Meadows
Dr. Terry Plunkett loved flowers. It had been thirty years since he last saw a real one. That rainy day Polly Ishikawa sold her last bundle of yellow tulips to a fellow politician who that day knew more than he.
That year, acid rains corroded the roofs of many older buildings and retirement came early to a lot of folks. So he wasn’t the only man to be caught off guard, absolutely not! All the more reason not to feel bitter about it. And in many respects it was probably better that he knew only as much, or as little, as he did because if he knew any more he’d never get inside the elevator.
They said that it was the tallest building in the world. By sheer luck, although sometimes he liked to muse it was the consequence of the selfless work he had done as the Prime Minister’s Chief Medical Advisor, the apartment assigned to Dr. Plunkett was above the clouds. As a result, it hardly ever rained where he lived.
This outrageously positive turn of events meant that Dr. Plunkett could enjoy his first hot drink in the morning while watching the sunrise three-hundred and sixty-three days each year on average. Over a period of thirty years, this translated into ten-thousand-eight-hundred and ninety sunrises, at least nine times more than he’d seen in the previous forty-eight years of his life.
The majestic building with majestic sunrises was called The Meadows. It was set up for nearly perfect self-sufficiency. Deliveries always came on time, and because he had worked as a civil servant before the Big One hit, Dr. Plunkett had enough product order credits to last him until he reached the ripe old age of one hundred and twelve, an age he didn’t believe he’d manage to exceed regardless of the level of care he meticulously provided to himself.
As a result, he lived lavishly. His book collection contained a thousand titles and so did his classical music repository. He used to collect movies, but he stopped that a decade ago, along with watching television, because it tired his eyes and befogged his mind.
When the first ray of morning sun hit the thick pane of glass that shielded him from her—the Tempestuous Mother of Creation—Dr. Plunkett’s thin eyelids would fall shut with the lightness of silk curtains. In his mouth he’d hold the first sip of medicinal tea. The moment he felt the concoction flow through his tissues, as the sun penetrated his skull, was his favourite moment of each day.
That’s until he’d feel his feline friend’s body lazily cuddle against his shin and he’d bend down to stroke the back of the only companion that occupied his minaret besides him—a black cat named Poppy. Poppy was a steady reminder that the world still existed and that he wasn’t simply imagining it all.
It was no longer permitted to keep animals inside The Meadows but after many years of exemplary behavior, which no doubt built trust, hardly anyone checked on Mr. Plunkett. There was a rhythm to his routine, as steady and reliable as an astronomical clock. He awoke five minutes before sunrise, took hour-long mineral baths whenever the Moon entered a new quarter, and ordered his supplies on Sundays at sunset. He changed his screen-wall displays only on solstices and equinoxes, four times a year. Thus, he fed few data into the vast grid.
He also never opened the door to his apartment. The small red tiles embedded in the floor in the four corners of his stratospheric abode were to be used only in emergencies. He had secured them with a layer of tape to avoid accidental unlocking and causing trouble. More important, the air that circulated in the corridors was not healthy to breathe. Disinfectants and aldehydes could be lethal, especially to those with a delicate constitution.
Therefore, the doors to Dr. Plunkett’s apartment had remained sealed. Except for one time many years ago when his neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Ziegler, a hair away from meeting their tragic end, unlocked his door so that their kitten could find a new home.
Poppy came into his life at the right moment. He had just been informed by a letter delivered by a glistening drone of the death of his closest relatives. Since Dr. Plunkett was not married and didn’t have any offspring (all his fault because he couldn’t muster the courage to ask Polly Ishikawa to dinner), Poppy became his family.
Dr. Plunkett opened his eyes and looked at the sun’s golden orb hovering above the distant horizon. It seemed to him that the sun was clearer and brighter on this Spring Equinox than it was on the last. He took a sip of his tea and bent down to lift Poppy into his arms. He’d usually only pet her head but this time something in him made him want to hold her.
Placing the mug by his feet, he nuzzled his face in the cat’s fur and walked into the kitchen. ‘It’s the first day of spring, did you know this, my Princess?’
‘Meow!’ droned the cat.
‘Of course you know. Should we have our celebratory spring salad for breakfast then?’ ‘Meow.’
‘I know, I know. You’re not a fan of arugula and radishes. But would you mind if I have some?’ ‘Meeeeeow!’
He released Poppy onto the smooth surface of the white kitchen counter and held his finger to a button in a wall until it beeped. All vitals in excellent range. Predicted lifespan: one hundred and three years.
‘Better than yesterday! It must be you, my sweetheart, bringing so much joy into your poor man’s heart.’
Poppy stretched her lithe body and yawned. Smiling, Dr. Plunkett placed a glass bowl in front of him and reached up to pluck leaves bursting from the wall above.
