April shrugged the over-sized, black hood down from her face, and looked around. Every single expression was grey, and blank. They were all so dead behind those eyes, ties done up to ten, briefcases made of pineapple leather, clinging to the rubber grips above their heads. Rhesus Monkeys. Every few minutes they would jolt in unison, whenever the train slowed or the track twisted.

​

   “The next stop will be,” the announcer drawled, “Plinth. Please take all of your belongings with you. If you see any suspicious activity, please contact the transport authority.”

​

   Plinth was home to April’s mother—the mother she had run from, and now, back to. The last time April had seen her, she had been weeping on the front step, knees to the concrete and face in her hands.

​

   April’s stomach growled. So many dreams dashed in so short amount of time. Maybe it was hunger that griped and grasped at her insides? Maybe. Unlikely. April had often been tempted to eat like the paupers back in the city – hunched over in dumps, scrabbling through rotten plastic for dandelions and take-out dregs. Hoping for a lick of sweet-and-sour sauce.

 

   So, she had purchased the second one-way ticket that she’d ever bought, and in doing so, given in. Time to go home – eight-hundred miles across salt marsh and open oceans. Years before, the continent beneath the waves had been cruel and selfish… and had paid the price. Now, April sat on the floor of a train – the cheapest ticket in her pocket and a swarm of knots writhing in her empty guts – that sailed silently over the drowned cities.

 

   Suddenly, from the seat beside her head: a baby cry. April may have looked like a wretch, with no heart and sunken eyes, but she wasn’t. She scanned the car for its mother. The baby screeched louder – the zombies did not move a muscle, nor even seem to acknowledge the piercing calls.

 

   “Are you hungry, too?” April whispered, barely moving her lips. Another cursory search for a mother or a father. Nobody? “Anyone?” Nobody. April took the pudgy infant into her arms, and cradled it the way she’d seen in films.

​

   “There, there,” she murmured, “Don’t worry.”

​

   The baby stopped crying, and though it couldn’t quite force a smile, it took distraction in April’s face. What was it looking at so hard? Her pink-and-green hair? Her piercings? Was it scared of her skeletal face?

 

   “Don’t worry,” April repeated, “I wanted to look like this. It wasn’t a terrible accident in a chemical factory.” The baby seemed to test a lopsided, quizzical expression, but gave up and resumed staring as blankly as everyone else in the carriage. “With a stare like that, I’m sure you’ll have an office job in no time. Good credit. A nice briefcase. Momma will be proud.”

​

   April had tried so desperately to make her mother proud. Foolish youth and big ideas – a recipe for disaster, and an oh-so-inevitable fall from grace.

   

   Arcadia was a retro business model, stolen from a two-hundred-year-old idea to sell video games ten minutes at a time. Shockingly, it was indisputably popular. However, not willing to pay more than paupers’ wage for employees, management only hired people like April. People with no connections, no money, no chance of escape.

 

   The manager was beautiful, and ugly. He had long, straight, dirty-blond hair, and a neat beard that circled his entire mouth. Thin lips. Those piercing, cold, eyes were worse than empty stares. They could smile, but were never far from malice.

 

   “Do you partake?” he’d asked one day, as she drained the credits from the Killer Klown arcade game. Soon, soon she’d be able to go home. To undo the instant regret, if it were still possible.

​

   “Weed?” she asked, nonchalant. As if she could afford that.

   

   “Aye? I have some in back.”

 

   “Err, no,” April stood, and hefted the heavy coins to the counter. He strolled along behind, not helping.

 

   “Do you ever get that mouth ‘round anything?” he laughed, but his deep, rib-shaking voice was always mean. “You know you could get more money—”

​

   “Shut up, Matt!” She was sick of him. Of his nasty, filthy mouth. April did her best to walk faster, but the credits were heavy and the floor was sticky.

​

   “I would help, but you’re one of those strong women, ain’t ya?”

 

   “I’m starved to death,” she countered, irritated.

 

   “Work those guns and buns, baby.”

 

   “Would you stop it!?” she snapped, lumping the coin trough down at the till, at last. “Don’t you get it?”

​

   “You love it, stop playing,” he chuckled, looming closer.

   

   “Playing? Have you seen the games in here? There’s one over there lets you shoot prostitutes—” His hand grabbed at her face, and he pressed his mouth harshly against hers. Was this supposed to be a kiss? His beard scratched, and April pushed hard against his chest. “Get off me!”

​

   “You know you want this,” he purred, “It’s just us… there’s no customers in…” His hands grabbed at her bum, and her wrist. This wasn’t the first time. But being able to smack his hand in front of the arcade-goers, or hide with other employees at the ticket counter, had always been a possibility. Now, they were alone on shift, and he’d taken his chance. 

 

   Stolen it. April fell back into the till. What were the chances that she’d have bumped the ‘sale’ button? That a waterfall of dollars would spill onto the floor.

 

   “Fuck off!” she screamed at her manager. He was clearly trying to decide whether to be angry or burst out laughing. Before he could decide, however, April had made up her mind already. No way was she going to spend another year starving and slaving for this monster.

 

   She grabbed two fistfuls of green. He realised her plan. April was small from hunger. She didn’t look back as she slid past his grabbing hands, evading them at last – for the final time.

 

   “You cunt! Get back here!... You’re fired!”

 

   A woman came back from the carriage bathroom, “What are you doing with my daughter?” The mindless droids finally bothered to look up from the linoleum.

 

  “I’m sorry, she was crying,” April said, carefully offering the infant into its mother’s eager, skinny arms.

 

   “Oh,” she seemed immediately apologetic – a little embarrassed, perhaps, for leaving the child alone. “Oh, thank you.”

 

   April smiled, and the woman returned it, warmth in her eyes. She prayed for the same. I’m coming home, mom.

 

   “You’re welcome.” I’m so sorry.