Golden Hour

(TW: Cannibalism, dismemberment, body horror)

Consciousness was a fickle thing, obvious when it was there but quiet in its disappearance. She woke up steadily. She wasn't sure how long it took, but her eyes fluttered open eventually, gazing upon her dark popcorn ceiling, glancing at the empty space on the left side of her bed.

Gold leaked through the window as the sun slowly rose, climbing over the horizon with a slow magnificence Mary couldn’t help but stare at. The room was otherwise dark and slightly dusty. She always did like to blow at the little particles in the air, watching them swirl around like flies. She didn’t remember when she started doing that–perhaps when she began living in this house? A photo of her, her wife and their one child remained on the nightstand next to her, old and decrepit. She never looked at it.

Her nose twitched, and she lay on the smooth satin sheets of her room for a minute longer, basking in the dawn. It was warm on her skin, heating her flesh, free of cost. The sun would never stop rising and falling, rising and falling, never demanding anything from anyone except to feel their skin. This endless cycle soothed Mary through the days.

The room was barely illuminated when she finally arose, and the mirror almost reflected her shapeless silhouette as she padded along the floor. It was warm, she noticed, almost sweltering, presumably from her time asleep. Her hand, worn and thin, reached up to the air conditioning and switched it on. Nighttime was when no power was used, as it was ‘unnecessary’, as cited by numerous “scientific” articles in the few newspapers left running anymore. Of course, she had her own independent power source, but she didn’t want to unnecessarily become a target.

There was no need to open the door to her bedroom, as there was no threat in her house, and her door was always open. Why try to prevent the inevitable, she thought. If someone broke in, doors wouldn’t be her biggest priority.

The hallways stretched long and dark as she slipped through them, thick polyester socks silencing her footsteps. She’d started wearing socks as she couldn’t stand the feeling of dirt on her feet, caked onto the floors and unable to be cleaned. It also gave her the opportunity to remain silent to avoid alerting anyone else that she was awake. A quick glance into the other rooms confirmed that she was alone, the sun only revealing the same shapes and objects that she’d seen everyday for what had to be the past year.

She walked into one, turned on the television inside, which only played reruns of old sitcoms, then went back out into the hallway. Another room resembling a nursery contained a little train that she had made years ago as a school engineering project, and she turned that on as well. The noise was a welcome placeholder to the silence that permeated the household.

Passing the final room, it was closed, and she didn’t pause to go through it. Not yet. She continued on into the kitchen, which was dilapidated yet reliable. Flicking on the lights, she walked towards the fridge, the one thing other than her dehumidifier she allowed to run all night to prevent her food from rotting. Opening it revealed plastic bags, a lot of them, all labeled with different dates and body parts. She scanned her options for a moment before grabbing one that had a nice thin cut of meat within, opening it and placing it onto the counter next to her stove. She switched on the stove fan and light.

Breakfast was another habitual ordeal, but one of her favorites, as it satiated her hunger from the night. As she cooked, she would plan out her day from there.

Butter, rosemary, and minced garlic began to roast in the pan, lending the air an enticing aroma. It cleansed her sinuses, clearing her brain of the early morning fog it usually had. She had gone out foraging yesterday, and her legs ached today, so she decided it would be a lazy day inside. She sprinkled salt onto the meat.

Using tongs, she had just put the meat into the pan when a knock echoed from the door. She cautiously tip-toed towards it, looking through the peephole only to find no one there. Then, she listened for any noise. Nothing. She opened the door to find her daily newspaper on her doormat. Somehow, she’d missed the mailboy. Again. She had to thank him one day for working in these conditions.

She brought the newspaper back inside, following the aroma of the meat. It cooked rather quickly, so she flipped it and let it grill for a little while longer while she flipped through the pages, sitting at her kitchen island.

Nothing was particularly new today. New efforts to reinstate country governments. Food shortages across urban areas. Warnings to barricade houses. She grabbed a plate, utensils, and the meat, returning to her kitchen island. She cut it into small pieces before grabbing the newspaper again. Turning to the final page, she paused, a piece of the meat midway to her mouth. Energy Crisis: Irreversible? Sighing, she closed the newspaper and held it in one hand, put her fork down, and picked up the plate with her other hand.

Gracefully, she stepped off of her stool and padded to the closed door. It was a struggle, but she managed to open the door with her newspaper-holding hand.

Inside was dark and barely illuminated save for red dots of light, beeping in accordance with her heartbeat. Not Mary’s, of course, but her lover’s.

She couldn’t see Amelia through the thick metal that encased her, at least not all of her, but she could see the parts of her that were left through the viewing glass right at the top of Amelia’s pod.

A pair of beautiful brown eyes that turned honey gold in the sunlight flickered to her from within the cloudy glass, and it was hard to imagine the face that used to go with them.

In an act of desperation, she had removed Amelia’s skin and most of her flesh to reduce the energy needed to sustain her, and it had thankfully worked. The fluid she had developed to keep her alive was mediocre, at best, and with the current state of the world, she doubted she’d have the resources to improve it. This way, Amelia could stay with her a little while longer, and she could go see her everyday.

She walked over to Amelia’s casing and set down the plate and newspaper, tenderly placing her hands onto the glass and leaning down towards Amelia.

