as painful as it probably should be, but the remnants of what was left behind from my past life are still imbedded in my mind.
One day, just after I’ve finished eating the customary beans on toast, I hear screams as I sometimes do. It’s just become customary, like back in my luxury apartment when I would lie in bed and hear the traffic outside. A girl runs past my cell. I catch a fleeting glimpse of her. Young and wailing loudly, tears running down her bloody, pale face. Her leg is injured and she hurries with a limp. It looks like she’s trying to escape, the panic on her face and the pain in her eyes. Her arm flails back and forth as she pounds the cement ground with her bare feet. Her... arm? I realise the source of all the blood. She’s wearing the same plain nightdress as me, dirty and one side stained entirely crimson.
Then they are after her. I see them run past and then I hear them catch up to her. She starts to scream but it’s cut short with a dull thud. They carry her limp body back past my cell, murmuring to each other and shaking their heads. My heart is pounding. Why did they cut her arm off? Whatever happens down the corridor must be terrifying, otherwise why would she risk her life trying to escape? When I’m sure they have gone out of earshot I call for Obby.
“We need to get out of here before it’s our turn down that corridor.” I feel nothing but panic and despair.
“I know. How, though?” The fact he doesn’t scoff my idea or think I’m stupid makes me warm to him even more. He’s my only friend and together we may be able to escape. I tell him my plan, one I’ve been formulating since my first day here but I’ve never had the guts to actually say out loud. It’s far too risky. But if that girls willing to risk her life to get away from whatever’s down the hall, I am too.
9
I hate my life. I have two options. Either I can kill myself, by walking into the rich sector and committing an obvious crime so the guards shoot me, or I can try and get my old life back. To do that, I would need a good story and I’d need to plan very carefully. My ex-boss Lawrence said I needed to get a legal story and work harder. I’ve still got my bugging equipment; it’s about the only thing I can’t sell in the lower sector. It has no use to anyone here. I grab it, and use a fork to brush my hair before wetting it and slicking it back from my face, the most fashionable hairstyle in the rich sector. I scrub at my clothes but they don’t get any cleaner, so I rub in coal dust until they’re completely black and look cleaner than ever. After washing my face until it gleams, I apply some more coal dust to my eyelids and lips. Gazing at my reflection in the window I could pass easily for a person from the rich sector. Grabbing my bugging equipment, I head to the gates that separate us from them.
“Name?” A security guard asks, holding an electronic pad of approved names.
“Lydia Selmead.” I declare somewhat obnoxiously, almost feeling like my old self. My family name, Selmead, still holds some respect as my father was a high up businessman. After my mother died and he remarried someone younger than me, I cut all ties. When I was sent to the poor sector he must have known but he did nothing to help. I could have asked for help, I suppose, but my pride meant too much to me. It was all I had left.
“Selmead... There you are. Okay, come in.” The guard opens the gates and I stride in, heading towards an office block I know my friend Clark works in. As I walk through the desks, I pick up a random GoTo and pop it in my ear. Hopefully he doesn’t know I’ve been moved. I find him at his desk, speaking furiously into his GoTo and watching as it translates onto the electronic pad in front of him.
“Clark.” I murmur huskily, keeping my eyelids half shut and placing a hand on my bony hip.
“Is that you, Lydia? You look... wonderful!” He celebrates my skinny frame caused by malnutrition. I know he means it. The skinnier the better as far as the rich are concerned.
“Clarky, babe, I want you to do something for me.” I saunter over to his desk, flicking my hips out with each step. Bending over and leaning towards him, I give a pouty smile. “I want you to take me for drinks.”
“I- urm- well, yes! Of course I will. Anything for an old friend.” He winks. I look him up and down slowly with a half-smile.
“See you at Glimmer at nine.” I wave a hand and turn to leave.
“Glimmer’s been closed for weeks.” He says suspiciously. I can’t let him know I’ve been moved from the rich sector for so long. He’s a busy man so it’s entirely plausible he might not have seen me for a few years. But it’s not very likely a socialite news reporter wouldn’t know her favourite club had shut down.
