Lauren stopped her bike and looked out over Ruin Bay.
She had delivered papers along this route every day for the past two years, and she had looked at the bay a lot early on. Over time, it became mundane and she stopped caring so much. She wasn't sure why she paused now. Maybe it was because it was her fourteenth birthday, or maybe the winter's blooming flowers had caught her eye the right way. She breathed in a warm January breeze, and she put down her kickstand to steady herself.
The yellow sunlight reflected off the needlepoint of a massive skyscraper. The tip of the needle protruded about seven meters out of the water, and the building vanished deep beneath its darkened surface. When she was a child, Lauren would challenge Michael, the kid next door, to see how many floors deep they could see. Now Michael was apprenticed at the town hall to make sure neither of the computers operated the machines for more than their allotted twelve hours per week. Atlanta's old town hall was down in the bay somewhere, and she had heard that it used to have more than a hundred computing machines running around the clock to make the city run. When she had asked how they managed to use that much electricity without burning the city up, she hadn't gotten an answer.
Michael could have been down there somewhere, working on the computing machines. Lauren could have been delivering papers along the ancient asphalt streets. They would have needed at least five of her to deliver papers to everyone down there. Maybe more. She looked through one of the windows towards the top of the skyscraper; a metal chair and desk floated listlessly, abandoned and without purpose. Every one of those rooms in every one of those massive buildings must have felt the same. So warm and loved, then just so...empty.
She dragged her bike away from the edge of the cliff and put up the kickstand. Taking the handlebars in her shaky grip, she pushed off towards the last few stops on her route.