INKWELL

Chapter Eleven

September 17, 2081

Angela became weaker and It felt as if I was slowly being thrust into her shoes to handle most of the decision making. She had her advisers but not they didn't all know the projects that were pending or needed to be worked on. I knew everything about Inkwell and every decision Angela had made so it was obvious that they had to come to me first. At first, I just answered their questions but before long, I began to spend more time in Angela's office. It was as if I was temporarily stepping into her shoes. I had help from a few others and opposition from a lot of adults who didn't think it was wise for a teenager to make decisions for them.

Inkwell had been divided into the seven continents we had on earth, and each continent had a governor that dealt with issues from that particular continent and brought the serious issues to Inkwell round table. I had to make decisions at the round table and I was scared of making the wrong decision. It was clear a lot of the governors from the continents didn't have faith in me. Luckily, I had a few people who supported me. Caleb, Wunmi and Mrs. Abimbola, especially, stood beside me, helping me out.

It was on September 17 that we finally knew the truth behind Angela's sickness. An artist had drawn an art of what had happened on earth with the ink. There were paintings of the ink in the air, in water and even coming out from human beings. The paintings were vivid. In one part, I could see the anguish in the eyes of a child and feel her sorrow from her open mouthed cry as she watched her mother. Her mother was painted turning to an inky puddle. From her legs to her stomach had turned to ink. The rest of her body showed so much sorrow. She was reaching out to her daughter with one hand with inky tears pouring out of her eyes.

Looking at the painting made it feel so real. It felt like I was back on earth with the ink floating in the air, an inky taste in my mouth from water I had just drank. As much as I hated the memories the ink brought, I couldn't take my eyes off the paintings. It felt so alive, like it was a teleporting machine taking us back to earth.

The art work ran across the wall and ceiling of the corridor of the main house. Angela had wanted it there. Today it was unveiled to everyone in Inkwell and a few people had been invited to witness it. We couldn't have everyone in the main house so we invited the press to televise the whole event to be shown on a big screen positioned high on the wall of Inkwell, that way everyone would be able to see it.

"This is really beautiful," Caleb said from beside me as he stared at the wall in front of us.

I nodded, staring at the paintings. "Romanov really did a good job." Romanov was the artist who had done the work. He walked in front of us—those of us who were directly viewing the painting—pointing at the wall and explaining what each line and each colour meant. The art work was deeper than it looked. Each line, each brush was done purposely to create an effect and that made it more unique.

We rounded a corridor and paused when we noticed Angela Cassey standing a few feet away from us. She was leaning over, a hand over her mouth as if she was about to be sick.

My mouth turned into a grim line. She was supposed to be in bed since the doctor had ordered her to be on bed rest. "Angela..."

She raised her head so swiftly that my heart jumped. And then it froze. Ink was trailing out from her wide eyes, her mouth and her nose. I heard gasps and I was pretty sure it was not just from those around me but also from those who were looking at the TV outside the house.

"No." Angela shook her head and raised her hand as if it was a shield. People backed away even though she was still far from us. She looked like a deer caught in headlights, her eyes darting around. Taking a step back, she stumbled and then turned and fled.