In-repose in Inequality

Prologue

it all just comes crashing down at the end, things are on an uphill slope constantly, everything just seems like peaches, cream, and a good few litres of Finnish liqour. Until it just suddenly hits you in the face with bullshit. How would I know that? Well I'm glad you asked, if anyone even bothers talking to me anymore.

I used to be such a star in my school back in England, everybody loved me and I loved them all back. I just kept a smile on my face everywhere I went, all until my parents did some stupid shit which ended me a temporary deportation to Ukraine, I didn't have a lick of Ukranian knowledge in my blood, not an atom of me could speak it. Well, for a few weeks until a few kind bilingual people helped me out, those two became my friends. Brondenth and Capetonn, both also from the United Kingdom apparently, I was in their friend group for as long as I remember, until Brondeth was called out for trying to date Capetonn's eleven year old sister and being sent to jail, and Capetonn being sent back to England after a scandal with the town's mayor. Capetonn however managed to lend me a few Hryvnia to start a small food stand in city centre and hooked me up with a truck driver named Beider, a trucker from America who managed to help import some foods worldwide to my stand.

Do you know how happy I was when everybody kept talking about the delicious and savoury foods I managed to get from Beider? You should have seen the smile on my face — I was sparkling with joy. But Beider began to slow in business, he told me the bad news that the farmers were jealous of my wealth and had been preventing imports of food into the harbour. It began a domino effect, a butterfly effect — Murphy's goddamn law! My stand was burned down, my car I bought from my riches got blown up, Beider was suddenly deported from Ukraine, and then the farmers made too much food and... It happened.

"FOOD ECONOMY IN UKRAINE PLUMMETS, UKRAINE IN STOCK MARKET CRASH."

...The look of terror I had was one for the movies, I cried myself to sleep for weeks on end. Curse those heathens, jealous of my work which ended up destroying all of our lives. If my parents didn't get me deported I'd still be in England and enjoying my low-income life, enjoying my days as a carefree woman who doesn't care whatsoever about what people say or do. And it, made, me, restless.

I drunk, I sobbed, I cursed — I wailed! I wailed until my eyes could cry no longer, my tears being made anew by the constant waterfall from my eyes, blurring my vision more as the copius amounts of alcohol in my system already made me a hazy, stifled sack of manure. And as I hit my breaking point, ready to end my mediocre existence with a simple step onto the railway that cut through town, I saw it. A saving grace.

A blue and white van drove by, 'Mafroka Postal Servis' plaqued on the side of the Halbert Express T1. A Sputnik Petrov tailing closely behind it. That was it, that was my goal. To get in MPS and make a quick buck, and once I get my money I leave to England and never come back. I got off of the platform of the train station, I shred up my eulogies as I luggaged my barely sober body to the postal office. I signed my form, awaited two days, and now I finally got it. My post office job, ready to get my life back together and leave this damned country once and for all.

watch out world, Theresa Vantanna is going to get out of here!

[ ANKLŒFEI MOTEL, OUTSKIRTS OF TAMIRA DAM, 1979.]

Theresa paced back and forth as her diary laid on the footrest of her bed, deciding what clothes to wear for her first day at the job, she tried on a classic laced black dress which complimented her hair, a deep maroonish wolf cut which fell to her waist. She combed her hair back, trying to style it. But she sighed in annoyance as she tossed the comb and the dress to the side. Rummaging her closet as she kept searching for what to wear.

"I'm going to a low-income job which most likely underpays me, why would I bother with extravagant clothing? Get yourself together Theresa!"

Theresa soon slid on a comfy, loosely fitting grey sweater with The Beatles on the front of the shirt. Pairing them up with green slacks she bought at a thrift store for cheap. Theresa nodded excitedly as she put the clothes atop of her office chair, her desk a mess as it was chock-full of schoolwork she wasn't planning on finishing, the university she was at originally in Ukraine shut down due to the stock market crash. So Theresa saw no need in working on the assignments no longer, as Theresa slid her pajamas on and fumbled in her creaky motel bed — she couldn't help but wonder something...

what will it be like back in England? Will it be just as forgiving as she remembered? Or has time changed? Regardless — Theresa must keep her chin held high, and roll as much punches as she can physically can so she can see her friends, families, siblings, everyone in her town, and get her life back in check.