Theo and Koee — In the Cafeteria
Theo and Koee are once again in the cafeteria, now empty. White light spills through the tall windows, reflecting off the clean trays and rows of tables. An almost sacred silence hangs in the air.
Theo leans against the back of the chair.
— And that's it... the school tour is over. — He tries to smile. — You're always welcome here, Koee.
She looks at him, her red eyes seeming more alive than ever.
— I'm sorry about your younger brother.
Theo holds his breath, as if the air has suddenly grown heavier. His gaze falters, but he pulls himself together.
— I believe he's alive.
Koee slowly approaches.
— You disarmed me during that game — she says quietly. — When you asked if I was okay without even seeing my face.
Theo watches her, confused but attentive.
— You have a good heart, Theo. Mother Ceres loves that about you. She cries for Tycho every day. Always.
Theo closes his eyes for a moment, trying to contain whatever is passing through him.
Koee continues:
— I just wanted... to make the world a little more comfortable. So he can live. So she can, too.
The silence becomes unbearable. They look at each other for a moment that seems suspended in time.
Then Koee kisses him.
It is a strong, urgent, almost tragic kiss. Theo kisses her back — as if surrendering to something he doesn't understand, but needs.
The kiss is still hanging in the air, warm and suspended, when the door creaks.
Cora is standing there.
She stands motionless, her apron stained with pollen and a crooked but sturdy wooden cart in her hands.
The worn wood bears scribbled inscriptions: funny names, shaky letters, childish jokes.
Theo recoils as if he has been struck.
He coughs, straightens his uniform, forcing himself to act natural.
— Cora! — he says nervously. — This is Koee.
Koee watches him for a moment, then turns to the girl with a serene smile.
— Theo told me about you — she says sweetly. — That you take care of the dogs and cats in the area.
Cora blinks, stunned, unsure whether it is a compliment or a provocation.
— I... was in the biology lab. Pollinating flowers. Studying crops... — she replies hesitantly.
Koee tilts her head, curious.
— I mean... in the cafeteria?
Cora lowers her gaze.
— I came to collect the garbage. To give it to the dogs and cats. I built a little shelter for them.
Koee looks at the enormous trash bins beside the girl — almost as tall as she is.
She smiles.
— Want some help?
Cora blushes and waves her hands.
— No! You're the miracle of Ceres. You can't carry garbage!
Koee laughs softly.
— I insist.
And without ceremony, she kneels beside the girl.
The two begin separating food scraps from paper, metal from bones. The sound of garbage falling into the bins sounds like dissonant music in a place that should be sacred.
Koee smiles, and shy Cora eventually smiles too.
— In Ceres — the girl says proudly — neither dogs, nor cats, nor rats die of hunger.
— That's why Mother Ceres lives in you — Koee replies softly.
The cart is full, its weight pressing down on the crooked wheels. Koee grabs the wooden handle and starts pulling it.
Cora tries to stop her, but Koee simply laughs and keeps going.
As they step into the courtyard, the contrast is almost unbearable.
Motionless tanks. Helicopters hovering like metallic predators. Soldiers standing silently, their suppressors gleaming beneath the sun.
And among all of it — the absurd and sublime scene:
Koee Nahin, the protected goddess of Ceres, smiling as she pulls a garbage cart beside a thirteen-year-old girl.
Cora lowers her face in embarrassment, but Koee walks as if the entire world weren't watching her.
One of the Silencers approaches, ready to intervene.
Koee simply smiles and shakes her head, refusing the help.
The soldier steps back.
The sound of the wheels creaking over the concrete echoes like a prayer.
And as they move toward the flower field, the sun falls upon the crooked little cart — and for a moment, it seems that even the steel of the tanks bows before the scene.
The flower field seems like another world.
The air smells of damp earth and freshly opened petals. In the distance, the faint echo of helicopters can still be heard, but there, in that clearing, time seems suspended.
Dogs and cats peek out from among the flowers — skittish, frightened by the sound of the tanks, but alert. When they see Cora, their tails begin to wag, meows mixing with barks, a small symphony of longing.
Koee and Cora follow a dirt path lined with flower arches and handmade colorful ribbons. The shelter appears at the end of the trail: crooked, but alive, decorated with drawings, branches, and an improvised sign with names written in ink — some almost faded.
The animals swarm toward them. Dozens of them.
Koee kneels in the grass. A three-legged dog approaches, sniffing her hand. Another follows, then a tabby cat climbs into her lap, purring loudly.
Soon she is surrounded — by snouts, paws, bodies seeking affection.
Koee laughs, first softly, then loudly, disarmed, free. She lies down on the grass and lets them climb over her, lick her, curl up against her. Cora throws herself down beside her, and the two begin to laugh.
They laugh until they cry, surrounded by barks and meows, as if there were no Ceres, no tanks, no helicopters — only this small piece of the world where love was allowed.
Still laughing, Koee points toward the shelter.
— What are these names? “Mr. Stink,” “Fly Princess,” “General Radish”?
Cora wipes the tears from her eyes, trying to speak between laughs.
— Those are their names! Each one has a reason!
Koee rolls with laughter.
— “General Radish”?
— Because he ate a whole bunch of radishes from the cafeteria garden — Cora explains, out of breath. — And “Fly Princess” is the cat that never takes a bath!
The two collapse onto the grass again, laughing like children.
The sun passes through the flowers, gilding Cora's hair and Koee's face.
There, amid the scent, grass, and laughter, nothing reminds them of the Silencers, the war, or the flags.
Only two souls — one human and one created to be more than human — sharing a moment that Mother Ceres, if she could, would certainly envy.
Amid the laughter, Koee notices several small wooden plaques stuck into the grass.
They are crude, cut in the shape of an “M,” with names written in blue and green ink: “Biter,” “Little Chaos,” “Mr. Foam.”
