The rest of lunch and the afternoon go by without too much drama. The final bell rings, releasing a flood of students from classrooms as they spill into the corridors, their conversations blending into an indistinct roar. Outside the school entrance, I spot Ernie among a small group of his classmates, their faces scrunched up in exaggerated expressions as they take turns pulling ridiculous faces at each other and bursting into laughter after every attempt. I don’t remember ever being that immature!

  When he sees me, he give a casual goodbye to his friends and trots over, to walk beside me on the way back home. We don’t know where Roselyn will be heading or when she’ll make it home, but I no longer have the time or energy to also keep an eye on her.

  The walk home from school is very different from the walk to school. Don’t get me wrong, the streets are always crowded. It is just a different crowd after school, without all of the serious adults rushing to their jobs and the sun is still rising in the morning. Now, the streets are filled with students our age, their uniforms in varying states of disarray, mixed with younger parents safely keeping their children close. It is a lot like what I am doing for Ernie.

  The sun is higher now, casting harsh light against the rows of concrete buildings and reflecting off the uneven, patched roads. The distant hum of the city never fades, layered with the occasional shout from a street vendor or the sighs from an old transport vehicle struggling along the cracked pavement.

  It is a more pleasant walk. Ernie is his usual quiet self, walking beside me without much conversation. The only time he speaks is to ask whether I can help him with his history homework after work. I don’t know where I’ll manage to fit time in to cook dinner and work on my own assignment, but I agree. I want at least one other person in this family to have a promising future ahead of them.

  When we reach home, I unlock the door, ushering Ernie inside quickly before pushing my bag in after him to avoid leaving the door open longer than necessary. I was bumped a lot in the doorway again from pedestrians as people had started to finish work and crowd the streets again. As I lock the door again, I remind him to be good this afternoon and to complete his other homework before I get back from work.

  Now free from carrying a bag and without a child to supervise, I pick up my pace. With quick, purposeful steps, I weave through the crowds, making my way to arrive to work on time.

  My job isn’t glamorous… but then, part-time unskilled labour never is. The recycling plant I work at is a sprawling industrial zone filled with the constant grind of machinery and the overwhelming stench of decay. The air is thick with dust and the sharp tang of chemicals, mixing with the sour, rotting scent of discarded food remains.

  What I am hired to do is to sort through waste that the recycling sorting machine has discarded and organising rubbish into categories that will get the best reuse out of those materials. Truckloads of waste are dumped into massive piles, waiting to be sorted by hand and it is a never-ending task. That at least means there’s always money to be earned if I want an extra shift. It’s also the only money our family lives off, so needless to say it’s an important necessity.

  I have tried to bring Roselyn along to work here too without success. Any form of work would interfere with her social life, and she doesn’t even want to go through piles of rubbish when it’s her own clothes on the floor!

  We aren’t supposed to talk while we work. Our boss, Mr. Hydell, believes we work less if we talk. How can I describe him? He’s tall, his black hair always immaculately styled, and his dark grey eyes carry an air of calculated observation. Though he appears young, the way he speaks suggests he’s closer to forty. He is very direct and to the point. That would normally give you the feeling that he is open and truthful, but no one truly knows him well enough to be sure. Despite this, there’s a quiet authority to him, a confidence that makes him a natural leader. He’s built a successful business, and yet, for all his assertiveness, he is quiet and reserved, only using the words that he absolutely must. I don’t really know much about him, and he is a bit of a mystery to anyone I’ve ever questioned to find out more.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Anyway, even with the ‘no talking’ rule, there are occasional pieces of conversation between us if we have tasks on rubbish piles near each other. We just have to keep our voices lower than the machinery and our words brief.

  Among the hundred or so people working each shift, I have one ‘work friend’… if you can call her that. Georgina. That is all we are though, having never socialised outside of work. We don’t get to work near each other often either, due to the rotation of work areas. That doesn’t bother me, I don’t really get spare time. It’s just nice to have a friendly face at work, if only to feel less alone when the sun sets, and it becomes dark and cold.

  This afternoon isn’t one of the days we are able to work near each other. As I walk in, I catch sight of Georgina further down the line, already geared up for her shift. I gave her a smile with subtle hand movement that could have resembled a wave before being directed to my area for sorting this evening.

  The smell hits me immediately. There appears to be a lot more slimy, pungent waste throughout the recyclables today. It is not going to be a fun shift.

  Everyone has their own system for sorting. I prefer to start with the hard plastics before moving onto glass then paper varieties. You can’t sort all of them one by one, but the hard plastics are usually the cleanest, without being too sharp. Glass is clean but is in smaller, sharp pieces and I leave the paper products to last because they are often coated in sludge and rotting food.

  I settle into a rhythm, my hands working through the piles, my mind drifting back into the events of the day and everything I still have to finish tonight. I still need to buy groceries. Purchase power credits on the walk home before hiding the rest of my pay. I need to cook some of that food for dinner. Then there is Ernie’s homework to help with and my renewable energy distributions assignment if there is any time left.

  By the end of my shift, I’m feeling even more anxious than when I started.

  We line up to tap our digital wallets for receiving our pay, and by the time I receive mine, Georgina is already gone. I keep two digital wallets—one for show, one hidden.

  If I ever get mugged, it’s better not to lose all of the money that our family desperately needs. But the real reason is Dad. He’ll demand money for his gambling habit and to order more beer. That one is a different sort of mugging, but just as real.

  I take my private wallet from my left shoe and transfer the majority of my pay there, leaving only enough in my main wallet for a few groceries. Admittedly, it is not a lot of money. Given my age, and that the work can be done by anyone, it pays quite poorly. On top of that, groceries are expensive and my Dad will expect to see some money left over to take for himself. Keeping the first wallet in my pocket and tucking the hidden wallet back in my shoe, I start my walk home.

  It’s past 9:15 p.m. and in the dark of the night, as I walk from the isolated area of the recycling plant through the streets. The crowds are thinner but more dangerous. The streetlights flicker, casting uneven shadows across the cracked pavement.

  As I pass a closed commercial area, I hear hushed voices ahead, followed by the sharp crash of shattering glass. I instinctively hold my breath. Adjusting my steps to keep them as quiet as possible, my soggy shoes from work squelch faintly. I pick up my pace, moving quickly past the sound.

  Footsteps echo behind me, and it feels like I am being followed again.

  I tell myself it’s nothing. It’s just other people heading home, just like me. But the feeling creeps back. The same unease that’s been following me for weeks. Then again I tell myself, there are people still walking on these streets at this time, so I should expect footsteps.

  I keep walking at a faster pace, pushing the thought away, until I reach the grocery store. It’s more than half-empty as usual, shelves barely stocked, prices too high. I grab some bread, cereal, and mushy fruit, pay quickly, and step back outside.

  A gang of men in black loiters near the entrance, their eyes scanning people as they leave. I’m sure they would be happy with taking either my food or money. I don’t hesitate. I move, but they see me.

  They start shifting, closing in.

  The sound of sirens lead the gang to scatters. The police work for United World, so their agenda is often a mixed one, but right now I would be very thankful for their presence. I am sure they are driving to store break ins, but this gang doesn’t know that.

  I take my chance and slip away, walking quickly, keeping my head down. The streets are still lined with suspicious looking figures, lurking in dim corners, including my sister and Dom’s group.

  I don’t stop until I reach home, locking the door behind me and focus on breathing deeply. I need to be a calm presence for Ernie. I’m safe now.