Status: Slow Updates
Green Grass
Antony
The show has been running steadily for what seems like only weeks, but what has truly been months. The memory of Tommy and I working at the institution-school feels distant and faded, and we both like it better that way. I said my goodbyes to that place the moment I stepped in the door.
Now though, the seasons are turning and it grows cold, the afternoon sunlight being the only relief from the winter winds that are already blowing in. I am seated once again atop the slope to which Rachelle brought us that evening, so long ago. Rising, I gently brush the dirt and dry grass from myself and turn back towards the trees, finding the path with ease. The nearly-bare tree branches overhead stretch their bony fingers, twining together and creating a web across the sky. I cannot understand why those empty inhabitants would choose a concrete jungle over this one. Over there, the only things crossing the sky are power lines; the only colours shades of gray; and the only sounds those of slamming doors, hurrying feet, and cargo trains.
Here though, the infinite blue sky is broken by the clutching hands of tree branches and distant, soaring birds; the colours are so many that I do not even know how to name them all; and the silence is so profoundly full of minute sounds that I cannot even be sure that I am hearing them at all.
Eventually, I must cross the border back into the cement-based fabricated reality and, as I do so, I feel that crushing weight return. I can imagine what gravity must feel like sometimes, with my feet pressed so hard to the gray sidewalk slab that I feel I will never learn to fly. Turning the corner towards my residence complex, my pace slows with reluctance. I do not anticipate the empty apartment that awaits me, nor the empty refrigerator. Since abandoning our jobs, Tommy and I have been entirely dependent on the money we already have-- we have been very frugal.
Despite my slow walking pace, I do eventually reach the doors to the complex, stepping inside into the well-moderated temperature of the small lobby. The elevator ascends quickly, the doors gliding open on floor four. There are voices in the hall, which is unusual, so I walk to the end of the hall and turn the corner to my room.
The familiar black and grey uniforms of the highly advertised CitySafe Guards are everywhere, with a small crowd of inquisitive citizens standing by. I am about to step forwards to see what the problem could be, when I realize that it is my apartment which is the surrounded one. Attempting to sneak away quietly, one of those cursed curious citizens points in my direction.
"Isn't that the one, Guard, sir? Isn't that him?"
I don't wait to hear the response, as I'm fairly certain that yes, I am the one, Guard, sir. But I certainly don't want to be. Whirling around in panic, I make a breaking dash for the staircase; waiting for the elevator seems laughable in this situation. I can hear pounding steel-toed boots in hot pursuit, and I force myself to keep my gaze ahead. Look back now, and you're dead Antony, old buddy. It was nice knowing you, really.
Finally, I reach the door to the stairs and crash through it, turning the knob only slightly. The impact sends jarring pain up my wrists, but I can't afford to even pause; the boots are still pursuing me. I can feel the blood pounding in my ears, and my heart feels as though it could burst from my ribcage any moment. I take the stairs four at a time, my ankles straining under the force of each landing, but I can't afford to even pause; I hear shouts from a flight above me, but my mind fails to process the words. Instead of trying to consider the implications, I just run faster-- it seems the only instinctual option at the moment. Tearing down another flight of stairs, I speed past a sign reading FLOOR TWO on a brass plaque and this affirmation gives me more hope.
I am panting heavily by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, but my animalistic instinct has taken over, and I cannot stop my feet-- not that I would want to in the least. The door has, in enormous bold letters, a sign designating it as an emergency exit, with an alarm wired to it. Disregarding this completely, I burst through at a sprint. By the time the alarm begins to sound, I am already across the street, and I can barely hear the droning wail above my soles slapping the cement.
Making a sharp turn into the narrow space between two buildings, I chance a quick look over my shoulder, not seeing any pursuers. Even so, I don't slow my pace, the distant beat of boots still seeming too close for comfort. I race straight onto a busy sidewalk, quickly joining the uniform masses with my head down, trying not to be noticed. I attempt to catch my gasping breath and match the pace of the woman walking beside me, casually glancing about to assure the way is clear.
Quietly, I slip out of line and step into the doorway of a small furniture shop, putting my mobile to my ear. To the attendant, I make pretense of waiting for a person to meet me, speaking with them on the phone. I feel ridiculous throughout.
"Oh, meet you there? I thought you wanted to meet here! Of course I'll meet you there, I'll be over in a moment."
Saying a quick and polite goodbye to the shopkeeper, I make a discreet exit and, as soon as I am out of sight of the main walkways, start at a run in the direction of the shantytown. Mentally, I thank my luck that I cannot yet hear the blaring drone of CitySafe sirens behind me.
I break off the concrete sidewalks and out from in between towering buildings, my feet pounding through gravel and beaten dirt, the ragged roofs of shantytown huts rising in the distance. With an extra burst of speed, I pass through the remnants of the rotted wooden fence and into the patchwork city within. I duck behind a dented tin wall, leaning heavily on it to catch my breath in rasps. I do not stop for long though. Dashing through the shantytown, I weave between plywood and cardboard shacks, feeling the curious gazes of shy eyes upon me.
