#jouralist

“Darling! That is you!”

The young woman in question stopped just short of the door, knowing they’d caught up to her. Knowing there was no running now. So, before she could even take the time to prepare, take a moment to get it together, there was a hand on her arm.

She was spun around quick. So she plastered a smile on her face and forced herself to stand still.

And then three girls were surrounding her. “What did you think of the show?!”

“We’re so happy you came!”

Sighing and holding her notebook close to her chest, Katherine nodded. “It was lovely, girls. Truly beautiful.” It may be true, but that didn’t make her want to say it anymore.

These three women did not need a boost of ego.

They were tall, long legged and beautiful. The perfect chorus girls. Anything less than perfect was unacceptable. “Do you need a picture of us for the section?” one of them asked too easily. Katherine was too unfocused to remember the name of which one.

Or any of them.

“No, thank you! I got plenty of you guys up there,” she laughed off quickly, doing what she could to be polite.

“Ladies, let the woman breathe!” Cut in another voice, happy and cheerful and understanding and it made Katherine’s heart melt. “Go on, get changed! Shoo! Ya’ll got a show tomorrow!”

The three girls gave her one last tight smile before they turned around and ran back behind the curtain. And Katherine couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you, Miss Medda!” she sighed.

The short, plump, chocolate skinned, wonderful woman flashed her one of her famous smiles. And then she opened her arms up. “Of course, honey! I’m assumin’ you wanna get downtown real soon,” she said knowingly. “But not without a good hug.”

Grinning, Katherine embraced the woman. “It was a good show, Miss Medda. You’re still the best,” she assured. She pulled away.

Miss Medda nodded. “But it’s still the theatre. N’ you wanna be downtown…” It wasn’t a guess. It was fact. “Did Hearst give you another Cinderella proposal?” the beautiful woman questioned, giving Katherine a look that told her already. She knew what was going on.

Miss Medda always did.

Letting out a single, bitter laugh, Katherine nodded. “If the show ended early and I could make a run over there, I could cover the protest happening downtown today!” she rushed out, knowing exactly what Medda meant.

A Cinderella proposal. If Katherine did what her boss wanted, she could do what she wanted. Only, she wouldn’t have time to actually get there.

“Well why’re you still standin’ here, honey? What’s it about this time?”

If there was one good thing about Katherine’s job, it was this woman standing before her. This woman was fierce and strong and while she could rarely attend the many rallies, marches and riots that were happening all over the city, she made it a point to support them. Financially. Lord knows this woman had money. And if ever there was a chance, she would make sure Katherine could cover them. She believed in Katherine.

Biting her lip, Katherine shrugged. “There’s a company that someone very powerful owns that has been taking jobs away from hardworking people with families to take care of for… less than legitimate reasons,” she explained, doing her best to not get too worked up about this right here.

“It’s okay, Katherine. You can speak your mind. You’re with Medda,” she assured, placing a hand on the young woman’s shoulder.

Shrugging just a bit, Katherine nodded. “These assholes thought it was okay to fire every woman on staff, three black men and one Asian American man,” she admitted, feeling her heartbeat a little faster and stronger than before. She ran a hand through her hair. “My boss thinks it’s not news. My boss’s son told me he’d kill me if I didn’t get the story. I told myself I had to get there… just to see it happening,” she stated. She shook her head. “What is this world coming to, Miss Medda?”

With a knowing laugh, Miss Medda shrugged. “Worry about New York first, honey… then we can help the rest of the world,” she promised, cupping a hand over Katherine’s cheek. There was this look in her eyes. One that the young reporter could almost identify as a sort of sadness. But before she could ask what was wrong, Miss Medda was pulling away. “Now what are you still doin’ here, young lady? We need ta get you downtown!”

“Oh! Not without a photo of the brilliant director, we don’t!” Katherine laughed, pulling her camera back out of her bag.

Medda waved her hands as if to say that this wasn’t necessary. But she laughed nonetheless and placed her hands on her hips, giving Katherine her perfect grin and letting the camera flash, capturing her and the theatre behind her. “Thank you, Miss Medda…” Katherine smiled. Then she lowered her small device. “Now we have to get me downtown.”

“Well then let’s go you out to Kenny… he’ll get you through the crowd and find you some good picture spots,” Medda stated, walking past her and motioning for her to follow.

Katherine grinned.

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It was chaos.

This is the kind of thing that Katherine lived for.

