There’s a commotion outside the ticket
office. The guards are holding
down a woman, pressing their heels firmly into her back. Her rain drenched hair has splayed all
around her and a streak of red runs down her cheek into a single blood soaked
tear. The guards are yelling but I
can’t hear what they’re saying.
The venom behind their words sprays drops of spit into the air and the
woman tries desperately to protect her head from their beatings. It isn’t often we see something like
this happening in the street. Most
of us abide by the rules.
The rain’s creating fast pelting claps
against the tin roof. It’s another
dull and dreary day. April’s
usually much warmer, but not this year.
I wait patiently with my roommates. We’re next in line.
I pass my ticket through the kiosk into
the hand of a pale and chubby receptionist. I look at her surprised, noticing she’s much plumper than
expected. Units are usually
slender, kept in shape so that we can work efficiently. A screen lights up, acknowledging my
ticket has been scanned.
Unit 244, Room 1740. Check
in complete.
This
little card’s our life line. It
contains everything. Our points,
our location and all of the rest of our data. Good old
Authorities, always keeping an eye on us. Yes, sir. I was taking a shit at 6 last night. Every time we enter or leave a
building, it leaves footprints on the ticket. Oh, they know exactly where I am right now, standing here,
tediously waiting for my weekly sign in whilst I watch their guards bash in the
skull of that poor woman.
I look back to the window, the glass
as tall and wide as the far end wall.
From here you can see most of the plaza, where they sell the best food
in all of the city - or so they say.
The woman is now being hauled into the
back of the guard’s dusty truck whilst another Unit chases after them
hopelessly yelling and thrashing his arms into the air. He looks helpless and desperate, his
hands reaching out in one last attempt to free her. He’s stupid for trying and we all know that. The guards batter him with their long
batons, their surfaces reflecting in the small slither of sunshine that’s
trying to peer down on Maineport through the thickness of the clouds. I gasp as one of the guard’s batons
crashes into the man’s skull, knocking him to his knees.
My roommate, Daryl, nudges me in the
side and I tear my eyes away from the scene outside. I turn towards him and smile. Push it to the back of
your mind.
“We’re done, Pearl. Come on.”
Daryl waltzes over to Medical,
following our other roommates, Cam and Sprite. Poor Sprite, waiting there nervously anticipating that tiny
little needle. Her face is washed
out and her foot is annoyingly tapping against the shiny tiled floor.
I go first. The medical assistant performs her usual assessment. Tongue colour, check. Pulse, check. Blood pressure, check.
Scratch, ouch! Blood
samples are taken, leaving yet another pin prick in my arm.
“Pass,” the assistant declares,
scanning my ticket with the update and handing it back to me.
Our accommodation overlooks most of
the community. The hallway walls are
made completely of glass like most the buildings in the city, offering a full
view of the skyscrapers and looming towers that rise tall into the clouds. The city always seems to be cast in grey,
but on rare summer days, the sunlight reflects against the skyscrapers that
glimmer under the prisms of light and it almost looks beautiful out there. Almost.
We climb five floors up, passing a few
other Units on our way. Most of us
keep to ourselves. It’s better
that way. It reduces the risk of
getting into trouble and let me tell you, you don’t want that! We made friends with a few of the Units
who live opposite us and sometimes we all hang out, careful not to be
caught.
When we reach our apartment, a perkier
than normal Harriet leans out of
her room and beckons us over with her hand.
I like Harriet. In some ways we are both alike. Harriet was put into Unit placement a
few weeks after I arrived. We
shared awkward glances at first, but over the period of a few months we had became
friends. She’s wild at heart, her
personality matching her fiery red hair.
Track was our thing back then.
We used most of our free time racing each other around the outskirts of Maineport. Sometimes we talked about running away,
leaving the dull city behind so that we could live out in the wilds. We both knew that the wilds was just a
rumour though. The only freedom we
truly felt was when we were sprinting, our feet pounding into the concrete and
the wind slapping us in our faces.
“Free as a bird,” we’d yell giggling, believing we would someday take
off from the speed and fly. If
only.
We don’t see each other much these
days. Harriet has a
boyfriend. I told her more than
once it was a bad idea.
