Spotty

Tom chuckled, giving me a once-over. "Why are you all sweaty? Tough day? Must be hard walking so much every single day. The Weather Matrix truly blessed us with the rain today, huh?"

I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

People told me I had a pretty smile––the kind that made me look more approachable than I truly was. I wasn't really a gruff but my normally expressionless face and quiet demeanour made everyone think that I was cold and aloof. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman beside Tom turn her head sharply, shooting me a glare sharp enough to cut glass. Bitterness clung to her expression, her resentment simmering just beneath the surface.

With a polite nod to Grandpa Tom, I kept my mouth shut and walked away. 

The woman—her name was Helen—had been a refugee when she arrived in District Apollo years ago. Her District was closed down due to an explosion at the chemical plant which caused an outburst of strange, rapidly developing illnesses. 

After a strict detention in quarantine, only a few people were moved out and relocated. Helen was one of them. 

She never made an effort to hide her disdain for locals like me. Honestly, I'd always found her and her bratty son a little mean-spirited. Maybe it was because I wasn't much of a talker, but every time we crossed paths, she'd throw out some passive-aggressive remark like it was a hobby.

Her husband, Jake, was different—one of the rare good ones. A local, just like me. Honest, straightforward, the kind of man who'd give you the shirt off his back. He'd worked for Tom's transportation crew for years, and I still remembered how he used to sneak me candy when I was a kid.

Lately, a bunch of research and waste disposal teams had been passing through District Apollo, studying everything from weather patterns to ocean currents while collecting the animal waste as for some reason, perhaps due to the damned weather and everchanging climate, the sea washed over dead carcasses of animals and fish almost daily.

Some of them even claimed to be researching microbial ecosystems, though who knew what that really meant. Jake, always eager to earn a little extra, had signed on as a guide. With his experience at sea, it seemed like easy money.

But then… he vanished.

The thought of Jake lost somewhere out there in the vast, indifferent ocean sat heavy in my chest as I walked on in silence.

I passed the garbage sorting area, its crew busy unloading the day's waste. Young men in black waders with sleeves rolled up were hauling canvas sacks, their voices rising above the distant slap of water against the hull.

"Ugh, God damn it!" one of them yelped, flinching as he pulled on a tattered bag.

"What happened, Mike? What's all the fuss about?" a nearby voice called out with concern.

"Bad luck, I got bitten by a freaking rat!" he scowled.

"Are you serious? Those are dead! Just trying to slack off, huh?" someone teased.

"No, really! If you don't believe me, come see for yourself!"

The other young men had mocking grins on their ruddy faces. Pulling down the gloves from his hands, the first man revealed a deep wound, blood gushing out in a sickening shade of red. 

It looked as if someone had bitten a good piece of flesh from his hand. If that was done by a rat, that rat must have been starving real good. 

I glanced over and saw the bloody mess. The wound was bad—definitely not something to brush off—but no one seemed too fazed. Most of us who worked collecting waste were used to getting banged up, so it didn't raise much concern. They just kept laughing and joking around.

"Wow, this guy is quite lively, eh? How much do you think they pay for rats these days?" one of them said.

"Come on! Just chop it up and throw it into a soup––it's the best revenge, to eat someone who hurt you!"

All of them laughed and even with a bleeding hand, Mike wasn't too worried. He casually wiped off the blood and slipped my gloves back on. 

I turned away, spinning on my toes, making my way home. The chatter from behind me faded into the distance, leaving a sense of emptiness, like I didn't quite belong.

A few steps later, I glanced up at the sky. The last summer haze had just ended, and autumn was only days away, but the sun up there wasn't letting up. It blazed down, relentless, as if it wanted to scorch the world into nothing.

Sweat poured down my back, and my head throbbed from the oppressive heat. I felt like I was melting, like I was an ice cube thrown into a pot of boiling water. 

With a groan, I pulled my hood up again, this time to shield myself from the sun.

The scorching heat around my eyes made me squint. This summer was unbearable.

Twenty minutes later, drenched in sweat, I navigated through the crowded, narrow alleyways of cheap housing and finally stopped in front of my small, rundown house. This was my home.

I pulled out my key and unlocked the door, but right before stepping inside, I hesitated. I lingered there for a long moment.

A soft whimpering caught my attention and I peered over the metal fence separating my house from the neighbors. What I saw there, made my heart throb––their dog, Spotty, was lying almost lifelessly on the ground, his chest heaving, his tongue sticking out as he was dying from the unbearable heat. 

I sighed. Spotty was a nice dog and he liked me. We had a special bond; every morning and evening, he greeted me without fail, wiggling his tail and licking my hand as I leaned over to pat him. 

But today…something was off. Spotty, who usually loved to show off, wasn't himself.