The Tides That Bind Us [AfroFuturism]

Fire

The Atabey Entertainment Complex stood on Denden's east platform, a beast of a building with a movie theatre, Virtua stadium, pocking pitch and bowling alley, named after the supreme Taino goddess according to Jodi.

Zaharah worried the edges of her pockets with her thumbs. The pocking pitch was one of the few places in Denden she actively avoided. When they had their family movie nights at the end of each month, she averted her eyes as they walked by it – the reminder of her life before Denden, the life she wanted to forget.

Yet, even though the thought of pocking put a bitter taste on her tongue, she missed it. The feel of the pocking ball in her hand, the way it gave just a little and pushed back when she squeezed it. The earthy smell of the grass pitch and the salty smell of the sand pitch. She missed sizing up her opponents, levelling her eyes with theirs as her bare feet dug into the ground. The little thrill racing up her spine—

She brushed the thoughts from her head. Denden was her life now. Finish art school, move her and Jade to the mainland—and Markus too if he wanted to come along—that was the plan.

They made their way through the complex's front garden, down pathways fringed with cocoplum hedges, and past benches hewn from pine. The HID lights overhead were the size of pins, a simulation of a starry night sky, and moths danced around the street lamps. A crisp coolness clung to the air as pleasant and refreshing as a cool drink of water after an afternnon in the sun.

At the centre of the garden, a man sat on a stone bench encircling a lignum vitae, rolling the stem of a red hibiscus between his fingers. People drifted by him, stared, exchanged whispers, yet he focused on the flower as though it was the centre of his world.

Zaharah drew her brows together and squinted at him. "Elliot?" Gone was his shoulder length black hair. He'd shaved it on one side and lightened it to a cinnamon brown, and instead of his dark blue suit, he wore jeans and a DJ Pharahdox T-shirt.

"Zaharah," he said, appraising her outfit. "Plaid's a bold choice. A bit outdated, but I think it suits you."

Again with the weird compliments. Anyone else may have knocked him upside the head, but, with the Director's request of patience in mind, Zaharah forced a smile. "I don't think you've met my family. This is Jade, my sister and Demarkus, our caretaker."

"And who's this?" He pointed to Skorpi who sat perched on Zaharah's shoulder.

"Our mechpet. Skorpi."

Jade signed something to Elliot, and he knitted his brows, a frown pinching his lips even thinner than they already were.

"I'm sorry. Sign language wasn't in my default programming." His cheeks turned a little red.

"She asked if you like DJ Pharahdox too." Markus said. "She's a huge fan. Never shuts up about it. Always begging me to take her to the Virtua concerts."

"Oh, yeah. I'm a recent convert. The director introduced me to her music." He turned around as cheers erupted from the pitch. "We should head in. The rush is starting."

A crowd of bodies choked the main foyer of the complex. People stood and sat around the fountain at the centre, chatting and munching on salty or sugary snacks. The glow bands and light up hair accessories turned the otherwise dim room into a psuedo rave.

Elliot led them through the crowd to a hall clouded with the scent of popcorn and heart disease on a stick, but instead of following it past the concession and into the stands, they took the steps up to the next level. Elliot guided them past a unisex bathroom and through a set of double doors to the skybox. On one side a buffet and a bar stretched the length of the room, on the other, theatre style seats lined the glass wall overlooking the parade.