“Oh will you relax? Nobody will find out,” she complained.
“Do you not remember what happened to
Kendra and Sam?” I’d reminded her.
“Ugh, yes. It’s their fault they got caught. Idiots!”
“See! And you’ll be caught too so end
it now,” I’d said, tapping her on the shoulder before storming off. This girl infuriated me. It was only a matter of time before she
would be taken into solitary never to be seen again. We don’t know what happens in solitary but one thing’s for
sure, nobody ever escapes.
Sprite doesn’t hang about in the
corridor. She’s still a little
wobbly at the knees after Medical.
“I’ve got some,” Harriet hollers with
a mischievous look in her eyes and I smile. I’ve missed her loads.
“Where on earth did you get it?” I ask
in disbelief.
She doesn’t share any details but
invites us to sneak in after lights out.
Daryl and Cam playfully push the other
into our room, chuckling like small children. They’re always messing about. They call it a bromance. Whatever.
I wave goodbye to Harriet and glance
up to the camera in the hallway before following the guys in.
Sometimes things work out really well
us. For instance, Harriet’s
boyfriend, Pat has been given a new work placement. He’s been offered a position as a guard and his work
schedule conveniently includes watching the cameras of the Jeffery Johnson accommodation
complex. That suits us just fine.
Ten minutes before lights out, we are
all dressed in our sleepwear and tucked under our covers. Laying there quietly I look at the
bland walls. All of the rooms in
our apartment are the same. Lifeless. No exciting colours or decorations are
allowed. The Authorities are
obsessed with preventing distractions.
Each of our bedroom doors will
automatically lock soon, but not before the Matron and her staff go room to
room to deliver our medicines. We aren’t
sick but every evening we take a sedative. I hate those brain-numbing pills.
The Matron arrives and as usual I
begrudgingly take the tiny white drug from her hand.
“Sleep tight,” she says with a
wink. Not the friendly kind. She will move on to Daryl’s room
next. Then Sprite’s and then
Cam’s. I tuck the sedative under
my pillow and wait for the all clear.
The bolts churn as the locks come into
place and the room grows very dark.
Once the Matron leaves the building, Pat will unlock the bolts of room
1740 and room 1737.
I brush out my hair. The platinum blonde strands that frame
my face glisten under the small light that seeps in through the blinds. The street lamps are flickering. I face the mirror, critically inspecting
myself at all angles. My
appearance always seems robotic to me.
My skin shimmers like porcelain and my cheekbones give my face a very
sharp angle. But my eyes, a
mixture of gold and purple flecks, are gentle. I’m always grateful for that. We aren’t supposed to hold opinions of ourselves. It doesn’t matter if you’re kind or
aggressive or if you are well behaved or a troublemaker at heart. We are all expected to act a certain
way and that makes us all equal.
All of us, just clones of one another, with the exception of our skills
and faces. But I do care how I come
across to others. I’m more
empathic than most my age. Being
heartfelt and caring is second nature to me. Manda had once told me how important it was back in her time
to be considered ‘ladylike’. To be
well mannered and friendly and a caring member of the community. She was old, one of the first of our
community to be given extended mortality but nobody lived forever. Manda died three years ago. I was fifteen and had already been in
my Unit placement for two years. I
never got to say goodbye.
My roommates are all dressed and
gathering at the main door of our apartment when I join them.
“Who’s ready to party?’ Daryl asks,
excited and nervous all at once. He
rubs his hands down the side of his black shiny pants.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Sprite
groans through gritted teeth. She
doesn’t like Daryl much. His
childish debonair bothers her.
“Sooner or later we’ll get caught and I’ll laugh when they haul your ass
off.”
“No need to be such a bitch,’ Cam spits
back at her and from behind them all I roll my eyes. Cam’s a pretty boy.
His dark hair and blue eyes set off his perfectly chiselled face and he
has the most charming smile. His
tact for words is not so charming though.
Sprite looks hurt by Cam’s sudden outburst.
“Oh, sorry. Did I hurt lover boy’s feelings?” Sprite asks, sarcasm
dripping from her words. Cam’s
eyebrows tense and I can feel another three way argument between them is about
to break loose.
