Lab rats. The lot of us. Filthy, crammed, scuffing for scraps as if we haven't seen food in days.

Ezra watched the early morning scram that happened every morning outside their window. People zipped around on ancient petrol-diesel-guzzling tin boxes on the road, rusty and rattling as if they were hours late for the ration lines. Or some others – the privileged ones, flew around on their fancy, solar-powered vehicles that reminded her of rather large and rather metallic dragonflies, whizzing about in a flurry of patternless movements. Somehow, she liked to pretend they were a colony of ants, a colony of ants someone had thrown a pebble at, breaking their orderly lines, and there they go, scrambling around, full panic station as often happened during evacuation drills at university.

Hurry up, Shaki. She eyed her watch, her mother's old Citizen watch from some time in the mid-nineties. It used to be her grandmother's before that, Ezra believed. Finding a replacement battery every time it died was a pain in her backside, but in their go-go-go neon-coloured world, Mum's old analogue watch soothed her. Watching the little hands tick, not caring about the chaos. Part of her felt closer to Mum at least.

Half an hour till our train.

She bit her cheek thoughtfully, sitting there on her small bed on one side of their small room that wouldn't have qualified as a room, let alone a room big enough for two girls once upon a time. Her stomach grumbled. She bounced her leg, trying not to be distracted by the sights outside. How many neighbours did the old people have? A handful? She forced her mind on other matters, not the cries of 'feed me' from her stomach. Maybe they were lucky and had a handful on their streets. We don't even have streets, do we? Just five hundred odd residents, minimum, in each building.

With that thought, she eyed the impossibly dense 'clean living' apartment buildings around their building, resembling shoeboxes stack high in a shoe shop. What about the neighbourhood? Just the buildings I can see? Five thousand? There's what, twenty high-rise buildings—each with 100-200 apartments—if you can even call these apartments. That's what...

"Ezra?" her father's voice broke her morning ritual of sitting quietly on the edge of her bed while wondering if her little sister was done by now, with breakfast that is, was excruciating.

Oh, thank god! Ezra was starving. The sooner she could get out of the room, the sooner she'd be able to pretend to eat her food, and then run for her morning lecture. She hated the nine o'clock lectures as much as she hated the crowds and the ration lines, but walking late into Professor Archer's lectures was worse. The hundreds of eyes staring at her at once was bad enough, but the disappointed look she'd get from him as if he was saying 'Ezra Mayur, I expected better from you,' was mortifying.

"Ezra?" her dad called again. "Come have your breakfast before—"

"—it gets cold!" Ezra mimed along with him, sighing with relief, and grabbed her bag from the floor. "I'm coming, I'm coming. No need to get your knickers in a twist..."

She walked into the tiny landing that split three ways, her and Shaki's bedroom, mum and dad's bedroom, and a tiny little bathroom that could barely be called a bathroom. It was more of a cubicle where one did all their business. Worse than a shoebox, really.

She rushed down the narrow staircase that could only find one at a time. "Isn't that the saying? Knickers in a twist?" she inquired with a smile as soon as she saw Dad's thinning brown head.

She walked into the equally small living-kitchen-dining combo they called the bottom floor of what the real estate agent had described as a luxurious two-floor villa-style apartment. There was nothing luxurious about it other than that they were one of the fortunate ones. At least they could afford to live in a multi-room apartment. Until recently, that was. Ezra often lay awake at night, wondering how they'd make ends meet — the utility bills, the monthly rations, the sky-high strata alone — now that mum was gone. But that's not what she wanted to think about this morning or any other morning. Mum being gone.

She sat on her stool, next to Shaki, already seated and scraping out the bottom of her porridge bowl, headphones on her head, music blaring out at inhumane volume.

Chuckling at her questions, their dad turned around as best he could on his crutches, holding a bowl of porridge in one hand—but perhaps a bowl was too generous a description. It was more like a ladleful of porridge. Rations. They had to control their rations, just like everyone else, or maybe more so.

Ezra felt her face scrunch, near tears, as he plonked the bowl in front of her. "First, knickers in a twist is an ancient saying, honey. Where do you even hear these things?"

Ezra perked up, ready to answer him, but he tutted her and pointed at her food. "And second, knickers, I believe, are women's underwear, so you wouldn't usually use that for someone like me who clearly prefers boxers. Honestly, you call yourself a scientist? What happened to 'doing your research,' huh?"