The sun had set long ago. All that was left to light up the loud, chaotic protest were the dim street lights and flashlights of cellphones of those who wished to make their presence known. As if the screamers couldn’t be heard and the blood red signs couldn’t already be seen. Hundreds of people gathered around to witness this. This was more than just a rally. It was something much, much bigger. Something powerful and full of life. Something that made men sitting safe in their towers high above the lowly streets of New York look down with fear in their eyes and in their hearts, wondering if they would still have their money tomorrow.

Because this street was shut down with people. And Katherine was right in the center of it.

There was a woman standing on a folding table just a ways away from the young journalist. She was by no means tall. Her hair was green, fading out from her brunette roots. She had a piercing in her nose. Her skin was carmel colored. She wore a denim, knee length dress. In one hand, she held a sign. I am human, it read, in bold black letters. Katherine lifted up her camera and snapped a picture of her, watching intently as the bullhorn was brought up to her lips. “Louder!” the woman cried. Somehow the crowd complied to her simple request. “We will not stand by and let them tear us down! We have will! We have guts! And we have rights!” It was a simple statement. True, but simple.

The people around her ate it up.

“For centuries, rich white men have had all the power! Who decided that was the way the world worked?!” the woman asked.

Rolling her eyes a bit, Katherine snorted a bit. Rich, white men… she mused silently. Bitterly

“They tell us where our place is and try to force us to listen! Not anymore!”

It was beautiful. A whole people, standing together. People who seemed more than anything to want the same things. Freedom. Rights that had been promised to them for centuries. Equal work. Equal pay. Equal rights. The world had strived for it before. This country had strived for it before. Now… now this country was wandering aimlessly backwards down a path so many hardworking people had broken their backs trying to fight their way forward through. Like all of those people, all of those important people who were brave enough to have their own opinions, their own voice, had never existed to begin with.

The young woman took a few steps closer to the table where the woman stood, too enthralled for her own good. Someone pushed into her. She didn’t speak, just let them move around her forcefully until she could take another step. Her fingers wrapped around her camera again. She snapped a picture.

The woman on the stage looked down at the flash. Katherine froze, thinking perhaps she’d be chewed out for taking a photo without permission. It wouldn’t be the first time. But the speaker simply gave her a wink.

All of them should have known this part couldn’t last forever. This part of standing strong, together. This part of being one and being free and knowing that the world might realize what was being done was wrong.

It couldn’t last forever. It didn’t.

Sirens. A lot of sirens. That is what Katherine could hear.

“Don’t let them scare you!” the woman on the makeshift stage warned. Katherine sensed just what she had. Unease. Everyone was scared.

Everyone here knew their history.

“We have a right to freedom of speech!” she shouted, more at the people rushing towards the crowd than at the crowd itself. Katherine couldn’t see them. There were so many people. So many signs.

The woman on stage took a single step back. They were still coming. The speaker let her bullhorn drop down at her side as the part of a group just ahead of Katherine started shouting again. Many others followed suit.

“Get outta here!”

“We’re not hurting anyone!”

“We want our jobs back!”

“Get out of my face!”

“Back off!”

Maybe it would be in the history books someday. Fired employees start a strike, create a riot and start a movement.

The Great Riot of 2095. Where the first shots were fired.

People screamed. Katherine gasped.

“No!”

“Leave us alone!”

Another shot.

People started running. Katherine couldn’t move.

“We don’t have weapons!” the woman on stage cried, hoping to stop anything worse from happening. Katherine breathed hard as everyone around her scattered. There were two people on the ground. One man, one woman. The man wasn’t moving. Blood pooled around his head. The woman was screaming. Someone else kneeled beside her, holding her hand, promising it would be okay.

There were people. People she had assumed to be officers, just standing there with weapons in their hands, looking around as if this had no affect on them. But these people were not officers. These people — these men — wore white uniforms. Protective gear was all over them; vests, helmets, padded clothing. All of it was white.

Katherine went to back away. She prepped to run. But someone jumped down beside her and grabbed for her camera, immediately taking a shot of the gruesome sight. She gasped and turned to the person, just as these strange men turned to look for where the flash had come from. It was the carmel skinned woman. She was looking up at her with a fierce look in her deep brown eyes. “Write something, reporter. And write it good.”

That was all she left Katherine with before the bullhorn was back up at her lips. She was walking forward. “Who sent you?! Who are you?! We have every right ta-”

Another shot.