“Guys, stop it!” I insist, jabbing Cam
in the side and putting a finger up to my mouth.
“Ouch!” He yelps.
“Ssh.”
I hear footsteps off in the distance
but can’t be sure where they are coming from.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper. Sprite, Cam and Daryl hold their breath,
ears pressed firmly to the door. A
giggle finally breaks the silence.
It’s Sara and we all sigh in relief. We don’t see much of her. She works outside of the city as part of the house staff for
an Authority. I open the door quietly,
poking my head outside to check all is clear. It is. Each of
us, like thieves in the night, tiptoe across the hall into room 1737.
We all tumble into the apartment and Sara
slams the door shut behind us.
“You’ll get us caught slamming the door
like that,” Sprite complains. Sara
shrugs and leaps over the sofa, falling onto several cushions on the
floor.
They have the same set-up as us. A kitchen and lounge that leads onto a
small hallway that leads to four bedrooms. The furniture is ragged and their walls are as depressing
and grey as ours.
My eyes scan the room, stopping on Tee
who’s sitting on the sofa, his clothes looking tight over his muscular build. His hair is the same platinum colour as
mine, shining white under the light that came from the street lamps outside and
his eyes are dark and moody. He doesn’t
glance up as we all spill into the room, but Harriet spots us and wails.
“Let’s start this party!” Harriet’s smile is brilliant, her teeth
glowing like tiny white pearls. She
moves the fallen strands of red hair from her eyes, tucking them behind her ears.
“Ok, so we have brandy, cider and some
whiskey. Pat left it all under my
bed with this,” she swoons at the mention of Pat’s name and shoves a crumpled
note into my hand.
Enjoy
your time with your friends. Love always, P.
I roll my eyes. Maybe I am jealous. A part of me is fascinated though,
wanting to know every detail. We aren’t allowed to have relationships. It distracts us from work and has in
the past made partnering far too difficult. People don’t want to leave their boyfriends or girlfriends. Authorities grew tired of the familiar
scenes that would unfold as Units were torn from the hands of their loved ones
and shoved into the hands of partnership with Authorities they barely knew and could
never love.
Harriet groans and snatches the note
from my hand.
“Party-pooper,” she hisses.
Sprite knocks back a shot of whiskey
which is way out of character for her.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, sliding up
beside her. She fills her glass
and knocks back another. I follow
her gaze in the direction of Cam and Sara talking on the other side of the
room. Not you too? I think to myself.
“Nothing,” she snaps, slamming her
glass onto the counter.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” I
whisper, nudging her and pointing towards Cam. My eyes fall on Tee again. He sips at his drink and taps his foot impatiently against
the floor. He’s usually the life
of the party, but clearly something is on his mind tonight. He catches me looking his way and rolls
his eyes. I’ve always quietly
admired him from afar, enjoying the way his lips turn at the corners when he speaks
and the way his eyes glow when he’s laughing. I like the way his body moves with ease, his muscles always
clearly visible under the tight fitting clothing he wears. I don’t understand these feelings but I’m
certain I don’t want to explore them further. I’m not as stupid as the others. I watched them snatch Kendra from the Plaza kicking and
screaming. No, thank you!
I perch on the sofa beside Tee. Harriet sits opposite us and is already pouring
me a glass of brandy. I wrinkle my
nose as I bring the strong smelling liquor to my mouth. I’m not a fan of spirits. They make me sick and I don’t like how
they burn my throat on the way down.
Nasty, yukky stuff! Tee shifts in his seat next to me and
for a moment his leg brushes against mine. He leaps off of the sofa and slams his glass on the coffee
table.
“I’m going to bed,” he mumbles as he
slips away down the narrow hallway to his room. I sigh in relief that he’s gone, freeing the room of the
tension he had managed to conjure all by his moody self. I fill my glass with more brandy, egged
on by Harriet who’s already swaying in her seat.
“What was his problem?” I mutter, more
to myself.
“No idea. He was fine before you got here,” Harriet replies with a
wink. I let out a long sigh.
“Gee, thanks for the blame.”
“You’re welcome,” she says
with a laugh. I find myself
laughing with her. The brandy is
kicking in and I suddenly feel much lighter.
