New Beginnings

I did not recognise the word and was unable to recall any similar to it. It glared down from its perch above me and was almost arrogant in its importance. I had never seen a word carved as big and felt no slither of warmth towards it. Its huge frame protruded from the stubborn brick wall it clung to, painted a hollow grey to emphasize the iridescent crimson that grew darker with each letter.

I traced the gigantic casts with my eye and uttered them under my breath, in order to gradually build the entire word. “I, I’m, Imm.” Immediately frustrated, I instead decided to internally question the lack of a translation.

“Immigration,” exclaimed the Boy behind me.

“Immigration!” I said to myself.

The Man I had been following turned and raised an eye brow. Unaware of what he intended to communicate, I hesitated. “Immigration,” I repeated with the hint of a chuckle. He bowed his head slightly and revolved forwards again; conveying the illusion of a shared understanding of the word. I considered tapping him on the shoulder to ask for some insight, but instead thought ill of it.

Further ahead, crossroads began funnelling the sizeable crowd into distinct single file lines. The whole process was similar to forcing pasta through a spaghetti strainer and entirely directed by the fluctuations of indicators and their many camera eyes. The exhausted crowd followed their judgement blindly; they were just a kink in the road towards the doorways at the end of each line.  

I had been with the Man and the Boy’s family for some time now and did not wish to lose them up ahead. I glanced at the Boy and his family behind me and then up at the crossroads ahead and I knew that I would be torn from them. My focus then turned to the Man in front of me. Our appearance’s matched as the lines did and the urge to tap him on the shoulder grew stronger.

I tapped his shoulder gently and he turned to raise his eyebrow.

“Hello,” I said quickly.

“Good morning.”

“Did you come by yourself?” I continued.

“Yes.”

“Where’s your family then?”

“Dead. Murdered.”

We reached the junctions and the Boy and his family disappeared to a faraway line. The Man was steered towards a line almost directly ahead and I soon followed. The lines trudged through the narrow constructions of short iron fences, laced with immense screens displaying endless green, vast energetic city streets and immaculate neighbourhoods. Occasionally flavoured with rhythmic slogans.

The stench of the crowds fatigue and relentless travel was weaker once past the junction and seasoned with a new scent of disinfectant, that wafted over from the building. It seemed to be infused into the gigantic red letters, bleeding through aboard their eerie glow.

“What do you do?” I asked the Man.

“The last few months I haven’t been able to do a lot, but before that I was a structural engineer.”

The doors grew uncomfortably close and my fingers turned numb.

“Are you alright?” inquired the Man.

“My hands feel frozen.”

“Rub them together; use the friction to warm them up.”

I drew my hands across each other quickly and the sensation shifted slightly, but still remained uncomfortable. Before I could thank him, the Man disappeared through the doorway and I hesitated again. A body collided with me, producing a loud “thud” as I got shoved through the door. The space beyond was poorly light and the hard interlocking surface of the ground was jagged and rough against my palms, which took the majority of the impact from my fall. The stink of motor oil rocketed from the gaps that methodically opened in the belt of the floor, yet I could only taste the scent of sanitizer that hung in the air.