It had begun, the low hum that grew ever so slightly into a high pitched anguish that would finally wake me up on the dot at 7:30, the longer I tried to hold on the louder the high pitch reverberated in my brain, the pain creeping, burrowing, expanding on to the nerves in my gums. I awoke, grabbing my jaw feeling a slight tingle, the pain had evaporated as soon as I had opened my eyes. Turning quickly to glance at my arm, where my Moving Ink watch was imbedded showing the disappointingly familiar time of 7:30 in a fluid like dark blue color.
I sighed staring at the simulation of a bright sky blessed with clouds almost transparent white, a bird of some kind long ago extinct fluttered past, singing a melancholy tune long ago lost to the red sand.
’4 minutes until dematerialization of bed, time to get up Sam’
The familiar smoothing voice spoke to me, the motherly voice that had been echoing back to me since i could remember.
Her voice created by carefully reading the strands of my DNA, another piece of equipment unbeknownst planted in my brain at birth. I stared at my sleeping pattern on the bed, a hologram presented to me my movements during the night in the span of a minute, a grade of 89 out of a 100 shimmered back. The vitamin supplements I had never begun taking seemed to have had a positive effect on my sleep, okay.
’ Sam aren’t you glad you decided to take the Ximaphet tablets’ the tablets I did not take.
I nodded in an agreement. Staring at the long black screen that hung on the wall adjacent to the bed.
’ Sam what is wrong, you seem to be under duress, I’m not liking these Serotonin levels’
’ Nothing, don’t worry, it’s just that damn screen’
’ Sam the screen is here for your own merit, that you have the chance of saying goodbye to your loved ones before they are processed’
’ But, how do they know, when somebody… is to become one within the dirt’
’ Sam this is in the handbook Pg 20 Paragraph 2..’
’ I know! but how can they read our deaths from a strand of DNA, does that mean everything that happens is already pre-ordained’
( stop asking questions!, don’t lose it now Sam, at least try to act cordial)
’ Sam… Calm Down, maybe you should pop a nerve inhibitor ’
’ Okay sorry I must have woken on the wrong side of the bed, do beds even have sides
A pack of smokes started to print in the whitish box in front of me that had similar features to something called a microwave in the 21st century.
The Red sand was flailing wildly outside, scratching the thick outside of the metal dome like ravenous rats running in metallic pipes, the dome felt as if it shook from time to time but as Laurene had put the sound of the woman in my ear, mother some called her it was a case of vertigo caused by continuously witnessing the movement of the red storm clouds smashing, aggressively whipping, punishing the dome, maybe finally settling down when nothing was left.
Three 2 second long beeps followed by
’ We are guilty, We brought this on ourselves, We deserve this, We must prevail, We are the future’
The radio blared monotone the morning broadcast that we mimicked with one hand clutching tightly on the shirt at the spot where the heart lay leaving an indentation on the flannel.
Motes of red sand floated down nebulous on my hand, dispersing finally by the suction of the ventilation systems where immense rotating fans coated with rust located on each side of the room, making a continuos whoosh sound, whoosh, whoosh. A slight rancid smell whiffed past my nose and then vanished as quickly as it came. The room was a metallic box no more than 20 square meters, rustic, on the walls a few posters hung slightly discolored by the unrelenting sun, an insta-cooker where next to it lay my favorite coffee mug with some old pinup girl from before with a phrase below that said Blondes have more fun.
’ Lauren’ she chose not to answer, which meant I had to call her.
’ Yes Sam’ Lauren answered.
’ I think I saw…’
(Don’t talk about it, people who speak about the sand disappear to the Facility, you don’t want to go there, or do you, it was but a trick of the mind’)
(maybe I belong there)
’ Nothing Lauren, a minute detail better left discussed’ I always spoke formal when I was nervous,
I wonder if Lauren picked up on my tick.
I lit a cigarette with a silver plated zippo lighter worn down by the granular movement of time, the smoke hovered above and danced gracefully towards the suction tubes.
I pushed my hand into the door to ID myself, it was swallowed by a pungent-like substance and moments later it swooshed open, each door was specifically constructed for the rifts in your hand, maximum security, even men with dark dapper suits equipped with the highest clearance couldn’t enter, however other matters inside the rooms could
be manipulated forcing a person to open the door. In case of Matthew Ravater, who was a construction worker at the lower levels, in the 2A Expanding Project, was suffering from a mental break down of sort, believing that the red sand had dissolved under his skin and begun painfully creeping towards his brain, he had said i quote
”it was as if sleets of sand paper had gotten under the epidermis”.
I hope you enjoyed the first part, i’ll be updating bi-weekly, sometimes more often. Let me know what you thought and thank you so much for reading.