The child leaned forward in their seat, arms out stretching a plate. A plea for a second helping of dinner. I make an affirmative gesture towards the serving dish in the center of our dining room table. I had taken the liberty of boiling an extra two eggs tonight. Our ration hadn't increased, insomuch as my grandfather had passed away last week. His portion of the rations which I can store; I will keep in reserve. However the perishable portions I had been randomly adding to our meals.

I had not yet decided if I would report my granddads passing, as I knew doing so would work counter to keeping our household pantry stocked. One more week remained to me before I had to report the death if I was going to, until then his body would keep perfectly well in the freezer.

Not like I had anything else to put in there anyway.

Our city had been shut down for years now, and to all appearances would stay that way for years to come.

I watched the child beam at being allowed a second helping, then watched as they devoured the eggs with a vigor only those still growing can know.

It made me want to keep grandfathers passing to the ice.

I worried for the child.

I worried for myself.

However it wasn't like I could change anything.

With our meal concluded we entered into our mindless ritual. The clearing and putting away of plates. With that business concluded the child goes to their tablet.

My heart sinks to watch, so I don't. I lay in my bed. Press my face into my pillow and do not interfere. For worse things than hunger await those who interfere.

I could hear the child reciting their lessons back into the tablet. I press the pillow harder against my head, it doesn't stop the sound from getting through.

The child was three when this all started. Before the lock downs. At least in the points between points. Once could talk, explain what was real. Whispers to spread doubt.

Now all that is real, is what the tablet tells the child is real.

The tablet listens as well as instructs. My lips are locked, have been since this all started.

I could no longer call the child my child. For I did not rise their heart nor their mind. Too many years had been spent, would be spent under the teachings the tablet gives.

This situation, my lost child… had been what broke my grandfather. What lead to him escaping the only way he could.

As the child repeats their "history" lesson particularly loudly, I wonder if I am going to be long in following my grandfathers example.