He had only been able to cultivate a few herbs in his apartment. For years he had tried growing flowers but they would never bloom. Feeling guilty for keeping the seeds, he put them in pouches with holes, which he’d swiftly fasten onto the legs of departing drones so they could spread the seeds mid-air. Not the best environment for flowers, but much better than his sterile home.
‘It is going to be a delicious salad, you’ll see. The best one yet. A symphony of flavors!’ ‘Meeeeeeoooow, meoooooooooooow.’
‘What is it, my love? Are you trying to tell me something?
‘Meooooow!’
‘I don’t remember you being this talkative in a good while!’
Dr. Plunkett leaned forward to make sure Poppy’s bowls were full. They were. In the corner of his eye he noticed that the tape on the red square by the glass wall was fraying. He made a note to replace it today.
‘So you’re not hungry. What is it then?’ he lifted his hand and gave the cat a long rub. Poppy arched her spine, leaned back and jumped off the counter. He watched her sashay forward, tail up, and look at the wide wall stretching before her. The display showed a panorama of rolling white plains beneath a clear blue sky. Winter.
‘Clever, clever girl!’ Dr. Plunkett shook off from his fingers the green leaves he’d been tearing up. ‘You’ve officially become smarter than me. I hope you realize how humbling that is.’ He skirted the counter and aimed for the wall. The sway of his ankle caught the ear of the mug and shot it across the floor, splashing tea around.
‘Ah, you dope,’ he cursed and stumbled on.
‘Meoooow.’
‘Sorry, darling. We have a mess to clean up. But first, let’s do what we came here to do.’
He ran his finger across a small track pad in the wall and the display exploded with color.
Poppy rubbed her back on his shin.
‘That’s it, my Princess. You knew it. You knew that today is when we should change it,’ he bent down and hugged purring Poppy to his warm chest. Together they looked at the infinitude of swaying orange tulips. If only Polly Ishikawa could see this. It would no doubt put a smile on her face.
Dr. Plunkett turned on his heel and walked towards the kitchen. His foot stepped into the tea puddle and he slipped. Poppy jumped out of his arms, just in time for him to brace himself against a hard fall. The heel of his palm slipped across polished floor and landed directly on the red tile. He heard a beep and a loud click. The door unlocked and parted.
‘Poppy, no!’
He must have walked down the staircase of at least fifty floors when the smell changed from minty-sweet to neutral. He pulled the edge of his shirt off his nose and took a deep breath.
‘Poppy! Poppy! Where are you?’ his voice was beginning to break. But he couldn’t imagine himself tuning around and carrying on without her. So he kept on.
Sixty-six, sixty-seven... how tall was this building? He heard another faint meow that seemed to come from below. Maybe she’d get tired and stop, giving him chance to catch up?
‘Don’t worry, Princess. I will be right there. Just wait for your old man,’ he bent over to catch his breath. There was a wheeze in his lungs. Mucous was forming in his throat, activating the instinct to cough.
Holding on to the smooth cream wall, Dr. Plunkett slid down and sat on a step. There should be alarm buttons somewhere. Maybe it would be best to send an SOS and get help?
But then he remembered what happened to people who tripped the alarm switch. Help came usually after the issue had resolved on its own. Polly Ishikawa tried to get help, but as a florist she didn’t have the privileges that he had as a government worker. They found her tied to a steel crate after the flood swept through the city.
That day, even though he tried to convince himself that the body was not Polly’s, a part of him died. For a long time, he felt nothing until Poppy walked in through the door.
Two-hundred-one, two-hundred-two, he could no longer speak. His breathing sounded raspy, like a creaky door swinging in a draft. He was convinced that he had lost count a long time ago and was starting to believe that Poppy’s cry was a hallucination. What if she didn’t walk onto the staircase at all? What if she was back in the apartment, now looking for him? The idea of turning around was unbearable.
The quality of the air changed again, becoming cool and heavy. Was he nearing the bottom? Or was it due to the moisture that collected on the walls and steps?
He managed to call her name once more before he slipped and tumbled down. His back and legs took most of the beating until his body landed in a puddle of dirty, cold water. Panting, he listened to the sound of drops falling, his trembling arms still shielding his head. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Poppy’s cry was unmistakable. He opened his eyes and lowered his arms. She stood by the tall metal doors, looking at a hatch.
‘Poppy—?’
Mustering all his remaining strength he rose to his feet. Something in his back and knees cracked. But his arms felt fine. He leaned his body on the door, and grabbing the hatch, yanked it. The door released.
The light outside was blinding. He lifted his arm to shield himself. His lungs immediately expanded to take in a mouthful of the sweet smell that washed over him like an ocean wave.
Before him was an endless meadow of colorful flowers that swayed and stretched as far as the eye could see. But there was something else far on the horizon, something that made his body tremble anew—the petite body of Polly Ishikawa walking towards him.
