Breakeven

Chapter 4 - The Project

My bedroom door is locked and my ragged curtains are drawn open, letting in the little bit of sunlight that's left before the cold air settles in the city for the night. Faint music is playing from my Dirties-era radio that I repaired a few years ago. Even though the music from that era when the radio was created is playing, I don't recognize any of the songs. The tablets I checked out at the library are lying on the stained carpet surrounding me where I sit crisscross in the center of my bedroom with a baby blanket atop my lap. Stray strands of red hair fall around my face and I pull them back with a recycled plastic bobby pin, preparing myself for my project I've waited to start for years. Although my aunt has never known what I've been preparing myself for these past few years, I am ready to begin with the most secrecy I will have had to keep from her all the years of my life.

With a deep breath, I pick up one of the tablets. It's turned off and I can see my reflection on the glass. For the first time in months I see what I really look like. Freckles cover my face, heavy around the bottom of my eyes, and spreading out more around the cheeks. My eyelashes are long, the same color as my hair, but thicker and more defined. The pale skin around my forehead is lightly dirty from not showering since yesterday; that'll have to change. And my emerald-colored eyes that sparkle in the reflection of the shatterproof glass. I'm beautiful, yet imperfect in every way. But doesn't everybody criticize themselves more than they should? I always have. I wonder if my twin sister ever felt the same way . . . or if she even looked like me.

I turn on the tablet, letting it do its "wake up" process. Patiently, I sit with the radio music playing while it takes a couple minutes for the tablet to load the whole pdf formatted document that I checked out.

Once it's fully loaded, I scroll down from the cover page, which says Modernistic Technologies of the 24th Century & Moving Forward in a large font in the center of the forest green colored virtual cover. As I continue to scroll down the document, I find the table of contents page, just like any other Dirties novel was formatted, except I'm able to directly tap which section I'm searching for. Skimming down the list, I find the one I'm looking for. The seventh chapter. It's titled Futuristic Spyware and How to Create Them.

For the last three years, I've been secretly developing a type of eye contact technology that would allow contacts that are used for people's prescriptions to advance and would enhance the livelihood of everyone in Valor, along with other cities on this planet. Technological contacts would allow for individuals to do such things as record conversations, take pictures from the blink of an eye without the need to bring along a cellphone, and eventually, when I could advance my prototypes, I would allow the eye contacts to become the new cellphone – compact, affordable, efficient, good for the environment. But doing this sort of work involves code, time, knowledge, experience, and the necessary technology; none of which I have in my possession. To do this, I've been searching for the creators of original top-of-the-line spyware throughout Valor and even researching the legends that once walked the face of DirtyVille.

But of course, my aunt is against this. She doesn't believe in investing into something that may not be successful. "Investment is waste of time and a hogging of money, don't you know that?"

Theoretically, my idea sounds like a wonderful upgrade to what we have now. Normal plastic contacts may be an enhancement from glasses, but even taking contact lenses a step further could change, ultimately, the entire world. And I, Lily, would become rich and the developer of something that would be published in the history books for future generations to be educated about.

From outside, I hear an upheaval of voices, the majority of them female. I get up and glance through the smudged glass to see what the commotion is below the crumbling apartment building.

There's a crowd of women, all screaming and fighting over what looks to be a basket of bread. Loafs are flinging through the air, while mothers are commanding their young children to run into the depths of the crowd and snatch the loaves. One little boy, about five years old with a muddied face, manages to sneak a loaf under his shirt and safely deliver it to his mother, who waits the entire time outside the hungry crowd. Without revealing to her what he's got, she nods to him, gives him a grin, and they walk away gingerly as if there was no food war going on behind them. But tonight, the mother, her son, and the rest of her family will have food to eat. Though life is harsh, humans have the miraculous power to do whatever they can to survive, even sacrificing their own offspring. When the world falls apart, they send the youngest into battle because they are more likely to survive without any or little damage. The same is true with the fight for food, though children are the ones who need it most.

Once the dilemma begins to calm itself and the loaves have disappeared, I go and plop myself back where I was. A notification pops up on the tablet I've had on, notifying me that my time limit is almost up since there's been no activity for the past ten minutes due to the distraction outside. I tap the screen and the pop-up diminishes. With a sigh, I go back to my research and jot down notes that might have any importance or value related to my project.

For another sluggish four hours, I work with all the effort and energy I have, trying to find the information I need on the tablets I've got. Three of them are on, while the others are just about out of battery. Without the sun, the solar panel chargers are useless. Since it's the middle of the night there's no sunlight, which means no research, which means I won't be much closer to the answers I'm looking for. I'm grasping at the wind, it's no use.

The few stars that shine in the night sky are brilliantly orange. I count them all, taking inventory. Before my dad disappeared, he used to tell me the story of how the stars watch over us. Every night he would remind me that as long as the stars were still in the sky, there would be a tomorrow. But if any of those were to fade away from existence, then the end wouldn't be too far off. So far, none of them have gone away and I pray every night before I sleep that they will forever stay in the sky. I see two of them in the reflection of the tablets that are shut off. Smiling, I think of my father, hoping I will again see him one day.

I close my eyes, thinking of what our re-encounter will be like. Will I be smiling, crying, or unable to do anything? Will my father remember what I look like? Did he know that I had a sister . . .?

Still on the floor, I lay on my back and gaze out the window up towards the midnight sky thinking of what my sister must have been like. Without realizing, I pass out on the floor. One of the tablet dings the activity notification again right before I fall asleep, yet it doesn't matter.