Transparency

Chapter 1

My neck still hurt when the sky was as heavy and dark as it was today. I knew that if I tucked myself safely inside and draped something warm over it the ache would lessen, but I settled for resting a heavy hand over the skin, loathe to return to the nearly-empty glass box that I'd been living in for the past month—especially when there was a spectacle just a few blocks away to behold.

The house on the hill wasn't like the others. It was a relic from a time so far gone that nobody really knew how it had lasted as long as it had. The walls were made of peeling white laminate, textured like the gills of a fish, and the roof was sloped and sagging. But, most notably, the door was made of wood. There were little glass windows set into the peeling walls, but these were covered, a reminder of a time when people were open about being closed off.

I loved the house. It wasn't transparent like the ones surrounding it, and it wasn't a squat little box. It was private and dark and ancient. Part of me had always fantasized about moving into it, about having the privacy to pull fabric over glass and be properly alone. But, it seemed somebody else had beaten me to it.

Moving droids bustled up and down the rickety wooden steps, disappearing inside with wood furniture and shining pods marked with red symbols that I didn't recognize. It was the talk of the town. Not many people would be audacious enough to move into the opaque house, and everybody was abuzz with theories about what kind of person might be moving in.

Lemma had urged me to watch the moving process, thinking that surely what kind of person it was could be derived from their belongings, but if there was some sort of clue to the new resident's identity I was missing it. Other than the strange markings on the pods and the antique furniture there was only the familiar little droids. Lemma would have likely been much better at this job, but she'd explained with a roll of her eyes that she had work—everyone had work. Except for me.

So here I was, on a frigid April 6th, watching droids skitter up and down steps, hoping that it wasn't going to rain, and hoping that it would so that I would have an excuse to just leave. As luck would have it, it only took 1 hour for the first freezing water to touch my cheeks. I'd long ago accepted that I wasn't going to magically learn anything here, and the pain in my neck was moving from an ache to a shot when I finally reached for my Protector and activated the rain shield.

The shimmering umbrella opened around me, cutting off the chilly wind and rippling against the rain that was starting to fall more quickly now. I watched the droids a second longer, their outlines distorted by the shield and the rain, caught up in the one-mindedness of their wiring. Then I remembered that soon they would climb back onto the truck they were almost done unloading and deactivate, and I turned away.

Deactivation made me uncomfortable; it looked far too much like death.

The streets were completely empty. This was normal for this time on a work day, but it still grated on me. I was desperate for something to distract me from everything, but here I was, accompanied only by the sullen scuff of my shoes against the pavement and the sound of the rain falling. I reached up to pull at the cuff around my neck, wishing I could just tear it off, and knowing that I wouldn't.

My little glass box was smaller than the ones surrounding it. Families lived on either side of me, their living rooms large and perpetually cluttered with toys. But even with the size and the transparency of my lonely little home, it was still a relief to press my wrist into the lock and hear the door click open.

Bee looked up from his perch on the arm of the couch, blinking slowly. His tail flicked behind him for a moment, then, determining that I was old news, he put his head back on his paws to sleep.