That year, acid rains corroded the roofs of many older buildings and retirement came early to a lot of folks. So he wasn’t the only man to be caught off guard, absolutely not! All the more reason not to feel bitter about it. And in many respects it was probably better that he knew only as much, or as little, as he did because if he knew any more he’d never get inside the elevator.
They said that it was the tallest building in the world. By sheer luck, although sometimes he liked to muse it was the consequence of the selfless work he had done as the Prime Minister’s Chief Medical Advisor, the apartment assigned to Dr. Plunkett was above the clouds. As a result, it hardly ever rained where he lived.
This outrageously positive turn of events meant that Dr. Plunkett could enjoy his first hot drink in the morning while watching the sunrise three-hundred and sixty-three days each year on average. Over a period of thirty years, this translated into ten-thousand-eight-hundred and ninety sunrises, at least nine times more than he’d seen in the previous forty-eight years of his life.
The majestic building with majestic sunrises was called The Meadows. It was set up for nearly perfect self-sufficiency. Deliveries always came on time, and because he had worked as a civil servant before the Big One hit, Dr. Plunkett had enough product order credits to last him until he reached the ripe old age of one hundred and twelve, an age he didn’t believe he’d manage to exceed regardless of the level of care he meticulously provided to himself.
As a result, he lived lavishly. His book collection contained a thousand titles and so did his classical music repository. He used to collect movies, but he stopped that a decade ago, along with watching television, because it tired his eyes and befogged his mind.
When the first ray of morning sun hit the thick pane of glass that shielded him from her—the Tempestuous Mother of Creation—Dr. Plunkett’s thin eyelids would fall shut with the lightness of silk curtains. In his mouth he’d hold the first sip of medicinal tea. The moment he felt the concoction flow through his tissues, as the sun penetrated his skull, was his favourite moment of each day.
That’s until he’d feel his feline friend’s body lazily cuddle against his shin and he’d bend down to stroke the back of the only companion that occupied his minaret besides him—a black cat named Poppy. Poppy was a steady reminder that the world still existed and that he wasn’t simply imagining it all.
It was no longer permitted to keep animals inside The Meadows but after many years of exemplary behavior, which no doubt built trust, hardly anyone checked on Mr. Plunkett. There was a rhythm to his routine, as steady and reliable as an astronomical clock. He awoke five minutes before sunrise, took hour-long mineral baths whenever the Moon entered a new quarter, and ordered his supplies on Sundays at sunset. He changed his screen-wall displays only on solstices and equinoxes, four times a year. Thus, he fed few data into the vast grid.
He also never opened the door to his apartment. The small red tiles embedded in the floor in the four corners of his stratospheric abode were to be used only in emergencies. He had secured them with a layer of tape to avoid accidental unlocking and causing trouble. More important, the air that circulated in the corridors was not healthy to breathe. Disinfectants and aldehydes could be lethal, especially to those with a delicate constitution.
Therefore, the doors to Dr. Plunkett’s apartment had remained sealed. Except for one time many years ago when his neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Ziegler, a hair away from meeting their tragic end, unlocked his door so that their kitten could find a new home.
Poppy came into his life at the right moment. He had just been informed by a letter delivered by a glistening drone of the death of his closest relatives. Since Dr. Plunkett was not married and didn’t have any offspring (all his fault because he couldn’t muster the courage to ask Polly Ishikawa to dinner), Poppy became his family.
Dr. Plunkett opened his eyes and looked at the sun’s golden orb hovering above the distant horizon. It seemed to him that the sun was clearer and brighter on this Spring Equinox than it was on the last. He took a sip of his tea and bent down to lift Poppy into his arms. He’d usually only pet her head but this time something in him made him want to hold her.
Placing the mug by his feet, he nuzzled his face in the cat’s fur and walked into the kitchen. ‘It’s the first day of spring, did you know this, my Princess?’
‘Meow!’ droned the cat.
‘Of course you know. Should we have our celebratory spring salad for breakfast then?’ ‘Meow.’
‘I know, I know. You’re not a fan of arugula and radishes. But would you mind if I have some?’ ‘Meeeeeow!’
He released Poppy onto the smooth surface of the white kitchen counter and held his finger to a button in a wall until it beeped. All vitals in excellent range. Predicted lifespan: one hundred and three years.
‘Better than yesterday! It must be you, my sweetheart, bringing so much joy into your poor man’s heart.’
Poppy stretched her lithe body and yawned. Smiling, Dr. Plunkett placed a glass bowl in front of him and reached up to pluck leaves bursting from the wall above.
