7. Going Home

[gunwithoutmusic]

"Weekly Grocery Trip"

1,369 words. Approximate reading time: 6 minutes, 44 seconds.

It was 11:32 in the morning on Thursday when Maralyn left her home for her weekly grocery trip. She was two minutes behind schedule, which obviously made her a bit anxious. It meant everything to be on schedule, and she worried that she might not have enough time to get her food and get back home. Still, she had to make her best effort, because she needed food and had no other options.

She crossed her arms over her chest and hurried along the sidewalk toward the grocery, thankful that her house was normally only a five-minute walk away. Certainly she could still make it by 11:35 if she tried hard enough. While she walked briskly along her very familiar path, she let her eyes wander a bit, surveying the neighborhood.

Maralyn really enjoyed these Thursday walks; it was such a peaceful time of day. It felt good to be out in the open air, especially during the beginning of winter, when the air had a little bit of a chill and the leaves—little remnants of autumn—decorated the ground, not yet touched by the snow. Despite the fact that it was statistically more dangerous to be out during this time of year, Maralyn still looked for the beauty in her surroundings.

Her gaze moved from the ground up to the houses of her neighbors, and she thought she saw the door of one of the houses open just a crack. She shivered a bit and quickened her pace, wishing that her husband had accompanied her this time. She felt safe enough, but always had a slight tinge of trepidation every time he said he preferred to stay home (as it happened, his favorite television show, Captured, in which hundreds of contestants were locked in an underground bunker and performed humiliating feats while competing to stay in said underground bunker, aired on Thursdays from 11:00am to noon, and there were some weeks where Krystian just couldn’t pull himself away after the first half hour to join Maralyn on her grocery trip). Still, it was just Maralyn on the street, and she wouldn’t see another person until she made it to the grocer, so she knew she didn’t have too much to worry about.

A delivery drone flew overhead carrying a small box—no doubt a new VR headset for Angela, her neighbor three doors down—while playing a jaunty tune from tinny speakers. Maralyn found some comfort in that, as it had been a while since she’d been able to connect with Angela, since her VR headset had gone on the fritz a few weeks prior. Maybe Maralyn would finally be able to set a hangout date with Angela.

After leaving her neighborhood, Maralyn turned the corner and hurriedly continued onto the grocer, which she could see just around the bend. When she finally reached the door, she glanced down at her wrist and noted the time: 11:35. Elated that her quick pace had made up for her lateness, Maralyn smiled a bit to herself. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, opened up the grocery app, and held up her identifying barcode to the scanner by the door. The double-doors slid open, and she stepped inside, being careful (as always) to stop on the first green square of the conveyor belt just inside the doors. After she was inside, the doors slid closed again, and Maralyn heard the comforting “click” of the lock to let her know that she was safely inside.

Exactly ten feet in front of her was Carmen, Maralyn’s “grocery buddy,” since their weekly shopping trips coincided with each other’s. She didn’t know too much about Carmen, since they lived in different neighborhoods and weren’t part of the same social circle, but Maralyn enjoyed seeing Carmen consistently every week. It was the consistencies in Maralyn’s life that really mattered to her. Carmen glanced back over her shoulder and blinked twice at Maralyn in greeting, and Maralyn blinked twice in return. Carmen turned her head back to face front, and the conveyor moved slowly forward.

At 11:38, the conveyor moved Maralyn to the front of the line. She held up her phone, still open to the grocery app, to the checkout scanner. The scanner read her barcode, and within ten seconds several bags emerged from the carousel beside her, containing everything that she had ordered on the app the previous day. She glanced toward the exit to see Carmen walking through the doors with her own groceries. Carmen again looked back and blinked twice. Maralyn returned the goodbye (all-purpose gestures like the double-blink were so convenient; it’s no wonder they’d become popular over the last few years) and grabbed her bags. After Carmen had disappeared from view, the conveyor pushed Maralyn gently toward the exit. She walked through the open doors, which closed and clicked behind her, and made her way back up the sidewalk toward her house.

By 11:43, she was over halfway back to the safety of her home, but stopped her walk short when she noticed a car on the road in front of her neighbor Angela’s house, and saw that Angela’s door was open. Maralyn’s heart dropped a bit when she thought of what was about to happen. She had seen this a few times before on the nightly news (and on the morning news and the news at noon, obviously), but had never been witness to it up close before.

Maralyn stayed still on the sidewalk as she knew to do; it was acceptable to be a few minutes late returning to your home with extenuating circumstances, and this definitely counted as extenuating circumstances. She certainly couldn’t risk going directly past Angela’s house until the threat had gone. She shifted her grocery bags to one hand, and used her free hand to check her face covering, making sure that it was properly adjusted, then watched as two people in head-to-toe sanitization suits carried a sedated woman out of the front door.

It must have been Angela, Maralyn reasoned, though she didn’t look very much like the Angela that Maralyn knew from their VR hangouts. The sanitization workers loaded Angela into the trunk of the car and closed it tightly, then one worker entered the driver’s side of the car and started the engine, while the second worker went to Angela’s front door, closed it, and pasted a large yellow notice on the front. As the second worker returned to the car, Maralyn glanced over and saw in bold black letters, “QUARANTINED—DO NOT ENTER” on the sign. Her gazed moved down a bit to the small package that had been left on the porch.

She shook her head and waited for the car to leave the area. She almost couldn’t believe that Angela was Diseased; but then again, she must have done something against the regulations set forth by the Health Authority. After all, keeping to the schedule was what was keeping everyone safe.