“I know.” I wink at him. I strut out of the room like if it’s all part of my cunning plan to seduce him. It’s actually worked out better than I expected, I didn’t want to meet up with him anyway. I’ve planted my bug on his desk, that’s what I saw him for. Clark always hosts the most important meetings, and I don’t know what his position in the government is at the minute but he used to be incredibly close with the Prime Minister. Walking out of the office block I tune my GoTo into the bugging device and wait for anything interesting. I break into a shop’s storage room and wait there. Two days pass before he holds a meeting, and I’m constantly in fear of being found and shot before I can get my chance to get my old life back. I can’t go back to the poor section, not without Thomas there. Not with so many memories of our baby and the life we could have had together. I set the GoTo to record.
“-the vessel snatchers. That’s what we need to discuss.” It’s a male voice I vaguely recognise that starts the meeting. I’ve befriended plenty of politicians on my way to fulfilling my dream of being a successful reporter like my mum. It has been a while though.
“I know, Rod. The problem’s getting much worse in the poor sectors and we’re losing money because of it. We need to sort this out and now. We pay for the security around here so we aren’t affected by them but profits from that side of things are declining and we haven’t got enough in the budget to keep so many security guards stationed all of the time.” Clark sighs with frustration. The government had something to do with these abductors? Worse, they were gaining profit from it? My stomach flares in anger that my Thomas has been used as a way for the corrupt government to pay for their “team building” nights out drinking.
“Just telling me the problem won’t solve it. These lower vessel snatchers need to be shut down; they’ve started a black market in what was ultimately our trade. Now, how are we going to do this?” Rod’s voice has gotten harsher. If a black market in abduction has erupted then there’s no way to control it. My mind thinks of my maids, cleaners and cooks at home. Is that really what the vessel snatchers do? Steal innocent people from the poor sectors and sell them on to rich people as slaves for the rest of their lives?
“I don’t know. These vessel snatchers are vicious. They don’t just sell slaves, Rod. They do much worse, and economically for us this-” Clark’s serious voice cuts out and the GoTo begins speaking into my ear in a monotone, mechanical voice.
“Stolen GoTo detected. Shut down imminent.” The Goto emits a screeching noise and switches itself off.
I growl and rip it out my ear, throwing it across the room. The GoTos have trackers in them and I know guards will be looking for me soon. I don’t have much time before they’ll be on to me. Wiping the tears from my face I turn to leave. Seeing a box of fresh, varied vegetables, I think of how before Thomas I ate nothing but cabbage soup. With our combined wages we were able to buy different types of food, but that’s changed since the so-called vessel snatchers took him away. Gritting my jaw, I have to decide what to do. For Thomas.
10
We let three days pass, hoping neither of us is chosen before that, to give them time to settle down with security.
“Are you ready?” I whisper to Obby. I know he will be. He’s always so positive. Every time I get a new memory I always tell him about it, but he still can’t recall anything. It’s strange to know things but not to know how.
“Of course. Let’s count down.” Obby’s voice
shakes. I know how he feels. We’re either going to die like that poor girl or escape to freedom. I’m glad that if I do escape, I’ll be able to be with Obby. I’ll be able to find out what he looks like, and what I look like. None of my memories feature mirrors, and there are no reflective surfaces in my cell. I try to gaze at myself in the glass of water we get but no details are clear at all.
“Three... Two...” unable to say the final word, I let Obby.
“One.” He breathes.
I have a split second of panic where I don’t think he’ll go through with it, but then I hear his shouts and I join in too, closing my eyes and fitting on the ground, screaming as loud as possible and kicking the bars and slamming onto the bed and punching the toilet. They come at once, unlocking the door and ripping me out of my cell. I continue thrashing around and they pick me up and carry me out. My heart is pounding, this plan is so dangerous. I don’t want to look for Obby in case they realise I’m feigning insanity, but I hear his shouts more clearly in the corridor so he must be fine too.
Down the corridor. It’s somewhere I’ve come to dread, but I’ve set myself up to actually be taken down there. Why? Why couldn’t I have just stayed in my cell? Who knows if I would have ever
Vessels of Existence Page 3