Koee approaches curiously, wiping away the tears that still remain from laughing.
— What are these little signs, Cora? — she asks with a smile. — More funny names for your animals?
Cora, who until then had been laughing without restraint, falls silent.
Her expression changes.
Her eyes drop, and her voice becomes restrained:
— This one... — she points to the M-shaped plaque — was the name of an aggressive dog.
He almost killed all the others. Theo killed him.
Koee stiffens. The laughter stops instantly.
— He... killed him?
Cora nods, a lump in her throat.
— He didn't have to, but... he saved the others.
The dog wasn't from here. I think... — she hesitates — I think he never ate our Mother's food.
That's why he was angry.
Koee watches the girl put some food into the bowls.
The gesture is gentle, almost ritualistic.
Cora's words echo inside her — “he never ate our Mother's food.”
— Theo isn't bad — Cora continues without looking up. — Nor is he cruel.
But that day... he seemed different.
He had an aura... of a demon.
The wind blows through the flowers, bending them.
Koee kneels beside her.
— And what do you do, Cora, when you come here?
— I pray. Every day. I pray that he redeems himself... and that Mother Ceres forgives him too.
Koee remains silent, looking at the girl. There is something pure, almost sacred, in this small daily gesture.
Then, gently, she extends her hand.
— Can we pray together?
Cora smiles.
— Of course! But... don't tell anyone you prayed with me, okay? It's our secret.
Koee smiles too, enchanted.
— I promise.
Cora lowers her head, as if guarding a treasure.
— And I want you to keep one of my secrets too...
Koee leans closer, curious.
The field falls silent. The dogs and cats do too.
Everything seems to be waiting for what comes next.
Cora looks toward the old field, her fingers still covered in dirt.
— Months ago, there was an airplane here — she begins, as if telling an old secret. — I was never interested in it. I always used that old seed storage, collecting and examining every piece of this ground. I stored seeds for an entire year.
She pauses, looking toward the horizon, as if she could see again the scene no one else had witnessed.
— Two Arcadians broke in here, fleeing toward Arcadia... We're only three kilometers from the border. They saw me and panicked. They took the abandoned airplane... it looked like it still worked. But it was rusty, full of holes.
Cora takes a deep breath.
— The airplane took off. The field is large, but it was forced to turn back toward the center of Ceres. For fifteen kilometers, seeds fell through the air, until the airplane couldn't take it anymore and crashed, destroying everything.
Koee's eyes widen, unable to look away.
— And... what happened afterward? — she asks, her voice low, almost reverent.
— Weeks later, the fifteen-kilometer trail was covered in marigold flowers — Cora says, her lips curving into an almost sad smile. — They called them miracles of Mother Ceres. Beautiful... an orange trail that no one ever forgot. Silencers came to investigate, but to this day, no one really knows.
Koee is amazed. Cora's innocence, her simple act of storing seeds, had become something everyone attributed to Mother Ceres. Juara smiles, calling Cora “Fofuchilda,” the cute little flame who held a special place in her heart, reminding her of the dogs' and cats' adorable attacks.
— It's better that way — Cora says, looking into the distance. — Everything I do now is for Mother, for the food on the table... and so I can see my mother once every fifteen days. She takes care of the empty lots around Ceres.
Cora slowly gets up and gently gestures for Koee to follow.
— Let's pray.
The two kneel in the field, their hands clasped, their eyes fixed on the silhouette of the tower rising on the horizon. It seems distant, but that morning, its presence is immense, almost intimate, and the wind carries the scent of earth and the promise of something greater.
Cora’s Prayer from Volume 1:
After the Silencers cleared the field, only traces of dried blood remained on the earth.
The wind carried away the smell of death, but the emptiness remained.
Cora returned to the flower field, where the surviving animals still wandered, wary and silent.
When they saw her, they came closer.
They nestled against her.
She crouched down, took small pieces of bread from her pocket, and offered them one at a time.
It was a reddish late afternoon, like the color of her eyes.
Cora smiled sadly. A cheerful melancholy, like someone who knows she has lost... but still has someone to keep going for.
The animals felt her energy. She didn't need to speak—it was as if they were thinking together.
To honor those who were gone, Cora planted small stakes into the ground.
She made each one in the shape of an M, for Mother.
Each one bearing a funny name of one of the animals she cared for:
— Banana, Rags, Pickle, Nibbles, Chomper, Bam-Bam...
To name them was to make them eternal.
Cora knelt down. She looked toward the tower and closed her eyes.
The silence of the field was absolute, as if even the air were listening.
She began to pray.
Her voice came out trembling, like someone speaking to something real.
And it was real to her.
— Mother Ceres...
Forgive the mad dog. Someone must have hurt him...
The poor thing never even got to eat your food.
Because in Ceres, no dog, cat, or rat dies of hunger on your lands...
(Sobs.)
— Forgive Theo, too. He has a good heart... he was the only one who helped me.
(Sobs.)
— I love you so much, my Mother Ceres.
I know I have to be strong to fight by your side... to protect you...
(And now her voice falters, choking.)
— ...do you know why?
(A wet, childish, tired smile.)
— Because I can see you. I see you. How good it is to always see you...
— I am so grateful, Mother.
My little animals who are still alive... they're here with me.
She hugs two of them. One growls softly, while the other lovingly licks her hand.
— Mother Ceres... who feeds us, who educates us... and devours us.
Cora sobs. But she remains kneeling.
Firm.
Strong.
Like a root that, even while bleeding, still blooms.
#scifibooks #scifiwriter #scifireads #dystopianbooks #dystopianliterature #speculativefictionbooks #indieauthor #indiebooks #indiebook #bookstagram #booktok #bookcommunity #motherceres