“Hello, dear,” she remarked. “It’s a lovely day today.”

She leaned back and grabbed the plate. “I brought your favorite.” She lifted up the plate so Amelia could see it. “Thigh.” She took the first bite, savoring the taste of thighs before picking up another piece and putting it into her nutrient processor. “I know you dislike the usual taste, so I seasoned it more heavily today.”

It was interesting watching the meat dissolve in the acid before dispersing into the gel that kept Amelia alive. A pipe from somewhere in the room groaned, and she chuckled.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?”

She placed another few pieces in, careful to not overload the acid, before finally returning to face Amelia.

“Did you dream well, my dear?” Mary questioned. Amelia only stared back, jaw bone twitching down before returning to its original position. Sometimes, Mary missed the curve of Amelia’s smile, the softness of her cheeks, the tenderness of her thighs, but it was all in good faith, she supposed. A dark thought passed through her mind that her thighs were still tender on this plate, now, but she didn’t dare speak it. Amelia never really was a fan of dark humor.

Amelia’s eyes flickered to the fork as Mary skewered another piece, lifting it to her mouth. It was almost inquisitively that she did so, and Mary knew what she was asking.

“I put the rest of you in the freezer, love, don’t you worry.” She chewed the thigh thoughtfully, eyes drifting off to somewhere in the room before lowering back down to Amelia. She was staring at her intensely, now, and the eye contact almost startled Mary.

“What do you need, dear?” she asked. Amelia glanced at the console near her feet, and Mary followed her gaze. It wasn’t technically within view for her, but it was what she always asked for. Mary sighed, looking back at Amelia.

“Do you promise to be polite, this time?” Mary tried to keep her tone light, but she never was that good of a liar, and she could tell that Amelia knew she wasn’t happy. Regardless, Amelia’s head nodded–only barely, as most of her neck muscles were gone, and Mary reluctantly obliged.

She padded over to the console, feeling around in the dark for the button she knew would allow Amelia to ‘speak’, in a way. It processed the chemicals produced by her brain and translated them into words, taking concepts thought of by Amelia and condensing them into words.

It clicked on, a little green light illuminating the console before a stream of automated, terrible words spewed from the speaker.

“Scared. Stop. Death. Death. Scared. Stop. Death. Death. Scared. Stop. Death. Dea–”

Mary shut it off, and the green light disappeared, almost like it never existed.

“Oh, my dear, this again?”

She walked back towards Amelia, leaning over her to meet her eyes.

“You’re being mean, love, and you know it. That’s not how you should treat your wife, is it?”

Her eyes flickered back and forth, up and down, and she could hear rattling from within the pod, presumably Amelia moving what she could of her body. Mary could only sigh.

“You know this is the best for both of us, my love. You know that.”

The rattling stopped, Amelia stilled, and Mary took that as a sign to continue.

“It was either this or the cancer, and at least this way, I could still see you.” She reached her hand to the glass again, cold and dusty as she looked into Amelia’s eyes. If she squinted hard enough, she could still see her long chocolate hair and flushed rosy skin, shoulders cut from rocks and muscles more defined than a Greek statue’s.

Amelia looked down at the console again, unwavering. Mary pouted, before again, heading back down to it to allow her to speak.

This time, the words weren’t so much of a barrage as they were a breeze.

“-Cancer. Together. Life. Us. Together. Love.-” A moment passed before the next word came out, almost quizzically. “-Energy?-”

The last word was a punch in the gut, and Mary immediately rushed back to face Amelia. “Love, no, the energy production is just a mere side effect of keeping you alive, it’s not–”

“-Energy. Brain. Dying. Scared. Stop. Death. Death. Scared. Stop. Death. Death.-”

Suddenly, Mary realized she couldn’t hear the train nor the television anymore, and her heart dropped to her stomach. All she could hear was what was now Amelia, yelling at her, blaming her for what happened to the world, and she wailed, running back to the console and shutting off Amelia’s words.

In the background, she could hear the television turn back on, an argument between a couple, as well as the constant chugging of the train. Her breaths came in gasps, and it was as though a knife was prickling her heart, and she ran.

The door slammed behind her as she left Amelia, returning to the room with the little train.

It was on now, as Amelia’s energy was now thankfully rerouted to the house as opposed to her speaker, and it went in little circles, spinning around on a childish little play mat. Children’s toys were littered around the room, and the noise quickly slipped into background noise as Mary breathed in deeply, then breathed out.

In.

Out.

Her heart stopped racing as her eyes traced the train’s path, chugging along some random route she had created when she was young and hopeful, when the world was still normal.

It really was a waste to let Amelia speak. The energy created from her brainwaves was much more useful powering the house and keeping them both alive as opposed to just Amelia. Did she really think her words mattered more than Mary?

She wondered where it all went wrong, how she got married to such a wench, how she ended up here of all places after the collapse of society staring at a stupid college project.

It was a good thing she decided to stay in that day, as she remained in that room until the sun crawled back into its hole in the mountains, and she turned off the lights in the house, locked the door, turned off the air conditioning but closed her window as she plugged in her fan, facing the bed with her satin sheets flicking up dust as she returned to sleep that night, all to repeat it the next day.