Stories

Chimandor

The sirens wail and everything goes black. There is chaos and no one is still sleeping. There are noises sounding, and the smell of smoke is present. Breaking glass, shrieks, and yet still darkness. Then all at once: silence.

"Routine check, thank you for your honorable participation. Block 40783 is now open. Please proceed around area checkpoint 3 and to the left of Block 49283. Thank you."

My Block name has been called. They sent the dogs after me, and something went wrong. I don't know how I'm still living, but something has to be done about it.

There is a moment after the monotone, static-filled voice of the temogram. It is filled with sorrow and regret. We have lost another group today, and this is the only time we are allowed to mourn. Before it feels like an appropriate time to end our grief, the door to my cube opens and the bell rings. I lift myself out of bed, careful not to bump the call button, and place myself in front of the opaque wall panel. I get a scan, and take the clothes and medical check-up that it gives me. A quick change and a retinal scan later, I am in the food quarters, receiving the daily morning regimen. Pressing the tablet into my mouth and drinking the cloudy yellow liquid, I head out the door. The day has come, and I must be ready for it. Sir Tempest wants me dead, and I will know why. At the end of the cement walk to the tube, is the check-up drop. The paper goes in, and the receipt comes out. I step into the tube slot with my receipt in the glossy black compartment on the inside wall of the round, metallic space. The walls begin to rotate and the cylinder is shot into the ground towards Headquarters. Today should be promising, because not only is Sir Tempest going to be there, but we will finally be given the tasks we've been waiting for.

Normal citizens of Chimandor all stay inside their homes, typing up work for the messengers, and then the messengers take the work to Headquarters where people like me do the work, called Officials. We hand out the morning/noon/evening food regimens, sort clothing, make connections to Sir Tempest, and are always one step ahead of every other Tropic (person) in Chimandor. But here's where I come in. Someone has to make sure everything is going according to plan, which means checking The Plan twice a day, and counting Small Tropics (babies), naming the Small Tropics, then sorting where they need to go. Also on the list is writing the speeches, talking with Sir Tempest, and making sure surveillance is doing their jobs. Now, on occasion I monitor surveillance on End-Days, when the elderly are sent out of Chimandor into Beyond. No one ever makes it back from Beyond. Perhaps it's because it is dangerous, and you die immediately, but I like to think that it's because there is something better out there, and only certain members of the community get to experience it.

When the tube comes to a halt, the doors open, and I push out into the white, monotone offices of the Officials. The sounds of keys typing and low chatter come to an abrupt stop as everyone is staring at me. Workers stand still, and I walk out, sensing some kind of unease behind the stares. I approach Sir Tempest's office, knock three times, and open the door, the entrance I was given as a Small Tropic. My gaze meets his, and he goes white. His eyes widen and mouth shoots open.

"M-M-Miss Walt-t-ters, wh-h-hat are you doing here? The d-d-dogs were after you!"

His normal composure is fraught with anxiety. There is a death note on his desk with my face on it. He had placed his coffee cup on it like the idea that I was dead had no meaning or difference to his life. Because he was the one who sent the hounds. He had taken another life instead of mine, and now I was standing in his office, something he didn't want me to do ever again.

"Yes, they did. But look who's not dead."