The New London Divide
A News Piece
Celeste closed the door behind her and leant against it, the stress of the night showing on her young face. She straightened and threw her jacket onto the nearby couch, stretching her arms and making her way to the kitchen, desperate for her only vice: coffee.
She made her way to the kitchen, letting her silver hair down out of its pins. Stainless steel gleamed from almost every surface, and the white counter top had been wiped down lest any mark show upon it. She flicked on the kettle and then clattered together a mug, a spoon and coffee grains. As the kettle boiled, she wandered over to the windows that overlooked the rest of the city and her main point of interest, the downriver commons.
Celeste pushed aside the gossamer curtain, laying her forehead against the cold glass. As usual, the light from the city ended at the ribbon of darkness that was the Thames, and from then on there was only the occasional gas light illuminating the dirty streets of Lower London. Above her, her upstairs neighbours clattered noisily in their apartment.
She breathed out heavily, letting her breath fog up the spotless window. The cleaner would be here tomorrow – Celeste was sure she could deal with a dirty patch on the window. It would give her something to do for once, as most government workers were immaculate.
Not Drenin though, Celeste thought, and immediately cringed.
“So we’ve arrived at that train of thought, have we?” she mused out loud, revelling in the sound of her voice bouncing back to her. “Drenin and the fact that you could’ve been known as Celeste Ryker.”
She grimaced, the unfamiliar name on her tongue weighing heavily. Though she knew that as much as she loved Drenin, there was no possibility of them having a future together; it had been a mistake agreeing to a relationship with him in the first place.
The kettle boiled, and she dumped boiling water into the mug, the coffee grains dissolving immediately. She brought the mug to her lips and sipped, ignoring the scorching hot liquid that threatened to burn her perfectly made up lips.
She dropped into her desk chair, switching on the TV simultaneously. She woke her computer up, reading over the proposal she was set to hand in tomorrow, her right hand caressing the coffee cup and enjoying the warmth.
“Drenin Ryker has suffered a blow to his heart, when his long term girlfriend Celeste Monroe turned down his marriage proposal.”
Celeste paused in sipping the coffee, the liquid seemingly turning to ice in her mouth. She watched the woman on the TV, unable to turn away.
“Fellow diners in the restaurant reported that she promptly stood on his heart and then stood him up, storming out of the restaurant, leaving Ryker with a broken heart and the bill.” The two announcers chuckled good humouredly, their plastic faces shining in the studio lights. “Good luck next time, Drenin.”
Celeste fumbled for the remote, desperate to turn off the TV, but stopped as they went to the next story.
“Rioters in Lower London have been quelled by the NLPD, as they pelted bridge guards with homemade sparklers and Molotov cocktails,” the man’s face was all seriousness as he read off of the Tele-Prompter programmed into the contact lens on his left eye. “The rioters were protesting against the segregation of the Card system again, demanding for a proper system that will allow the No-Cards to become part of the New London society.”
The report went on, but Celeste wasn’t listening; she was sitting in stunned disbelief.
“You idiots!” she shrieked at the TV. The neighbours upstairs went quiet. “You’ve now ruined everything!”
Because what the rioters in Lower London did not, could not, know, was that Celeste had been planning on campaigning to get them that the very next day.
She made her way to the kitchen, letting her silver hair down out of its pins. Stainless steel gleamed from almost every surface, and the white counter top had been wiped down lest any mark show upon it. She flicked on the kettle and then clattered together a mug, a spoon and coffee grains. As the kettle boiled, she wandered over to the windows that overlooked the rest of the city and her main point of interest, the downriver commons.
Celeste pushed aside the gossamer curtain, laying her forehead against the cold glass. As usual, the light from the city ended at the ribbon of darkness that was the Thames, and from then on there was only the occasional gas light illuminating the dirty streets of Lower London. Above her, her upstairs neighbours clattered noisily in their apartment.
She breathed out heavily, letting her breath fog up the spotless window. The cleaner would be here tomorrow – Celeste was sure she could deal with a dirty patch on the window. It would give her something to do for once, as most government workers were immaculate.
Not Drenin though, Celeste thought, and immediately cringed.
“So we’ve arrived at that train of thought, have we?” she mused out loud, revelling in the sound of her voice bouncing back to her. “Drenin and the fact that you could’ve been known as Celeste Ryker.”
She grimaced, the unfamiliar name on her tongue weighing heavily. Though she knew that as much as she loved Drenin, there was no possibility of them having a future together; it had been a mistake agreeing to a relationship with him in the first place.
The kettle boiled, and she dumped boiling water into the mug, the coffee grains dissolving immediately. She brought the mug to her lips and sipped, ignoring the scorching hot liquid that threatened to burn her perfectly made up lips.
She dropped into her desk chair, switching on the TV simultaneously. She woke her computer up, reading over the proposal she was set to hand in tomorrow, her right hand caressing the coffee cup and enjoying the warmth.
“Drenin Ryker has suffered a blow to his heart, when his long term girlfriend Celeste Monroe turned down his marriage proposal.”
Celeste paused in sipping the coffee, the liquid seemingly turning to ice in her mouth. She watched the woman on the TV, unable to turn away.
“Fellow diners in the restaurant reported that she promptly stood on his heart and then stood him up, storming out of the restaurant, leaving Ryker with a broken heart and the bill.” The two announcers chuckled good humouredly, their plastic faces shining in the studio lights. “Good luck next time, Drenin.”
Celeste fumbled for the remote, desperate to turn off the TV, but stopped as they went to the next story.
“Rioters in Lower London have been quelled by the NLPD, as they pelted bridge guards with homemade sparklers and Molotov cocktails,” the man’s face was all seriousness as he read off of the Tele-Prompter programmed into the contact lens on his left eye. “The rioters were protesting against the segregation of the Card system again, demanding for a proper system that will allow the No-Cards to become part of the New London society.”
The report went on, but Celeste wasn’t listening; she was sitting in stunned disbelief.
“You idiots!” she shrieked at the TV. The neighbours upstairs went quiet. “You’ve now ruined everything!”
Because what the rioters in Lower London did not, could not, know, was that Celeste had been planning on campaigning to get them that the very next day.