Her face is even paler than usual, but honestly they did a good job otherwise. The ruby red lipstick brings back just a hint of color to her weathered, wrinkled face. Her smile is ever so slight, reminding me of happy echoes from the past. And her gently closed eyes bring me to an unoriginal thought.

  She looks like she’s sleeping.

  Letting my hands fall to my sides, I turn away from the casket. I had known this was coming, ever since a year ago when my grandfather had passed. She would hide away in her room for days at a time, only emerging for the absolute bare necessities. Which, somehow, did not always include food.

  I walk to my seat and scooch clumsily down the length of the pew. Resting my elbows on my knees, I bury my face into my hands. I’m sad, devastated of course. But more than that, I’m exhausted. Taking care of someone who was ready to go…

  She had gotten better for a short stretch of time, but it really wasn’t the same. My name would change daily, the apartment was a never-ending maze, and there were a few times the stove would stay lit until I turned it off. To be honest, I had been mourning her for months now.

  The pastor is pontificating now to a crowd of just nine sorrowful attendees, fitting easily into the first four pews. My grandparents were reclusive and solitary people, especially for as long as I had known them.

  As his tone changes to suggest that he’s almost finished with his speech, I snap out of my thoughts back to the surrounding reality. I’m not interested in sticking around for long, making small talk with strangers and hearing a bombardment of condolences. 

  With my head down, I stealthily slide out of the pew and make my escape while the other attendees began to get up and socialize. I push open a side door, and make my way towards the nearby sidewalk. 

  I had chosen this church specifically because of how close it is to our home, not due to any prior attendance to this particular congregation. My grandparents also hadn’t been the type to spend their Sundays at religious gatherings.

  I start my brisk trek home on the cracked sidewalk, head still facing the ground to hide my teary, bloodshot eyes. The sun glints off the glass dome above the city, and I bring my hand up to my face to shield my eyes. That was one of the many downsides to living on this desolate planet. Not that I had any choice in the matter.

  I walk up to the familiar gate surrounding my apartment building and push it open. Laying on his back in the small patch of grass in front of the looming building is Aurelio, the building’s unhoused friend. He’s a regular to our sad excuse of a front lawn, and an unconventionally kind and wholesome person. Also, a symptom of the city’s housing program being so flawed and overwhelmed.

  I flash a quick smile in his direction as I walk up the concrete front stairs, pausing for a second at the top step to let the automatic door slide open. It’s an older building, not quite decrepit but certainly wearing down and slowing down in really inconvenient ways. I walk through the stained hall to a similarly sluggish elevator and press the button.

  As I stand in the hall, I remember what is waiting for me in the cramped apartment. Really, what isn’t waiting for me. How the apartment is even less cramped, now more than ever.

  The doors open with a cheery ding, and I walk inside the dingy elevator. A sterile, white light above is harshly illuminating the panel of floor buttons. I mindlessly press the thirteenth button and lean against the far wall as the doors slide shut.

  Closing my eyes wearily, I listen as the initial screech and then a slow whirling sound echoes in the enclosed box. My mind drifts as I’m pulled upwards to my new home. The only home I’ve known, now exclusively in my ownership. The home that I too, will one day die in.

~~~

  Four decades ago, the city government suddenly realized the severity and complexity of overcrowding in a completely enclosed city like ours. Like always, the city officials must have only noticed after it personally affected them. Even though we were always just a shiny pimple on the face of a barren, burnt-umber wasteland. There was simply no way to expand outwards.

  When the department of Urban Planning ran out of renovation ideas and couldn’t build up or down any further, the main branch of the city government stepped in with varying degrees of unique ideas to optimize the mess of infrastructure.

  The end result was a problematic law; Generational Housing. One unit per immediate family, to be passed down through a citizen’s lineage. There were very few exceptions. And there were so many problems.

~~~

  I open the door to my two-bedroom suite, tossing the keys in my middle school art project bowl sitting on the entrance’s side table and kicking off my shoes into a pile in the corner. I rub my eyes wearily as I walk into the kitchen to sit down at our stained, scuffed up wood table... my stained, scuffed up wood table. 

  I don’t want it. At twenty years old, I would rather start over. In a newer, smaller place. On a distant planet, surrounded by new people, going on new adventures every day. Not this mess.

  My biggest dream since I was a teenager has been to ride a ship out of this city. Back then, I would be pulled out of vivid daydreams by teachers, get concerned looks from strangers as I strolled past like a zombie— my thoughts a million miles away, and I’d end up drifting to sleep at night still wondering what could be waiting for me on a new planet. But the cost alone of leaving this one...

  I push the chair back and stand up. I saunter over to the overhead cabinet and pull out my favorite mug. A gentle press into the beverage machine embedded in the wall causes a steady stream of liquid to pour out.

  The appliance is rusty now, and the coffee option doesn’t work. Used to drive my grandfather crazy, he said it only worked on the days he didn’t have work. I’ve always personally preferred the tea, though.

  I make my way to my bedroom, down a short hallway, and nudge the door open all the way with my shoulder. There are small heaps of clothes scattered around the room, a temporary privacy curtain dividing the bedroom— still hanging on all these years later by one last nail— and my narrow bed frame topped with a mattress covered by a stained sheet. 

  My parent’s bed is on the other side of the ineffective curtain. They hadn’t used it in twelve years, but I somehow still struggled to bring myself to sleep on their larger bed.