He had only been able to cultivate a few herbs in his apartment. For years he had tried growing flowers but they would never bloom. Feeling guilty for keeping the seeds, he put them in pouches with holes, which he’d swiftly fasten onto the legs of departing drones so they could spread the seeds mid-air. Not the best environment for flowers, but much better than his sterile home.
‘It is going to be a delicious salad, you’ll see. The best one yet. A symphony of flavors!’ ‘Meeeeeeoooow, meoooooooooooow.’
‘What is it, my love? Are you trying to tell me something?
‘Meooooow!’
‘I don’t remember you being this talkative in a good while!’
Dr. Plunkett leaned forward to make sure Poppy’s bowls were full. They were. In the corner of his eye he noticed that the tape on the red square by the glass wall was fraying. He made a note to replace it today.
‘So you’re not hungry. What is it then?’ he lifted his hand and gave the cat a long rub. Poppy arched her spine, leaned back and jumped off the counter. He watched her sashay forward, tail up, and look at the wide wall stretching before her. The display showed a panorama of rolling white plains beneath a clear blue sky. Winter.
‘Clever, clever girl!’ Dr. Plunkett shook off from his fingers the green leaves he’d been tearing up. ‘You’ve officially become smarter than me. I hope you realize how humbling that is.’ He skirted the counter and aimed for the wall. The sway of his ankle caught the ear of the mug and shot it across the floor, splashing tea around.
‘Ah, you dope,’ he cursed and stumbled on.
‘Meoooow.’
‘Sorry, darling. We have a mess to clean up. But first, let’s do what we came here to do.’
He ran his finger across a small track pad in the wall and the display exploded with color.
Poppy rubbed her back on his shin.
‘That’s it, my Princess. You knew it. You knew that today is when we should change it,’ he bent down and hugged purring Poppy to his warm chest. Together they looked at the infinitude of swaying orange tulips. If only Polly Ishikawa could see this. It would no doubt put a smile on her face.
Dr. Plunkett turned on his heel and walked towards the kitchen. His foot stepped into the tea puddle and he slipped. Poppy jumped out of his arms, just in time for him to brace himself against a hard fall. The heel of his palm slipped across polished floor and landed directly on the red tile. He heard a beep and a loud click. The door unlocked and parted.
‘Poppy, no!’
He must have walked down the staircase of at least fifty floors when the smell changed from minty-sweet to neutral. He pulled the edge of his shirt off his nose and took a deep breath.
‘Poppy! Poppy! Where are you?’ his voice was beginning to break. But he couldn’t imagine himself tuning around and carrying on without her. So he kept on.
Sixty-six, sixty-seven... how tall was this building? He heard another faint meow that seemed to come from below. Maybe she’d get tired and stop, giving him chance to catch up?
‘Don’t worry, Princess. I will be right there. Just wait for your old man,’ he bent over to catch his breath. There was a wheeze in his lungs. Mucous was forming in his throat, activating the instinct to cough.
Holding on to the smooth cream wall, Dr. Plunkett slid down and sat on a step. There should be alarm buttons somewhere. Maybe it would be best to send an SOS and get help?
But then he remembered what happened to people who tripped the alarm switch. Help came usually after the issue had resolved on its own. Polly Ishikawa tried to get help, but as a florist she didn’t have the privileges that he had as a government worker. They found her tied to a steel crate after the flood swept through the city.
That day, even though he tried to convince himself that the body was not Polly’s, a part of him died. For a long time, he felt nothing until Poppy walked in through the door.
Two-hundred-one, two-hundred-two, he could no longer speak. His breathing sounded raspy, like a creaky door swinging in a draft. He was convinced that he had lost count a long time ago and was starting to believe that Poppy’s cry was a hallucination. What if she didn’t walk onto the staircase at all? What if she was back in the apartment, now looking for him? The idea of turning around was unbearable.
The quality of the air changed again, becoming cool and heavy. Was he nearing the bottom? Or was it due to the moisture that collected on the walls and steps?
He managed to call her name once more before he slipped and tumbled down. His back and legs took most of the beating until his body landed in a puddle of dirty, cold water. Panting, he listened to the sound of drops falling, his trembling arms still shielding his head. He tasted blood in his mouth.
Poppy’s cry was unmistakable. He opened his eyes and lowered his arms. She stood by the tall metal doors, looking at a hatch.
‘Poppy—?’
Mustering all his remaining strength he rose to his feet. Something in his back and knees cracked. But his arms felt fine. He leaned his body on the door, and grabbing the hatch, yanked it. The door released.
The light outside was blinding. He lifted his arm to shield himself. His lungs immediately expanded to take in a mouthful of the sweet smell that washed over him like an ocean wave.
Before him was an endless meadow of colorful flowers that swayed and stretched as far as the eye could see. But there was something else far on the horizon, something that made his body tremble anew—the petite body of Polly Ishikawa walking towards him.
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