In Memory Of Us

Samuel Ford

February 13th- Samuel Ford

Tomorrow is brooding day for all of the 50 chosen 21 year olds in Gumpsfarm. They’ll be given a blue or pink pill, and assigned a pod with their compatibility match and left to complete their task. In three years’ time that will be me and some random girl within our town with no fight and no mind. She won’t love me with love burning hot and bright like Retra. She won’t make me tremble when she says my name. She’ll never be Retra. The simple though of her lying in bed with anyone other than me makes me want to break down. It’s foolish of us anyway to think that for even a second the society would let something so beautiful, so natural, and so pure survive in a manufactured town. I don’t like to think of my life without Retra. Shit I’m trying not to think at all. In our own way we all are.

The Dolton is positioned in the centre of town you can’t get beyond the gate without the correct iris. The scanner detects your age, blood type and position within the Dolton. Most of us who use this gate are either manual workers or cleaners “‘beep’ Samuel Ford. Cleaner to floor four.” The Dolton is a greyish cement dome with moss seeping through the cracks in the building. Three chimneys line the diameter and a big black (once glossed) double door opens up to white tiled walls and concrete floors. At the far back of the main room is a yellow door with STAIRS written in bold green writing. Once you open the door a spiral of stairs lace up the building with broken bits of handrail following at sections. Behind the door is a supply closet. I put on the dirty yellow overalls take out a mop and bucket and climb the 8 flights of 10 stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. Once I get there Ayja and Phaedra are both putting two sugar cubes into a cup of tea they aren’t going to have any time to drink. I head straight into the toilets and complete each task as it beeps up on my I-card and go home at 7.30pm. I speak to no-one and make no friends. We all have a job to do and pointless conversation isn’t possible for most of these people. The over altered who work throughout the night non-stop for three days and collapse out cold for two before continuing again. They don’t get paid. Their jobs are a compulsion, beneficial to the society in order to gain free cheap labour. They don’t eat, they barely sleep, they don’t talk and no one is talking for them so why not I guess.

I walk the long way home through the fields each day knowing that once I get there at 7.40 a slice of warmed walnut cake from Retra or Retra herself would be waiting for me. She lay there looking at the frosted sky humming. I took about two steps towards her once I realised what she was doing with her eyes still pinned to the sky she spoke, “I don’t remember the song Sam. I can’t remember how it go’s” she’s sitting up now staring at me slightly annoyed that she let herself forget but trusting that I’ll always be there to help her remember. I slip behind her dropping my bags on the cold grass and she crosses her legs and lays her head on my chest like she always does when I sing to her. She says she can feel me singing. The vibrations bring the song to life. I rock her as I let go of the song within my heart

Beautiful ghost in the midnight snow,

Where you will go I’ll follow,

Trying to run from what you know

What made your life so hollow?

I can’t help, I can’t reach you, you can’t love so let me teach you

I can’t help, I can’t reach you, you can’t love so let me teach you.

She joins in on the repetition of the chorus and burst out crying. Fisting my shirt as I continue the endless song of the hollow ghost in the snow. After five minutes of tears and humming she looks up at me and plants the roses of all kisses on my mouth. Soft, and a little salty from her tears, but beautiful because it was her lips who put it there.