  I sit on the side of my mattress and set the mug on top of my half-read novel, placed precariously on my crowded nightstand. I collapse on the bed, done with being awake. I roll onto my side and cuddle my blanket as I curl into a ball. I close my eyes, and I drift into a wildly imaginative dream.

~~~

  I wake to the jarring cries from my alarm. Somehow, I had slept the rest of the day away and an entire night. I roll out of bed and hop up, then walk briskly down the short hallway to my living room, situated next to the kitchen. 

  I shuffle past my lumpy black couch and scratched glass coffee table, positioned in front of the TV. Plopping myself down in an office chair in the corner, facing my narrow desk, I open my laptop. I have to sit for a minute while I blink the sleep away. And then I start typing. 

  It’s a monotonous data entry job, but it’s enough to pay the bills. The job market had been restrictive, to say the least, for years now. And to add to the difficulty of my job search, I had always been an underachiever. Always small accomplishments, and never favorable to my resume. It’s not that I didn’t have plenty people in my life to tell me I had potential, that was never the problem. Even with the support though, I felt aimless, like there was nothing to focus my potential on. Or no reason to focus. And now those people that cared are gone.

  I stop typing for a minute and groan. I push off the wall in front of me, sliding my chair back. It takes me a moment to stand up and make my way back down the hall, back to my bed, and grab my mug from the nightstand. It’s my only clean mug… well, my cleanest mug if last night’s half-drank tea counts.

  I shuffle back to my desk once again.

  As I begin to sit, I hear a knock at the front door.

  My eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. 

  Glancing down, I give myself a quick look over and find my ruffled outfit... relatively acceptable. I stand back up for a second time, stride over to my front door, and peek though the foggy peephole. In the hall outside my apartment— there is nobody. Completely empty. I stand motionless for a moment, examining the worn carpet outside.

  After a few seconds, I pull open my door and cautiously poke my head out. To the left and to the right are an empty hallway. A quiet ‘hmm...’ escapes my lips as I pull myself back in and shut the door. I walk back to my desk with the same scrunched, confused expression. With a sigh, I plop myself down, roll my eyes, and start working again.

~~~

  The day goes by fast, thankfully. I roll in my chair from the living room to the kitchen, pushing the coffee table out of the way, after I’m done clocking out for the day. My feet bring me to a slippery stop in front of the fridge, and I swing the door open with my foot. 

  A year ago, the scent of a warm dinner would taunt me as I finished work. My grandparents would be sitting down at this table, scrolling on their phone or looking at me with an eager grin. Plates made and ready on the table. An engaging conversation. Laughter.

  I search the cold shelves in front of me. They’re packed with the most random, discordant ingredients. I grab a bag of sliced meat and a few squares of ultra-processed ‘cheese’. Scanning the door’s shelves with my pointed finger, it lands on marinara sauce. Not the best choice, but I was in the mood for pasta. If only I actually had any.

  I have to stand up for the bread. I gently send my office chair careening back to my desk, and open the cabinet containing a nearly full loaf of bread. Two slices yanked out of the bag, the loaf tossed back into the cabinet, and I’ve managed to throw together an anemic sandwich. 

  I wander to the hall with sandwich in hand, and stop in front of the other bedroom in the apartment. My grandparents’ room. It was neat for the most part. I slowly walk in and sit on the floor with my back against the wall next to the bed. It was a familiar spot; I’m surprised I hadn’t worn the carpet down from sitting here since I was a kid. They would sit on their bed and read me a story or talk about some sports game that was finally getting exciting.

  I look around the room. There’s a heavy pit in my stomach telling me it’s time to start letting go. I need to rearrange, sell, throw away, and truly make this home new. Leave the old memories behind and create new ones.

  I was already finding myself lost in thought, wallowing in pity throughout the day. The thick silence that surrounded me like a heavy blanket was already enough to drag me back into the depressing thoughts. I need a fresh start, and maybe some music in the background. My own home.

  I stand back up, walk into the hall, and survey the whole apartment. I quickly decide to keep my parent’s bed, as it’s tied for the largest and is in the best shape. Starting in my bedroom, I tear down the old room-dividing curtain, posters of long forgotten athletes, bland decorations that had been hanging since I was in elementary school.

  Picking up garbage hidden behind end tables and bed frames, pausing every few minutes to reminisce as I picked up long lost toys and faded, torn drawings stuffed in the back of a closet. I moved from room to room, as methodical as possible. And almost all of it went into trash bags.

  I stop for a minute to peek out the window. My view is almost entirely obscured by half a dozen buildings, but I can tell the sun is drifting below the horizon. I’ve already gotten plenty done for the day, and my body is suddenly weary. My motivation has been slowly worn away by the little bursts of bittersweet memories.

  I make my way to my new bed and slowly lay down. My body is tingly and aching, but my brain isn’t quite tired enough for sleep. I roll over, fish my phone out of my pocket, and stare at the glowing screen as I mindlessly start to scroll.

  Distantly, I hear a knock.

  I continue to scroll absentmindedly.

  Another knock, this time louder.

  My ears perk up. It could be from the neighboring apartment’s door… hard to tell.

  I get out of bed as a third and fourth knock echo through my apartment. As I creep out of my room, it becomes more apparent that it is in fact my door. I hurry over to my front door for the second time today.

  As I peer out the peephole, I am greeted by the same thing as earlier… an empty hallway.

  My pulse is beating rhythmically in my ears, as the deafening silence continues. I am entirely too tired for whatever childish game some prankster is playing.

  Making my way back to my bed, I scurry along with the uneasy feeling of being watched. Uncharacteristically, I quickly shut my door behind me, then hop into bed and try to distract myself with more meaningless scrolling.