"Melissa, what are you fussing around for again? Waiting for some great relief? Sit down and eat your breakfast. I need to head out soon."

  "But I... I—"

  "I know, I know..."

  Melissa and Matt lived in a dwelling under glass. The only way out was underground, through a hatch. It was a neighborhood of identical glass "flaskhouses." Everything here was transparent: the furniture, the walls, and even the blankets.

  The entrance to the dwelling was through a sewer manhole out on the street. Inside the house, however, it was nothing more than a hand-chipped, jagged square hole. The two were connected by a short, cramped tunnel fashioned from an old sewage pipe.

  This was exactly how Matt made his way outside every time. Melissa, however, had not set foot beyond the walls of the flaskhouse once since the day they moved in.

  It was Saturday morning—market day. People were already making their way to the small bazaar nearby. At this flea market, one could barter and trade their belongings for whatever else they might need.

  People scurried back and forth past their dwelling. Any sense of intimacy was out of the question. Melissa felt a burning shame at the thought of using the bathroom, knowing that anyone who glanced her way could see everything.

  Because of this, she would wait for the rush hour to pass and the crowds to thin out. Today, however, the market was particularly lively. As if by some cruel irony, a makeshift swap-meet had sprouted up right next to their dome.

  She cursed herself for not waking up at her usual hour—while it was still dark—when she could relieve herself in peace.

  Matt, on the other hand, felt no such shame. If anything, he seemed to be waiting for a round of applause for his every move and every loud noise. Each flaskhouse was equipped with an inescapable intercom system; every sound from within the dome was broadcast clearly to the street, and every noise from the outside bled back in.

  “Melissa, how much longer? The neighbors are coming over for the nude party, and the place is wall-to-wall trash.”

  “I can’t do it,” she whispered. “I’m waiting for the crowd to clear out.”

  “By the time they clear out, I’ll never find the route,” Matt snapped. “Just use the spot under the hatch. No one can see you down there.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Give me a break,” Matt said, his voice thick with irritation.

  Matt started getting dressed. To keep the trash out of sight, he strapped one bag to his belly and tucked the rest under his arms. He threw on a heavy overcoat to hide the bulk and headed for the exit.

  “I doubt you’re going to fit through the street hatch,” Melissa said quietly.

  “And why’s that?”

  “You’ve put on weight. And that bag is sticking out way too much.”

  “Drop it. I know what I’m doing,” her husband grunted.

  “Just make sure you bring the bag back this time.”

  Matt barely managed to wedge himself through the hatch. It was a tight squeeze—painfully so. "I definitely have to ditch the trash this time," he thought, "otherwise I’ll never squeeze it back. Now came the hard part: Where to go? Where to look?"

  ***

  “You’re funny,” Melissa said.

  “Dry yourself off with a towel. What are you even doing out here? Men aren’t allowed out at this time of day.”

  “What makes you think I’m a man?”

  “Spare me the jokes.”

  “I’m from the neighboring settlement; we don’t have those kinds of bans. I’m not a resident of your city, so no one will bother me.”

  “Then why were you standing under the waterfall, getting soaked?”

  “I haven’t seen that much real water in a long time.”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “Why? Do you not have water?”

  “We have water. But we have a water discrimination pact. Water cannot be forced into pipes. It loves its freedom too much.”

  “Then how do you bathe? Or do you only wipe yourselves down?” Melissa laughed.

  “At first, that’s how it was. We used alcohol sheets. But there were too many of them to dispose of. We swap skins. We send one to the dry cleaners and put on a spare one.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  "It was incredibly painful to grow the spare skin. Now it’s just unpleasant. At first, the skin is chilled and nice, but when it starts tightening, the sensation becomes downright unpleasant.”

  “Still, what are you doing here?”

  “I deliver live produce to parties.”

  “What do you mean, live? Do you have different kinds of food?”

  “Yeah.” Matt sighed. “Impossible, tasteless food... Anyway, the food got soaked, I can’t deliver it now, and it’s too late to go back. Let’s have dinner at your place.”

  “But, Matt, you need to be registered. You have to file an application three days in advance...”

  “No one will know. I’m not in your databases; I’m invisible to them.”

  Melissa gave in, and they had a spontaneous romantic dinner. Matt stayed over on the living room sofa. Even though there was a spark between them, Melissa was afraid to break the rules, and she was out of sex coupons anyway.

