Young Adult Dystopian Things

She was looking at me again. Her eyes undressed me down to the bone like the mutant creatures that may or may not have been lurking outside. “Tomorrow we’re free.”

Tomorrow.

One year ago, we’d been shoved into this place, us and a few others. They told us we’d come out in a year, when the world was safe again, safe enough, at least. The world had never been safe. Even the secure facility we inhabited hardly seemed safe.

It was the end, the grim dystopia everyone always knew the world was going to be, only it tasted like another day of grinding to me. People assumed that when the world ended we would all know it. We would change for the better or become cannibals. We would be action heroes or monsters. None of that happened. We may have donned clothes of more muted shades; we may have changed our habits, but we stayed the same. Humanity was still human. We were spoiled before, and we didn’t want to put that behind us. While we fought to eat and breathe, we still longed for the same stupid things: popularity, entertainment, romance…

That was where she came in, the girl who belonged in a different genre. She was made for roses and kisses on some pier as the lake reflected a skewed sunset. She was never meant to traverse a barren landscape under a red sun. Yet there she was, confined to pacing all-too-familiar spaces with far-too-familiar faces. She was doing remarkably well, though.

At some point in time, the focus of the dystopian novel shifted from hopelessness and political commentary to the question of whether a cluelessly beautiful teenager would choose the blonde love interest or the dark-haired outcast. I was the latter. I don’t know who the blonde was, but I was probably enough considering the limited options. If the girl had to be in a dystopia, she was going to be in one of these. Of course, I never had any say in this, but if I wanted to stay single, the cards were stacked against me.

I finally thought to reply to her statement. “What’s even out there? Are we really free if we were forced to hide underground with no explanation?”

“I don’t care much for politics.” Of course, she didn’t. Politics didn’t exist in romantic comedies, and even in young adult dystopias, they tended to be oversimplified. She brought out a small box. “Since it might be our last day together. I have something for you.”

I took the box and lifted the lid. It was a locket in the shape of a heart, the one piece of jewelry that has never once been given with totally platonic intentions. I prayed I’ll admit, for the first time as my meaty fingers and their blunt, broken nails stumbled over the clasp. Please don’t be her picture. Please don’t be her picture. I sighed in relief as it opened, revealing itself to be empty.

“I would have put my picture in it, but I didn’t have a way to.”

“Damn it.”

“What was that?”

I coughed. “Nothing.”

“Oh.” She pushed her face towards me, far past comfort, her lips squeezing together like she was planning something I wasn’t ready for.

It was probably going to happen. She was the first woman to ever express interest in me, even if she had never blatantly admitted it. Her hints were subtle enough to shake our little bunker’s foundations. That was something I couldn’t ignore. She wasn't unattractive. She looked like any other woman. And who says no to any woman? We had so little in common, though. She was a romantic and I was falling fast into nihilism. She probably wanted to get married in Paris or something while I would hypothetically say my vows either in a cemetery or at the Hillbilly Hotdog stand in West Virginia (provided that the place still stood. If not, the world truly was doomed.) There was no future, no happily ever after for us, but I couldn’t just walk away either.

Her lips touched mine. I was frozen and put up no struggle. Her hand was already on the back of my head. There was no leaving without hurting her.

And! And!

It wasn’t as if I’d never felt the need for companionship. Just as the government was becoming less democratic and just before scientists started to predict the end, I’d met Jane, the girl who would ruin me for all other girls. We were only children, maybe fourteen or fifteen, but I had stayed close to her for six years as things got worse. I was a pathetic, clingy little thing, and I doubt I was kept around for any reason other than pity. I haven’t seen her for many years. She’s probably dead. I’ll probably never get over her.

The girl! The girl in the bunker! The girl now! She was kissing me. I’d never done this before though I would never admit it. I kissed back, a peck, nothing more, but her tongue, like some hungry eel, wanted more. I forsook all dignity and went at it. It was a vulgar expression of passion and passivity, tongue on tongue, with saliva everywhere. I didn’t enjoy it, but I couldn’t stop. Maybe I felt pressured to want it. Maybe I didn’t want to hurt a girl who wouldn’t survive whatever awaited us outside. Maybe I just didn’t care; I wasn’t likely to make it out either.

The girl finally gave us a minute to breathe. “I really like you.”

“I kind of figured.”

“How do you feel about me.”

I hurriedly put the locket around my neck. It was cheap metal. The chain was already irritating my skin.

That seemed to be enough of an answer for her as she leaned back against the wall contentedly. “Tomorrow we’ll be free.”

“I doubt that.”

The girl pouted. “Don’t get all political.”

“I don’t think this one was another disaster. I think they wanted us down here so they could do whatever they want with the surface.”

“We’ll see.”

I chuckled. “I guess if the government turns out to be evil, we’ll just overthrow them. How hard could that be?”

She nodded, completely unironic. “Good will always rise up.”

“What’s good?”

“You. You’re good.”

“Am I?”

Sure, she knew next to nothing about me, but that was hardly a concern. Even if I wasn’t good, she could always change me. In her story, I was the bland love interest. My story wasn’t worth telling, so on our one last night, I would inhabit her story. God knows she deserved a chance to make her sad life into what she wanted because the story ends tomorrow.