“I want the sun.”
The table’s cracked surface looked comfy right now. She’d stayed up until three AM watching the moon. She’d never gotten Sam to stay up past ten.
“We’ve talked about this.” Linda pushed the topaz pill closer. It was pretty, better suited for a necklace than her belligerent son. “This is the sun for now.”
The moon had been lovely last night, cottony and luminous.
“I want to go out there!” Sam pointed towards the steel shuttered windows. “Please Mom?” He swallowed the pill. Linda put another in its place. One down nine to go.
“This is the sun now.” She tapped the second pill.
Sam growled and flicked the pill to the floor.
Linda bent over. Heavily rationed as they were, they couldn’t afford to lose one.
Her head swam with fatigue but from the corner of her eye she saw the lock on the table. The lock that kept the steel shutters sealed. The lock she’d forgotten to replace after moon gazing last night.
Sam was out of his chair in a flash. Linda, still crouched on the floor, pill cradled between two fingers, heard the shutters open with the thunk of a coffin closing.
Pus-yellow light streamed in. Linda dropped to her knees.
Sam gave a gasp and froze. Linda put the pill in her mouth. The odor of burnt meat filled the room. She crawled under the table, watched her son flake to the floor like snow and waited for night to come.