Season 01 - Episode 03

‘all that remains’

Ny sits quietly. It's really all he does. His chair is old but comfortable, moulded to his shape. Even as his shape has changed over time, growing smaller, thinner and sharper, the chair has kept up through daily wear. It holds him perfect and still.

The chair beside him is empty. It also used to change, wearing through to follow a form, but that form is gone now and the shape of that chair is fixed. It's almost ten years since she died. He knows that but doesn't believe it.

Nothing else has changed. He looks around the room and knows every inch of it. He was born in this room, grew up in it, stayed in it when his parents moved on and lived out his marriage in it, all right here. Entire lives lived, highs and lows, jokes and heartbreaks, love and laughter and pain. There's no evidence of any of it now, it's all long gone. He is all that remains.

His rheumy eyes slip over the black vidscreen on the wall. Sometimes he turns it on, when the silence and sameness become too much. It never lasts though, the noise is too aggressive, the images too fast.

His eye's slide over to the food hatch. Twice a day, every day, he shuffles to the hatch and takes out his food, then sits back down and eats it. After that he shuffles back and returns his plate. There is nothing else to do.

Beside the food hatch is another, long since sealed and painted over. Broken things once came through that hatch, things his father would fix. Then later, when Ny was older, he fixed them instead. His eyes drift up to the tools still hanging on the wall above, so long untouched, faded to wallpaper.

A muffled bump and click heralds the arrival of his meal. With a sigh and a groan he starts getting up. In time he shudders to standing, then sets off across the threadbare carpet. His clawlike fingers hook the handle and pull, but the hatch doesn't move.

He huffs and groans and tries both hands but the hatch is thoroughly jammed. He can smell the food. It hurts his stomach. He pauses to rest, staring helplessly at the hatch.

He activates the vidscreen and makes a call. Terrible music fills the room. He stands there for a long time as the music creeps under his skin and his back begins to ache. Suddenly the music stops and on the vidscreen is a harassed young woman.

“Yes?” she snaps.

“Ah,” says Ny slowly. “Yes, I'd like to report that my catering hatch is jammed.”

The woman clatters her fingers over a keyboard.

“Ok,” she says wearily. “Says here you have a second hatch? I'll reroute catering to that one. Thank you for your call, good...”

“No!” Ny interrupts desperately. “We had the other hatch sealed up, a long time ago. We never had children you see, so when I retired we decided...”

“We?” asks the woman sharply. “I have you down as a single occupancy. Do you live there alone?”

An old pain swells up in Ny's chest and he sees the empty chair behind him without turning.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I do, now, yes. I'm sorry, I misspoke. Sometimes I forget that she's.. Sometimes I forget. I'm sorry.”

“Right,” says the woman suspiciously. “Because you know subletting is a crime yes? GovCo has a zero tolerance policy in this regard. If we find out you're subletting you will be evicted. You do understand that don't you?”

“No!” says Ny, heart rattling against brittle ribs. “Please! I mean, yes! I understand. I'm alone, completely alone, I assure you. I just want to eat, that's all.”

“Fine,” says the woman, her fingers clattering once more. “I've booked the repair. There's a minimum six week wait so you'll have to use your other hatch until then. Thank you for your call, goodbye.”

“But it's sealed!” cries Ny as the screen snaps back to black.

“It's sealed,” he says again, but now there's no-one there to hear.

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