His mouth curved at the corners, and Ezra beamed. She loved seeing her father smile at her terrible jokes and the decade, if not a century old, sayings she dug up and tried to weave into their everyday conversations. Ever since Mum, these were the only moments he really smiled, or sometimes, if she was lucky, he laughed, like this morning.

Also, she loved being corrected by him—even if she actually knew how to use them properly. It often made her feel like she was a kid again and their family was whole. He was whole. No scars, no missing limbs. Perfect. Perfect and happy.

"I'll keep that in mind. Though Patty might appreciate the absurdity of the saying as much as you and I do." She laughed and ran a spoon through the runny porridge, recalling her fabulously flamboyant lab partner she loved to death. If he were straight, she was pretty sure she would have had a thing for him, if not downright, fallen in love with him. He was smart, thoughtful, and romantic, but not in that sappy way. "I'm not hungry, Daddy."

Her father, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee, paused for a moment, his shoulder visibly drooping as they always did when she repeated the same thing every morning: I'm not hungry.

Disappointment or sadness? She was never really sure, she tried to read his shoulder. Perhaps both.

Usually, he threw her a glare, barely glancing at Shaki sidelong, sitting there oblivious to their conversations. He'd often throw in, "Put at least three more mouthfuls in your gob, and I'll believe you." But today, he sighed. His shoulder slumped, and he sighed. "Eat what you can and give the rest to Shaki," as if he had no more fight left in him, not to argue with her or convince her to eat her food. Food others would literally kill for. Just the other day, on the news, there were reports of several break-ins and daylight robberies in their area — for rations. They left some victims for the dead.

Just for his sake, she scooped a big spoonful into her mouth, wanting to ask him, Daddy, what's wrong? But the words refused to form on her lips. She gulped down a glass of water to fill her stomach and nudged the rest of her food towards her little sis, who was clearly starving, as teenagers often did at that age. "Here, finish up. We'gotta head out before we miss the train."

Shaki peered up, brows raised. You sure?

Ezra nodded and watched her stick-thin sister practically inhale the porridge in one go, and stood, ready to go.

"Bye Dad, see you later." She waved at him, scooped up her school bag, and ran for the front door to call the lift. Going fifty floors down was often a trek, especially this time every morning. It seemed all of 'Sunshine Villas' residents picked that very time, exactly 6:30 AM, to call the lift to go about for the day.

Ezra hung back a moment, knowing it would take the lift several minutes to get there. Besides, Shaki often screamed for her anyway. She turned to her father with the burning question. "What's wrong?"

Their dad, once the pillar of the family, the sturdiest of sturdy men, now stood on one leg alone, sporting scars that were too prominent on the right side of his face, grimaced. His face had aged a decade in just the past few months since Mum passed away. How come Ezra hadn't noticed till now?

"I wish you would eat," he whispered. "I'm your dad. It's my job to keep you safe and looked after."

"I am safe. I am looked after."

"You're half the size you used to be when your mother—" His gaze sought her out. "I don't want you to worry about rations, honey. I want you to focus on doing your best and getting that brain of yours some recognition. You have an incredible future ahead of you. I don't want it derailed because of me, or Shaki. It's my job to worry about what's happening at home, and I'll fix everything, I promise. Not you."

"Dad," Ezra bit her bottom lip, eyeing the mug in his hand. His breakfast every morning. It had not escaped her notice that there was never any porridge left for him in the pan every morning. What he made, he always gave to them.

"Just once. Let me feel like I'm doing right by you and your sister."

"You are."

"It doesn't feel like it," he mumbled, grabbed the dirty dishes from the counter, and started on them. "I'll see you for dinner?"

"See you for dinner." Ezra knew when she was being dismissed. He never talked about things that bothered him, even though she wished he'd share his burden. "Dad?"

"Hmmm." He scrubbed the bowls.

"We love you!"

"Hmm." He nodded, though Ezra thought she heard a faint, Love you too, before stepping out into the foyer.

#

As soon as they came out into the lobby, Ezra grabbed her sister's arm and tugged her desperately, in the station's direction, toward the commute of the poor and the struggling. The ancient, local train. "Come on, we've got ten minutes. We might make it if we run!"

