Beep… beep… beep…

  The alarm buzzes from the shelf, hanging on the wall, out of reach from the bed. I crack my eyes open, which fell light, not heavy. For once, I feel fresh after however many years. The atmosphere carries a strange calm: birds chirping, cows lowing, hens crying out like they’re saying, “Welcome to heaven.”

  I sit up slowly, then slide off the bed. My feet touch the cool floor. I start walking to the shelf. Reaching there I shut the alarm off from my phone and unplug it. Fully charged. Good.

  I flip it over, pop the back cover, and dig at the back plate with my bitten nails. Damn, I really need to stop biting my nails subconsciously. After a bit of frustrating prying, it finally clicks open.

  The SIM card stares back at me from its slot, resting in peace, except peace isn’t what I’m giving it. Its lifetime is on an uncertain hiatus from now on. I slip it out, lay it flat above the battery, then click the back plate shut again. That way, I won’t lose it, neither will I use it.

  I turn the phone back on. Into my left pocket it goes.

  I walk to the window and open it, panel by panel. Dim light and fresh air rush in along with the sounds of peace and beauty. Morning freshness floods the room, sharp and clean, like diving headfirst into a pool on a scorching summer day.

  I walk away from the window and sit on the bed.

  “Hmmm… I need a brush to brush my teeth. But I don’t have money to buy one. My stash of money got taken by those damned thieves of a government.”

  All my days of saving, gone just like that. Seven years in that damn convenience store with that grumpy old boss is wasted. I used to tell myself it was all for the mission. Then, poof. Ripped off like nothing. I clench my fists, feeling the phantom weight of those stacked bills. At least Yasmin was there, that girl was a good coworker and she was nice to me.

  I don’t know how long I sit there. Five minutes? More? My head drifts back into the endless days of inconvenience at the convenience store, until—

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  The sound pulls me back. Sharp, steady. The main door.

  I shake it off and stand, making my way through the dining area toward the front. My hand hovers a second before I pull it open.

  And there he is, Gramps. I mean the elder.

  He’s holding a toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste, and a short twig in his left hand. Another twig juts from his mouth, pinched between his right fingers as he scrubs away.

  The elder is dressed down with sleeveless undershirt, and some skirt-like thing for pants.

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  “Gwet reawwy eaawy towway,” he mumbles through the twig with a grumpy voice, then thrusts the items into my hands.

  I stare at the twig. …Is this a new trend? People brushing their teeth with sticks now? I don’t know. He handed me one, though. Curiosity nags at me. I’ll try it later, after brushing with the actual brush and paste.

  Without another word, he shuffles off, still chewing away at his twig like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sure looks like a gramps, though I wouldn’t even know what a grandpa’s supposed to look like.

  Sigh.

  I close the door, turn two steps left, and there’s the basin. I turn the tap on and water starts to flow. First I wet my brush, then squeeze the paste onto it, wet the brush again, and start scrubbing.

  After about two minutes, I finish brushing. I wash my mouth, splash water on my face, then grab the towel hanging beside the basin to dry off.

  Time for the twig.

  I bite the tip, trying to fray it into little bristles like the elder did, then start brushing.

  …Oh my god. Bitter. So bitter. My whole mouth feels like an ocean of bitterness.

  I spit into the basin, rinse, spit again, rinse again. Nothing helps. The taste clings like it wants to live in my gums forever.

  “Damn that old fool,” I mutter, wiping my tongue with the towel. “Tricked me into thinking it was cool.”

  Whatever. Forget it.

  I step outside, turning right into the open courtyard. The morning air is crisp, alive, almost mocking my misery.

  “Hey, old man!” I shout. “What am I supposed to do here?”

  A voice drifts back from a narrow path up ahead to the right between two houses.

  “You’ll take a shower after I’m done here. Go in the room and take the tea from the flask for now.”

  What? There’s a shower in there? Whatever, man. Tea first.

  I head to the left house beside the elder’s place. No doors, just open frames. Four steps up the stairs into the house, I step inside. A short hallway runs through it, leading to two rooms, one on each side. The whole place is a tin-shed house, simple and plain.

  Right away I spot a small table on the right. On it rests a big flask, a jug of water, and more mugs than I can count. I grab one, pour myself some tea from the flask. Steam rises, curling into the cool morning air.

  Careful, I take a sip. Hot. Warm. Comforting.

  Outside, three chairs are scattered in the courtyard. I pick one and sit down, tea in hand.

  The air drifts by, fresh and gentle. The sun is almost up, painting the sky with that strange magic of dawn. Still mostly one color, yet alive with depth. The clouds look soft enough to sleep on. The sunlight presses against my skin, not harsh, but kind. Dim yet vivid, like the world itself has decided to glow.

  I take another sip. And for a moment, it feels unreal.

  No government drones buzzing overhead.

  No propaganda blasting through speakers.

  No sudden vanishing of neighbors into black government cars at midnight.

  No one stealing away your life while pretending it’s for the “greater good.”

  None of that.

  Here, life feels… blissful. Almost too blissful.