Hope

Standing in the room, backpack slung over one shoulder and my hands full with a three-year-old resting on my hip, I can’t help but smile. Taking a deep breath of the slightly musty air, I let my bag drop to the rotting wood with a loud thump. It sends a plume of dust into the air, startling Charlie as he lets out a little sneeze.

This was home.

I’d paid the rent for a month in advance, and I had no doubt that my newly acquired job at the bakery would pay me enough for next month’s rent too. If all went well, we’d be staying here for a while.

“Daddy, is this where we’re going to stay? Where’s my room?” The little boy in my arms asks.

I grin, taking him over to the window to have a look at the view of the street. It isn’t much. The single window has a hole in it, the curtain torn and mouldy. The room is a little on the small side, and a bucket lies waiting in a corner for the next flood of rain. This would have to do, though. It was better than nothing and it’s a roof over our heads. Not to mention it’s ours. No more sharing closet spaces with people piled on top of people.

“We have to share. You don’t mind sharing with Daddy, do you?” I chuckle, bouncing him on my hip.

He shakes his head no, happily resting his cheek back on my shoulder.

~~~

“This-this is mine?” I ask, flabbergasted.

“Yes,” Aliston replies with his hands folded behind his back.

I had my own room! My very own bedroom with a bathroom attached. It-its unbelievable.

The walls are painted a soft lavender, white plush carpet squishing under my shoes. Taking a couple of steps inside, my eyes immediately wander to the ceiling above that glitters when the sun hits it. To the right, a large wooden dresser sits, and the large king-sized bed across from it is dressed in a mountain of pillows and blankets. The floor to ceiling windows are draped with sheer white curtains, allowing light to spill into the softly coloured room. Everything looks brand new, luxurious, and clean.

Aliston clears his throat, gesturing for me to come back out and follow him down the hall. He stops at the next door, hesitating to open it. “This room belongs to Lavere; the child you will be taking care of.”

He opens the door quietly, allowing us to slip inside.

The room is just as beautiful as mine. The walls are a soft purple, the carpet a light blue. A towering white wardrobe sits on the back wall to the right of the window, a matching white bassinet on the left. It smells distinctly of baby powder and something sweet; a comforting smell.

The most beautiful thing about the room, however, is the ceiling. It’s painted with millions of stars that glow in the low light of the room. Swirling and twinkling as if the stars are right there with us.

I step closer, my eyes darting from the ceiling to the bassinet that floats, and to the blue orb light that also floats through the room, bobbing away. Everything in this room is surreal and alien, but beautiful none the less.

Aliston glides past me to lean over the baby’s crib, his hair falling like a silk curtain across his face as he peers down at the sleeping baby.

Quietly I step over as well, leaning over to have a look.

“Lavere is six months old, in Earth time,” Aliston murmurs.

The sleeping baby is like nothing I’ve seen before, his skin is a dark grey-blue and a thin layer of white silk hair lays flat on his head. Long white eyelashes frame his closed eyes, and little pointed ears stick out from his head. He’s adorable. I’m not sure what I expected an alien baby to look like, but Lavere definitely looks more human than I anticipated.

As if reading my thoughts, Aliston stands a little straighter, letting me reach down into the crib to brush a finger gently over little Lavere’s cheek.

“This is not his natural form. As I am sure you have suspected already, my household has been adapted to better assimilate humans into my home.”

I wonder what everyone really looks like then. Does Caster look more alien? Does he break out in horns down his back like the Department officer? I already know he has sharp fangs for teeth, but it’s hard to imagine him with any other dangerous features.

Aliston continues, “Castelle, or rather, Caster, is the household chef. He will supply you and the child with the necessary sustenance. You may ask him for other items that you may need during your stay here as well.” So, Caster must be sort of like a head maid. “Come, I will show you the kitchen.”

“Yes sir,” I say, taking one last look at Lavere before following the alien back down towards the stairs.

“I have drawn up a schedule for Lavere. I expect you to use your time wisely and efficiently.”

I nod in reply.

The older alien glides down the stairs, his movements graceful as he soundlessly walks through the dining room, gesturing with a crooked finger for me to follow him into the kitchen.

Everything about him screams royalty. The way he talks, his movements, the way he holds himself. I think that’s just the mannerisms of his species, but that doesn’t make me feel any less insecure. After all, here I am dressed in ripped pants and a stained shirt. I’m pretty sure there’s still dirt under my fingernails, and I haven’t tried to brush my hair in years. It was much easier to chop it all off when it became unmanageable than try and scrap together some change for soap.

Why would an alien of such an obviously high status want a dirty street rat working for them? Taking care of their child, no less. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. Why not hire someone more professional?

I’m thrown from my thoughts once we pass through an open doorway, a bright white kitchen shining in the sunlight. A large marble island stands out from the rest, a single vase of bright red expensive looking flowers placed on its centre.

Large white wall cabinets wrap around one side of the wall, a metal sink placed in the centre of the kitchen benches. There doesn’t appear to be an oven, or a stove top, but there is a massive silver fridge humming to the right of the kitchen counters.

“This is the entertaining kitchen. We serve appetisers and drinks here. The kitchen for cooking is through that door.” Aliston points to the left of the room where a swinging door sits.

Like one of those diner doors I used to see in old human movies.

“Lavere has snacks in this fridge, but the rest of his meals are prepared in the back. You will find the cutlery inside the drawers of this kitchen. Other equipment such as mixing bowls, saucepans, or other human cooking utensils are found in the back.”

Everything is over the top; extravagant may be a better description. I don’t understand why someone with so much money would waste it like this. Why not use it for more useful things? What’s the point in having a seperate kitchen for entertaining purposes?

“I must go back to my office. Will you be able to navigate the house by yourself?” Aliston asks, hands folded in front of him as he waits for an answer.

I nod with another, “Yes, sir.”

My answer seems enough for him, as he turns on his heel and gracefully makes his way back up the stairs, leaving me standing in the kitchen all alone.

I don’t want to touch anything. Everything about me doesn’t quite fit in such an immaculate place. Just walking on these marble floors makes me cringe with the amount of dirt I’m most likely leaving behind. There’s not much I can do about it. Not until I can shower and leave the dirt and grime from the streets to swirl down the drain. This whole situation seems so surreal. How did I end up here of all places? What made me so special?