The City - part 1 (524 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by indigogecko (View user info) at 2005-09-22 16:56:38 EDT
Prologue: http://www.ubersite.com/m/75401
I hated my job. Did I mention that? Mostly it involved entering data from sheets of paper into my computer. And it wasn't even anything remotely interesting. At least if you're dealing with names and personal details, you can watch for familiar names, places you recognise, that sort of thing. But with strings of numbers, which have to be checked for accuracy as you go along, it is both difficult AND dull.
I never even found out what the numbers represented, though I once found a string that matched the code on my cube wall, so it might have been, at least for that set of data, something about my company's workforce. Then again, it could be completely meaningless, and just a coincidence that the numbers coincided. I was being paid just enough never to investigate further. Just another bright idea brought to you by the government.
There were so many systems in place geared specifically to placating the zombies and keeping them compliant. Prostitution and drugs had been legal for some time, but it takes a special kind of government to approve handouts of chemical cocktails designed to help you have a good time every night and forget about it as no more than base depravity by morning. The same music that was pumped in the clubs at night was piped through the air vents of every housing complex in the city from six until nine every morning, as a sort of citywide alarm clock. It was genius, in a twisted kind of way. I guess I started thinking too much about it though.
Jake had given me a spark of hope, a change to the bleary existence I plodded through each day. He broke the rules, gave me the feeling we could get away with it. And at first, I dismissed it as a hazy memory breaking through the depressive hangover the morning after.
"The world won't change after one night, Mel," I told myself.
"So a hooker tells you his name, and that's supposed to start a revolution? Stop thinking and get drinking."
And I did.
I didn't see him for several days. The clubs I lost myself in each night were all the same; my drinks were brightly coloured, the drugs were strong and the sex was meaningless... and nameless. All as it should be. Blends of alcohol and drugs concocted to react to the adrenaline and endorphins sped through my system, and in the morning there was no recollection of the details. The music, if it could be called that, was all exactly as it had always been. The same shit they poured into my room with the scrubbed up air we'd probably all die without.
Even the clubs brought out the thoughts of change, of all that was wrong. So the bigwigs thought they knew us. The ideas are at least in theory sound, granted, but they ultimately have us trapped, and think we don't know it. It's always a matter of time before revolution becomes inevitable in those situations. Sooner or later, sirs, your lab rats will escape and bite you on the ass on the way out. No matter how much processed cheese you give them, they eventually find out about Stilton and go hunting. They need to see what else the world has to offer.
And back then it was just a dream. Who was I kidding? There was no escape from the daily grind, and I knew it.
It was in one of these same depressive trances over a strong drink after a pig of a day, I was interrupted by a whisper of my name in my ear. It was Jake again. I looked out the window, trying to ignore him, when my eye caught the reflection of the club sign in the shop front opposite. Glaring back at me was the seven-foot high, deep blue X. I was back. When I turned back he was gone, but soon he returned with another of whatever it was I had been drinking, and invited himself to sit down. I think I thanked him, but I can't be sure. He cupped his hands over mine as he slid into the booth, warm against me.
"There's a better place," came the next whispered comment.
I looked at him like he'd just proclaimed tower blocks to be high.
"Of course there is. It's called Everywhere Else."
He smiled, tapped his head.
"It's in here."
He tapped my head too, and then slipped his hand down my back to rest just above my ass. I shrugged. I wasn't in the mood for his special blend of philosophy and carnalities, despite the hoard of chemicals I was riding. No reason not to tease him a little though, anything to get rid of him. I knew he was a bad influence on me.
I hoisted a leg over him as if making to leave the booth, and stopped sitting on his lap facing him. I played with one of his hands for a while, sucked on a finger. He groaned a little, with a grin. I stuck my tongue out at him, ran a finger over the rapidly developing bulge, squeezed it, and jumped off into the aisle. Downing the drink he'd bought me, I turned to leave. He made a grab for me, got a slap, and decided to look for relief and cash elsewhere.
You were good, sweetie, but not irresistible.
I had a street-plyer on my way home, and paid him extra for an alley without a dumpster. It didn't get any lower than this. There had to be a better place.
User Reviews
Submitted by Hirilnara (user info) at 2005-09-22 17:41:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I AM interested in reading more, and majority rules.
Submitted by HighFructoseCornSyrup (user info) at 2005-09-22 17:25:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm not.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-09-22 17:00:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I'm interested to see where this goes.