  Three weeks later, Melissa woke up with a head that felt like it had been filled with lead. She didn't remember her dreams, and she didn't bother wondering why she felt like absolute garbage.

  Everything was going perfectly wrong. Instead of getting dressed and making it to work, she smashed a coffee mug and tore her dress. After barely squeezing into a suit, she stormed outside, absolutely furious.

  Some shadow rushed past. She figured it was just her imagination, but a creepy sense of being followed set in. Dizzy, she forced herself to pull it together and keep moving.

  Up ahead, a car was parked in a way that made it seem impossible to pass. She was already late, so she made a sharp turn to go around the block.

  In her rush, she tripped and scraped herself up. But she picked herself up and kept going at a near-sprint. Turning a corner, she ran smack into three people. It was an encounter that changed her life forever.

  “Where are you running to in such a rush?”

  “I’m late for work, please let me go,” Melissa pleaded.

  She knew immediately who they were. Behind that fateful turn, she had met the Intention Police. They were actually there on completely different business. But a running, disheveled woman was bound to attract their attention.

  All three surrounded her. One of them pulled out a small tube, unfurled a screen, and began scanning all of Melissa’s information and recent movements.

  After five minutes of browsing, he frowned. “Well, colleagues, it seems the day wasn't a waste after all. Your intentions, Melissa, are highly suspicious. What were you planning to do at the laboratory?”

  “Nothing... I mean, just the usual stuff. I was literally just going to work.”

  “You took a different route than your usual one.”

  “But there was a truck blocking the street.”

  “A truck?” The inspector swiped his finger across the screen.

  “There was no truck there.”

  “But... but...”

  “You deliberately altered your route. Your intentions are unclear to us. Go home immediately. You are hereby under house arrest until you get notice.”

  Melissa burst into tears. She knew that notice might never come. That was, after all, how she got the apartment in the first place—the previous tenant had starved to death while waiting for it.

  She still had food coupons for a week, but now she couldn't exchange them. The neighbors wouldn't help out of fear, and she could only get new rations by engaging in registered, useful public activity. Now, she had to wait for a notice from the Intention Police, which could take years.

  Matt found her weeping uncontrollably. She told him everything.

  “So why don't you just walk out and grab some food?”

  “I’m not allowed to leave without the notice.”

  “How about I bring you food?”

  “Please,” she replied joyfully through her tears. “Take my coupons.”

  “What do I need those for?”

  “To get the food.”

  And right then, Melissa realized she had never actually thought about how Matt got food in a city where he didn't belong.

  “How do you get food without them?”

  “It’s a secret,” Matt smirked. “Don't worry, you won't have any trouble with food.”

  “But still...”

  Matt revealed his scheme. He would simply go to the kitchen, throw on a white coat he kept hidden in his backpack, grab a tray, load it up with food, and act as if he was going to serve it. But instead, he would just head back home.

  Two weeks later, Melissa woke up with a heavy head again. Only this time, she remembered the dream. Two shadows were arguing about something. Her shadow kept switching from one to the other.

  Most importantly, the reason she woke up in a cold sweat was that she dreamed she received the envelope with the notice. She was desperately trying to read what was inside, but it kept slipping away.

  Matt wasn't supposed to come that day. She curled up in the corner of the room, shivering, and pulled the blanket over her head. Suddenly, her gaze fell on a book lying on the table.

  It was an old fairy tale about a young man who rode up on some kind of horse and kidnapped his beloved from a balcony. She didn't understand what a "horse" was, or why anyone would need to kidnap a beloved, but she stood up feeling resolute and surprisingly clear-headed.

  Melissa got dressed and packed her things into a backpack. For some reason, she couldn't think of anything better to do than climb down from the balcony and run

  through the streets toward the edge of town. There, hiding in the bushes, she waited for Matt.

  Meanwhile, the notice had indeed arrived. It read: "You may return to work. Investigation complete. No bad intentions found."

  Shortly thereafter, Matt and Melissa performed their marriage rites. They stood in the ceremonial spot beneath a torrent of water gushing from a cracked pipe dangling between two industrial buildings.

  Following the solemn ceremony, Melissa moved into Matt’s flaskhouse. She never left it again. At first, she claimed she simply didn't feel like it; later, she explained it away as a phobia of being in a place where no one was watching her or observing her movements. Eventually, Matt just got used to his wife's little quirk.

  I invite you to support this project by purchasing its full illustrated version. You can easily find the link by searching for Viener Kweed (linktr.ee/VienerKweed) or by following the information in my profile.