There was blood on her face. Katherine screamed, ready to rush forward to try to help the young woman who fell to the ground. But it was too late.

So Katherine took a step back as the men looked up at her, in the midst of the people still fleeing around her. And she snapped another shot.

They zeroed in on her, raising their weapons. “Stop right there!”

She shook her head, taking a single step backwards.

One of them squeezed for the trigger.

She braced herself. The pain was coming. She knew it was.

Click.

Without a second to think, Katherine turned and did her best to blend with the crowd.

Steady… she told herself silently.

Stay low… someone almost knocked her over as she jogged along with the people, trying to get away from these mysterious men.

Breathe… It was almost impossible. With those images in her head, she didn’t want to.

Look… She did. For an escape. Any kind of escape.

She found one.

Now run!

And off she went, into a night in New York City, one of the brightest cities in the world, that had just gotten a whole lot darker.

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The ceiling was white.

The walls were white.

The bed was white.

Her dress was white.

“Sophia!”

She sat up quick, knowing better than to continue to lay there motionless. She was dizzy. She hadn’t moved in a long time. She hadn’t wanted to.

“Yes, dear?” she asked quietly, forcing a small smile onto her face as the door swung open.

“I haven’t seen you all day… what have you been up to?”

He was tall. His hair was just hardly turning silver. He was older than her. Much older than her. He was rich.

That was what had mattered.

“I’ve just been… thinking,” she sighed innocently, trying not to sound smart or smug or annoyed. Lord knows what would happen then.

The man nodded at her. “I expect you downstairs within the hour.”

It was a calm demand. But it still made Katherine’s skin crawl. “Yes, dear…” she forced out kindly, nodding as he looked her up and down skeptically for a moment, as if he knew she was hiding something. Still, he didn’t press any further. And he walked away.

Katherine scrunched up her nose in disgust and anger as he went. She shook her head as he shut the door and then she lay back down on her bed.

Everything was white.

Slowly and without much thought, the young woman brought her hands up above her eyes. Her palms faced the bland ceiling above her. They were bare. Well, almost.

But the ring around her left finger certainly felt like nothing to her.

Tearing the thing of, she fought the urge it throw it full force out her singular bedroom window. She couldn’t do that. Not again.

She inspected it again, a simple gold band meaning she was bound to someone.

She should have run when she’d had the chance. She should have done something.

Anywhere might have been better than this.

Taking in a deep breath and sitting up once again, the young woman set the thing down on a table at the bedside. She looked away from it as quickly as she could and then she stood to her feet. There was a small closet to her right. She walked towards it, glancing over towards the door, just to be sure no one else would be coming to disturb her again. And then she knelt down.

One, two, three, four, five, six from the left.

The floorboard was loose. She’d made sure of it.

Lifting the thing up and cringing at the small squeak it made, Katherine reached down, only for her fingers to brush against small, rough old pieces of paper. Her heart gripped tightly in her chest. She pulled one from its hiding space and let herself continue to think.

To remember.

It was old. But she could still read it.

August 27th, 2095

Riot Breaks Out In Lower Manhattan

Two killed, thirteen injured.

Her eyes wandered down to the byline. Her heart drooped a little more downwards in her chest as she remembered.

As the moments replayed over and over again in her mind.

Katherine Plumber

The first shots. The beginning of a war. And she had been right there to witness it all happen just before her.

Breathe… she told herself silently. Just breathe…

The world was spinning backwards.

It had been for years.

And here she was, still resisting it with all the strength that she had left.

The world may have thought the war was over.

But it had only just begun.

Katherine held that article tenderly in her hands and ran her thumb over her own name over and over again, trying to remind herself that that was real, that it had happened.

She didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried in a long time. What she did was mourn. What she did was wait. What she did was plan.

What she did was prepare.

What she did was let a soft melody leave her lips as a bitter, sad smile crept sneakily onto her beautiful features. A song that transported her to the past for just a fleeting moment.

“Dream a little dream of me…”

Three voices. One guitar. One piano. Five parts.

One song.

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Tag List: (lemme know if you’d like to be included or not included next time!)

@that-thing-in-the-closet 

@deadthingsinlace

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@myheartissetinmotion

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@thatnerdinthecorner

@happyhufflepuff73

@thatchaoticneutraltrainwreck

@bluejay-the-newsie

@addyez

@falling-out-trees-101