The two sisters, the older Irene and her younger sister Viv, slid into the kitchen’s dining nook. Viv’s souffle forgivingly fell halfway. She could stay.
“Your home seems bare, except for the kitchen. There’s a desk, a wall of books and a couch. There’s even a Persian rug under this table, I thought they were illegal.”
All Irene needed to do was let Viv talk and she’d reveal a few things. She reasoned Viv’d been out of the metropolis for, at the least, seven years.
“Electricity was rationed some time ago, but its citizens refused a microwave life. So now the kitchen is the only room that’s heated. The beds, couches, etcetera, heat up when they sense pressure. Where have you been all these years?”
“On the moon- Viv responded through a mouthful of maple sweet potatoes -ridding it of lunar moles.”
Irene reached across the table and lifted her sister’s long bangs. “How did you get that huge scar?” Viv lifted her head in mid chew and looked pensively at her sister: “You don’t remember, do you?”