The familiarity of a steady beat calms me. After yesterday’s earthquakes, there’s nothing I crave more than comfort and my routine.
I eat the same breakfast I’ve had for months: oats, though there’s significantly less today. I’ll remind the chef to prepare more, despite my complimentary buffet ending.
Mere weeks remain on my lease, but I can’t stay with the endless tremors and lack of a buffet. Is it worth complaining?
After breakfast, I sprawl out, ignoring the object I accidentally hit. I blink a few times, acutely aware of my unexpectedly dry eyes. There’s no more humidity. My skin feels wrinkly and parched.
My eyes shut slowly. It’s a good time for a nap.
An ungodly scream rips through the air. Surprisingly, that doesn’t wake me; it’s the accompanying earthquake.
At once, I’m awake and clambering, rushing to leave this god-forsaken place. But the door is tiny and narrow; there’s no way I’ll fit. A force pushes me despite my protestations.Suddenly, there’s an icy cold disc on my chest. I cry.
“Congratulations, it’s a girl!”
Hands move me somewhere warm, and I hear the familiar beat I’ve known the past 10 months.
Was she the one giving me food?
If she’s the chef, I probably shouldn’t expect any changes to my buffet.
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