Now and then, a flying car whizzed above their head, too close for her liking, forcing her to make Shaki duck, afraid it'd be off with their heads at any moment. "Follow the damn road rules, you assholes. At least ten feet off the ground! People are walking here!"

"More like running," Shaki huffed out breathlessly, barely keeping up with her.

They made it into their train just before the doors shut, to Ezra's relief.

Shaki lowered her headphones to hang around her neck. "I agree with Dad. I wish you'd stop doing that too."

"What are you on about?" Ezra peered down at the bottom level, distracted, trying to spot seats for them. Some days they were lucky and found one each, other days, she'd find one for Shaki, and when Shaki disembarked for her school, she'd take over it. "There! Quick, there's two right in the middle." She pointed at the barely visible empty seats between tall and bulky commuters.

Once Shaki dropped into a seat opposite her, their knees knocking one another in that cramped carriage, she said, "I know what you do every morning."

"What do I do every morning?" Ezra feigned ignorance, checking her watch for the time. If she bolted for the tram as soon as the train doors opened, she should make it to uni with five minutes to spare for the lecture. Long enough to grab a drink from the bubblers and fill up.

Her baby sister frowned. "You stay in our room long enough until I've finished my food. Then dad calls you, and you pretend to be full or not hungry or whatever and you give me your share. Don't think I don't know what you both are up to."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm honestly not hungry." She hoped her stomach wouldn't betray her and grumble right that second. Ezra spied her watch again, mentally calculating for another scenario. What if she missed the tram? She'd be late and would have to walk in several minutes late; the centre of attention, the subject of judgement. Both things she hated. Attention and judgement.

"Dad! For one, I don't see him eat anymore. At least not in front of me, and you, you give all your food or most of it to me."

There was no point denying the part about Dad.

"I eat at the lab." Ezra lied. "Remember, I volunteer at Professor Archer's lab in the afternoons, and they always have loads of complimentary tea, coffee, and biscuits for volunteers. I stuff myself there every day, unlike you."

"Cookies are not food." Shaki folded her arms. "And if that was true, how come you don't grab some for me sometimes?"

"Stop worrying about me." Ezra countered. "And I'll see what I can do about grabbing you a few... even though it's against the rules to take any out of the building still in their packets," she mumbled that last bit, as it was true. The lucky few days they got any complimentary biscuits were the days when Archer's office cleared out old, expired biscuits, or if they got a terribly broken batch, as he did not like presenting to his guests and delegates with those. She'd get one crumbled packet if she was lucky and early enough on those days, let alone get enough to fill her tummy.

Dr Ian Archer was virtually a celebrity in the science world, especially in microbiology and designer microbes. A field that fascinated Ezra. A field she could see herself in one day, designing perfect little microbes that could protect food crops from diseases, deliver gene splicing, or use it to mass produce nutritious lab-created food at a sustainable rate that could curb world hunger. Feeding over ten billion people was proving a challenge for the governments at this rate, going by the limited rations they got every month, rations that were getting suspiciously smaller and smaller.

"You dream of saving the world from hunger one day." Shaki pouted. "Then you'gotta feed that clever brain of yours and stay alive. Only then can you land a good government job that comes with the perks we could do with. Don't think I don't know what you want. 'Get a secure job with perks, and get family out of the anthill with plenty of food,' ring a bell?" That's what Ezra called those large, high-density eyesores they and thousands, if not millions of people, lived in around the world. Anthills.

"Been reading my diary again?" Ezra chuckled, despite tears pricking her eyes. It was her dream, yes, to land a government research job where she could use her degree, and if it paid well, move them into a less dense area with more rations, or if it came with housing and rations—similar to how Professor Archer got his start in his youth—even better. "It'll probably never happen, though. Who's going to hire me when they can hire rich nepo-babies who paid with their parents' money for the same degree? This world works on who you know, not how much you know and what you can do."

"You're a lot smarter than they are," Shaki said matter of fact. "Like a thousand times smarter."

"You're not bad yourself with that brain of yours, Ms Maths Genius. Focus on your own brilliance and world-saving plans, and let me worry about how to help Dad."

"Pff!" Shaki stood, kissed her head rashly, and rushed off the train with a, "Whatever, loser."

A/N: You got to meet Ezra when she was a peppy uni-student. What did you think of her? How do you think she ended up in that horrible situation we saw earlier?

Got any theories? 😃😃