Upon reaching our shack, I don't even stop to knock or announce myself as usual. Turning the latch, I burst inside, slam the door behind me, bolt the door and slump onto the floor. I heave a sigh of infinite relief at the sight of Tommy-- looking quite surprised at my entrance-- sitting slouched on top of the broadcast table, with a bottle of water halfway to his mouth.
"Antony, are you--" I raise a hand to cut him off and hoist myself to my feet.
"Call Rachelle; we can't go back home tonight," as I say this, I walk towards the corner of the shack where we have been storing our supplies. I disentangle two of the blankets, passing one of them Tommy's way, then reach for the phone and hand it off to him. He takes it, but just looks at me in bewilderment. "Well? What are you waiting for? Call her. I will explain once she arrives. For now, get comfortable; it's going to be a long night."
Finally, he obliges, punching in Rachelle's phone-code and waiting for her to answer. An expectant silence has fallen over the small space, but Tommy presses the end button on the mobile.
"No answer," he says, looking worriedly at me.
"What?" I do not want to let my mind run away with the possible implications, but I cannot help it. "What do you mean, there's no answer?"
"She isn't home, I guess," he shrugs, "now seriously Antony, what is going on?" I barely hear him, as I think back to the crowd of CitySafe guards outside of my flat. What if they were waiting for Rachelle too? What if she didn't realize in time?
"Shit. Oh, shit!" Tommy looks at me in surprise, about to speak, "Call her again! I don't know, oh shit. This could be all our fault."
Tommy is staring in complete shock, but calls again anyways, with the same result. My thoughts have reached a panicked frenzy at this point and I make for the door, with intent of going to search her out. He is about to ask where I'm going, I can imagine, but I am already opening the door before he can finish his sentence.
As soon as I slam the door behind me, I run directly into Rachelle. The impact sends both of us flying apart, as we were both approaching at a run. I am so relieved that, without thinking, I grab her, clasping her in a crushing embrace. She laughs nervously as I ramble on incoherently, squeezing the air out of her. Finally, I let her go-- somewhat-- and hold her at arm's length, scanning her up and down in scrutiny.
"What are you doing, Antony?"
"I'm just glad you're alright. Hurt?" I prod her arm and she looks at me quizzically, "No? Good." At that, I pull her inside by the wrist and look at Tommy, who still looks entirely confused. "I found her."
Now though, the seasons are turning and it grows cold, the afternoon sunlight being the only relief from the winter winds that are already blowing in. I am seated once again atop the slope to which Rachelle brought us that evening, so long ago. Rising, I gently brush the dirt and dry grass from myself and turn back towards the trees, finding the path with ease. The nearly-bare tree branches overhead stretch their bony fingers, twining together and creating a web across the sky. I cannot understand why those empty inhabitants would choose a concrete jungle over this one. Over there, the only things crossing the sky are power lines; the only colours shades of gray; and the only sounds those of slamming doors, hurrying feet, and cargo trains.
Here though, the infinite blue sky is broken by the clutching hands of tree branches and distant, soaring birds; the colours are so many that I do not even know how to name them all; and the silence is so profoundly full of minute sounds that I cannot even be sure that I am hearing them at all.
Eventually, I must cross the border back into the cement-based fabricated reality and, as I do so, I feel that crushing weight return. I can imagine what gravity must feel like sometimes, with my feet pressed so hard to the gray sidewalk slab that I feel I will never learn to fly. Turning the corner towards my residence complex, my pace slows with reluctance. I do not anticipate the empty apartment that awaits me, nor the empty refrigerator. Since abandoning our jobs, Tommy and I have been entirely dependent on the money we already have-- we have been very frugal.
Despite my slow walking pace, I do eventually reach the doors to the complex, stepping inside into the well-moderated temperature of the small lobby. The elevator ascends quickly, the doors gliding open on floor four. There are voices in the hall, which is unusual, so I walk to the end of the hall and turn the corner to my room.
The familiar black and grey uniforms of the highly advertised CitySafe Guards are everywhere, with a small crowd of inquisitive citizens standing by. I am about to step forwards to see what the problem could be, when I realize that it is my apartment which is the surrounded one. Attempting to sneak away quietly, one of those cursed curious citizens points in my direction.
"Isn't that the one, Guard, sir? Isn't that him?"
I don't wait to hear the response, as I'm fairly certain that yes, I am the one, Guard, sir. But I certainly don't want to be. Whirling around in panic, I make a breaking dash for the staircase; waiting for the elevator seems laughable in this situation. I can hear pounding steel-toed boots in hot pursuit, and I force myself to keep my gaze ahead. Look back now, and you're dead Antony, old buddy. It was nice knowing you, really.
