!Peace Dividend
 --- 
by Anna @ October 2022
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Chapter 5: Letter
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Agnes checked the carbon dioxide monitor again on
her way out. The ventilation in the house of culture
is really good, she thought. As she biked home, she
thought.

It was a mild winter. Chilly wet days congregated
people inside. Nasty strains this year were short-
staffing the plant and keeping the health assistants
busy.

The moon was bright. She got close to her building.
Dan sat outside in his spot. He'd probably die
sitting there. Agnes didn't catch her breath til she
reached the fifth floor landing.

Eric and the twins were still up. One of the twins
was with Eric, their legs under the table curtains
in the warmth. The other twin worked out, doing lat
pulldowns to generate electricity. Agnes ignored
them, filled her hot water bottle from the samovar.

She pulled the sound-baffling curtain across her
berth in the wall. At the head of her bed was a
shelf holding a few books, earrings, ribbons.

She wound the alarm clock and fell asleep to its
loud ticking.

Some time later, she woke, located the ticking clock
and turned on the dim lamp. In its red glow she saw
only an hour had elapsed. Sometimes sleep was easy,
sometimes hard.

The clock ticked, unwinding time mechanically, 
steadily. A faint, distant smoke-smell hung in the
air. Tomorrow was her duty shift at the district
bakery. She loved her bakery hours, convivially 
passed in service and sweat.

She wanted to travel the oceans, visit places no one
but her and Eleanor spoke the language, see the
earth from high above, let snow melt in her mouth.

Agnes hummed a little tune her mama used to sing.
She propped herself on an elbow, slid out a drawer,
extracted stationary and a pen, began to write a
letter, paper atop hardback book in the dim red
light.

Dear Yulia,

I remember sometimes when inspecting the accretion
electrolyzer units or adjusting their current and
depth how you achieved such detached intimacy with
my mama.

It was the intimacy of sitting quiet, hand on her
shoulder when she didn't know who or where she was;
just that she had to hide, that the world she'd
inhabited all her life was foreign, unrecognizable
and ill-intentioned; the intimacy of patiently
feeding Mama spoonfuls of water when she couldn't
produce the suction to drink with a straw anymore.

I want to place my hand on a piece of concrete one
day and comfort it like you comforted Mama.

Agnes folded the letter and put it in the envelope
to be delivered to Yulia care of the Three Virtues
of Last Kindness agency.

She fell asleep and dreamed she was one of those
divers who explore the underwater ruins of Savannah
Georgia and the outer boroughs of New York City.
Rivers within rivers, rain that falls on top of
rain.