slumber, the room darkening slightly. Amelia reaches underneath the table, grabbing a rge metal book and pcing it in the centre of the table.
The TV erupts again, not resuming the news, but a photo of a young boy, chewing on bread at a dining table. A few taps on the remote, and the boy began moving—but this time, his hands were stained a deep red. His ugh cut through the silence of the room, an unholy sight. The camera slowly panned downwards, his p full of crushed berries, the corners of Amelia’s lips curved upwards, as her fingers grazed the screen.
“You were my world, and I was yours once, so whatever you choose to be your world I will accept wholeheartedly.”
A few flicks of the remote ter, and the video she had settled on presented the same boy, but taller, more defined. His hands covered his watch, awaiting big news, sweat dripped down his flushed cheeks as he lifted his hand. A green checkmark exploded out of the watch in holographic particles, his eyes beaming with excitement. The camera rested on the table, angled towards the cameraman–or rather, camerawoman, Amelia. It captured the boy turning toward her, their figures blurring together as they embrace tightly.
The TV froze, the creases on the couch smoothing out disappeared, the mug vanishing along with them. Amelia now sat on the floor, directly in front of the screen.
"The rain never stops; it just takes its time." Amelia’s voice was barely above a whisper as she brushed her thumb over the pixeted face. "Stay safe out there, Cassian. Please."