Finally, I reach the door to the stairs and crash through it, turning the knob only slightly. The impact sends jarring pain up my wrists, but I can't afford to even pause; the boots are still pursuing me. I can feel the blood pounding in my ears, and my heart feels as though it could burst from my ribcage any moment. I take the stairs four at a time, my ankles straining under the force of each landing, but I can't afford to even pause; I hear shouts from a flight above me, but my mind fails to process the words. Instead of trying to consider the implications, I just run faster-- it seems the only instinctual option at the moment. Tearing down another flight of stairs, I speed past a sign reading FLOOR TWO on a brass plaque and this affirmation gives me more hope.
I am panting heavily by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, but my animalistic instinct has taken over, and I cannot stop my feet-- not that I would want to in the least. The door has, in enormous bold letters, a sign designating it as an emergency exit, with an alarm wired to it. Disregarding this completely, I burst through at a sprint. By the time the alarm begins to sound, I am already across the street, and I can barely hear the droning wail above my soles slapping the cement.
Making a sharp turn into the narrow space between two buildings, I chance a quick look over my shoulder, not seeing any pursuers. Even so, I don't slow my pace, the distant beat of boots still seeming too close for comfort. I race straight onto a busy sidewalk, quickly joining the uniform masses with my head down, trying not to be noticed. I attempt to catch my gasping breath and match the pace of the woman walking beside me, casually glancing about to assure the way is clear.
Quietly, I slip out of line and step into the doorway of a small furniture shop, putting my mobile to my ear. To the attendant, I make pretense of waiting for a person to meet me, speaking with them on the phone. I feel ridiculous throughout.
"Oh, meet you there? I thought you wanted to meet here! Of course I'll meet you there, I'll be over in a moment."
Saying a quick and polite goodbye to the shopkeeper, I make a discreet exit and, as soon as I am out of sight of the main walkways, start at a run in the direction of the shantytown. Mentally, I thank my luck that I cannot yet hear the blaring drone of CitySafe sirens behind me.
I break off the concrete sidewalks and out from in between towering buildings, my feet pounding through gravel and beaten dirt, the ragged roofs of shantytown huts rising in the distance. With an extra burst of speed, I pass through the remnants of the rotted wooden fence and into the patchwork city within. I duck behind a dented tin wall, leaning heavily on it to catch my breath in rasps. I do not stop for long though. Dashing through the shantytown, I weave between plywood and cardboard shacks, feeling the curious gazes of shy eyes upon me.
Upon reaching our shack, I don't even stop to knock or announce myself as usual. Turning the latch, I burst inside, slam the door behind me, bolt the door and slump onto the floor. I heave a sigh of infinite relief at the sight of Tommy-- looking quite surprised at my entrance-- sitting slouched on top of the broadcast table, with a bottle of water halfway to his mouth.
"Antony, are you--" I raise a hand to cut him off and hoist myself to my feet.
"Call Rachelle; we can't go back home tonight," as I say this, I walk towards the corner of the shack where we have been storing our supplies. I disentangle two of the blankets, passing one of them Tommy's way, then reach for the phone and hand it off to him. He takes it, but just looks at me in bewilderment. "Well? What are you waiting for? Call her. I will explain once she arrives. For now, get comfortable; it's going to be a long night."
Finally, he obliges, punching in Rachelle's phone-code and waiting for her to answer. An expectant silence has fallen over the small space, but Tommy presses the end button on the mobile.
"No answer," he says, looking worriedly at me.
"What?" I do not want to let my mind run away with the possible implications, but I cannot help it. "What do you mean, there's no answer?"
"She isn't home, I guess," he shrugs, "now seriously Antony, what is going on?" I barely hear him, as I think back to the crowd of CitySafe guards outside of my flat. What if they were waiting for Rachelle too? What if she didn't realize in time?
"Shit. Oh, shit!" Tommy looks at me in surprise, about to speak, "Call her again! I don't know, oh shit. This could be all our fault."
Tommy is staring in complete shock, but calls again anyways, with the same result. My thoughts have reached a panicked frenzy at this point and I make for the door, with intent of going to search her out. He is about to ask where I'm going, I can imagine, but I am already opening the door before he can finish his sentence.
As soon as I slam the door behind me, I run directly into Rachelle. The impact sends both of us flying apart, as we were both approaching at a run. I am so relieved that, without thinking, I grab her, clasping her in a crushing embrace. She laughs nervously as I ramble on incoherently, squeezing the air out of her. Finally, I let her go-- somewhat-- and hold her at arm's length, scanning her up and down in scrutiny.
"What are you doing, Antony?"
"I'm just glad you're alright. Hurt?" I prod her arm and she looks at me quizzically, "No? Good." At that, I pull her inside by the wrist and look at Tommy, who still looks entirely confused. "I found her."