In the distance I hear the shots. I play their rhythm over and over in my head until I’m absolutely certain about their number. Three. Just three. That’s not so bad. I wonder if I knew them. I hope not but I don’t think so.

Around me the rest of my Survey crew waits in line to receive our morning ration of water. As usual, their complaints about the liquid echo through my ears. They complain that the water’s lukewarm, that there’s dirt at the bottom of the cup, that it tastes like metal. Everyone but me voices their disapproval. A few years ago someone made the mistake of soliciting my opinion on the matter. 

“It’s clear.”

No one seemed to like the answer, but I didn’t have a better one. Where I grew up, I thought water was permanently tinted grey. It wasn’t until I was six and living within the Terror that I learned that water could look otherwise. When I questioned my mother about this newest discovery, her only reply was that this new water wasn’t polluted or filled with chemicals. And then she gave me a look, the one that let me know I shouldn’t ask any more questions about our “other life”.

When it’s my turn, I graciously take the worn earthen cup of water and wait until most of the silt has settled to the bottom. I am thankful for the water on my parched lips. My soft brown eyes close as I savor the sensation and even though I know I shouldn’t, I hum a little under my breath. I try to find happiness in the little things, otherwise there would be no happines. I try to think of the water as more a reward to my existence than a right. My mother’s voice continues to ring in my head, so strong it’s as if she’s never left.

“Nothing in life is given freely. Not the water we drink nor the food we eat. Not the bed we sleep in or the ground we walk upon or the clean air we breathe. It’s only when people forget these things are not free that they become unhappy.”

“But we steal from the ruins,” replies my younger voice, “Isn’t that free?”

“Only fool would think that comes without a price. Are you a fool little Ellie?”

“No,” I say and pause, trying to think of something that comes without a price, “What about freedom?”

My mother laughs. It’s hard and bitter to my adult ears. “Especially not freedom. So often we pay the highest price for that.”
The rhythm of the gunshots plays over and over again in my head. And I realize my cup is empty. Maybe it has been for a while.