Maralyn made a mental note to not bother with setting up a hangout with Angela anymore (really, she couldn’t believe she had even been thinking about associating with someone like that) as she started walking back to her house. She glanced at her watch: 11:46. A few minutes late due to extenuating circumstances was one thing, but she didn’t want to end up like that horrible Angela, flaunting her disregard of the schedule. She broke into a light jog to get back to her house as quickly as possible, raced up the front stairs and hurried inside, slamming the door behind her.

The wind blew the leaves around gently as Samuel walked down the street on his way to the grocery. He could have sworn he heard the front door of a house a short way down and across the street, but that was of course impossible. It was 11:47 after all, which was inside his assigned weekly grocery slot. He adjusted his face covering and continued down the street toward the grocery, glancing nervously at the houses of his neighbors.

* * *

Author's Note: This was my first attempt in a long time at doing some just straight-up fiction, as opposed to semi-fictional or non-fictional personal stories. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'm happy to hear any concrit you may have for me, as I'd like to explore this side of writing further in the future.

Comments

[erulissedances]

OMG, what a world you've set up here. I almost envy Angela because this is no way to live. What a distopia, you really pulled me into this.

- Erulisse (one L)

[gunwithoutmusic]

Thank you! I was pretty happy with how it turned out and I think I'd like to explore this world a bit more. :)

One has to wonder what exactly happened with Angela. Is she really Diseased, or was it just the flaunting of the schedule that got her taken away? Or was it something else entirely? There's a lot of different places this could go to, I think.

[bsgsix]

S! This is astonishing work - a really nice cross of Atwood's dystopia and our current social, political, economic, and health-related climate. The judgment from Maralyn really shines through here, but so does that weird sense of distanced fear. I think we can all relate to that right now in a way.

Angela seems a bit like the rebel: trying to live a life when everyone else judges her for it. I have to wonder if she was really Diseased, or if she was taken for other reasons. She could really have her own story here (I mean, WAS she the one taken out of the house? Was she physically ill? Had the "routine" made her go mad?) - and I wonder if Samuel can tie into it, especially if he's up next and on time, but is nervous and hearing things.

I like this fiction, and this bizarre unreality that you've created. It's eerie, relatable, and very well-crafted. I hope you continue with this!

Sorry I haven't really said much before - I've not been around for mental and physical reasons. I'm hoping to write something for this last prompt, but considering I was just diagnosed with the flu today (second time in 6 weeks, no matter how cautious I am - I am the actual Diseased, lol), I'm not sure I'll have the energy. But I wanted to comment on this, because I have always liked your writing, and this is a shimmering example of the excellence you show to all of us. <3

[gunwithoutmusic]

Wow, thank you :) I particularly liked the part with Angela because there are so many questions involved in what happened there. Thank you also for the comparison to Atwood - I was thinking something along those lines when I was writing this; it's not a dystopia that's set far off in the future, but one where many of the adults that are living it still remember the "before times." That personally always makes things just a little bit creepier to me, how much of the society is willing to accept things the way they are, and this was probably brought about through tiny incremental changes.

The more I look over this particular piece, the more I think I'd like to sit down and really flesh out the world and the backstory and maybe make something longer from it. Whether I have the actual willpower to do something like that is quite another story, lol

I miss you and I'm happy to hear from you! I hope you feel better soon; the flu is no joke. :(

[bsgsix]

You're welcome! Angela is the greatest mystery here, and for some reason, Samuel doesn't feel like a closing-line add-in: I think he's vital to this. I don't know why. I wrote a novel that was a sci-fi dystopian work, had it professionally edited before querying an agent, and then... the premise basically happened a year later (and that agent, Linda, who is still a good friend, thought I was clairvoyant, lol). So I have a sense for things like this, and yours is really spot-on here. Do something with it before we live this in full!

This absolutely reminded me of the grocery shopping in The Handmaid's Tale - intentional or not, you did a great job of making that part of Atwood your own, where I could think to myself, "Oh, like the two Handmaids having to walk and enter the market together," but with your own spin and wording so as to make it true to your piece (as in, "I've seen this before, but this is a different take with a different type of character, and that makes it stand out as completely dissociated from Atwood"). And it definitely feels like this is the not-so-distant future (I tend to refer to "The Before" as the time before I had my traumatic brain injury, so that connotation to me makes me think 2010, haha). Sadly, this could be how we live, depending upon our upcoming political climate (especially when you add in so many diseases and variants that stepping outside can now be an emergency; I honestly don't leave my house now unless I really want/need to, just because my health is so poor). I think some people ARE like Maralyn already, so it's not a stretch. Like I said, write it before it happens. :) This really would be an excellent piece as a novel, and if you ever want to send some chapters as you go, I'd be happy to beta for you (even if it takes a month per chapter? I think you have something here, and I don't always throw around praise if I don't think it's true). And seriously, for whatever reason, Samuel is a huge player in my mind here. I physically SEE him, which is a testament to 1)your writing/stylistic abilities and 2)my fever-addled brain writing a story from a story I like - that you've happened to create, and that has now been lodged in my brain.

I miss you, too, and thanks so much. The flu is definitely no joke. My body is exhausted 24/7. I really want to write one thing before this version of Idol stops happening, but it may be a nonfic piece. I had a really decent idea for the topic a few days ago, and while I wanted to try some fiction (I had an idea a few weeks ago for the last topic, but had the flu then as well...), life got in the way. But "going home" is something that ties into a few recent events, so... we'll see. <3

[aggienaut]

I like this as well, the mundane dystopia is the best dystopia.

[gunwithoutmusic]

Thank you :) Yeah, I thought to myself, "What would it be like if I wrote about a dystopian world but maybe didn't focus on the action hero that's fighting the system or whatever, and focused instead on what just regular people are doing with their time, what day-to-day life is like inside this dystopia?" It's been fun to write so far!