Sharon made herself a cup of tea, and sat watching the morning breakfast talk show on the tv in the corner of her flat. She pondered whether to open the latest food packet she had been issued, and decided that the contents were probably not really worth eating, there had been an increase in the meat ration over the past few months, but she wasn’t really keen on the taste. Oh for a proper fry up, she thought, and settled for a slice of toast from her two slice daily issue.
As she smeared a slither of her weekly ‘butter’ ration, she thought back to a few years before all food production had been nationalized and foreign trade stopped, proper butter from Ireland, proper bacon from Denmark, what a shame the Danes had succumbed to pressure to stop pig farming.
Locking the door of the one bedroom flat she shared with her two lodgers, forced upon her during the last migrant influx, she saw another notice pinned to the outside informing her of another couple who would be ‘sharing’ with her in the coming week.
Not a great deal of sharing about it, she thought, I seem to be the only one with a job. Such as it is.
She walked to the tube station, past the armed guards who seemed to be everywhere these days. She joined her mates on the platform, only Harry and John these days.
There used to be ten of them, our merry band of brothers and sisters they joked, but their numbers had dwindled, one had called one of the armed police a‘Robocop’, he didn’t turn up the following day.
Then there was poor old Barry, a gentle soul, who had tripped on his shoelace and accidentally brushed against a headscarf wearing lady in one of the carriages. We often wondered where he disappeared to.
John had been very vocal about the food rationing, we never saw him again, and despite telling Julie not to go on about the Labour PM, she had insisted on complaining in public. She became absent shortly after.
Where do they all go, she wondered, the internment camps are being shut down throughout the UK, as crime has gone down under the new government.
Sandra still insists her mum went on holiday, like people like us can afford a holiday these days, they are for the politicos, tv personalities and pundits. They still show the holiday programs on the telly, but they are all self contained holiday villages, they never show the real places anymore.
Walking into the food facility for another ten hour shift, Sharon saw she was on the meat packing line again. All the headscarf wearing ladies are on chicken, but we never get to touch that.
The line had been running for a couple of hours when it suddenly slammed to a halt. As she reached into the belt to remove the obstruction, she realized that it was a wristwatch. She also realized that there would be a free space in her flat tonight.