#kiraawrites

Slumped behind my wooden desk, I thought of what to do next. Eventually, I logged onto the Citizen Database to check my occupation and credentials. It took a while, scrolling through hundreds of Jameses. Most of them were my level (judging wealth-wise) and that made me smile, albeit somewhat bitterly. When clicking my name, I held my breath and wished for the best.

I worked at a MacDonald's and skimmed through high school.

God forbid. I failed one test and now they're giving me someone who has failed a hundred. I groaned and pummelled the table with my fists. Y'know what? I'll give this guy one good year. No matter how far down I am on the social ladder, at least I can have an office job next year.

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The switch is all about your quality of life. What is that? I was manning the counter, taking orders in the high-speed lunch hour.  The faces before me were dulled down with drowsiness, their lips forming a flat line. Monotone voices said orders. Echoes of their souls. No one was living in the moment. Our thoughts were occupied by the next year; its blessings and damnations tantalising as always.

I'm stuck in this trap. Just like everyone else. Well, time to break out of it. I attempted a smile on the next customer. Her face remained grim, preoccupied with something else.

Another one at the counter. The same unchanged expression. Stiff hands enclosing credit cards. As the crowds thinned, my heart sank. People were taking their last bites of their Big Macs. The restaurant was silent except for the footsteps in the kitchen. We were all unhappy. Dissatisfied. It's a hopeless vicious cycle, ain't it?

An old woman pulled the door open. Eyes landed on her as she hobbled over to the counter, her walking stick dragging across the floor. Her eyes were downturned and watery. Every step she took looked as if it hurt.

"Good afternoon, madam. What can I get you?" I asked in my most cheerful tone. It was the best I could do for a stranger having a bad day.

"Dear lord, you are the first person I've seen with a smile today!" she croaked. "People like you give me hope for this world."

In her eyes was the warmth of genuine fondness. The corners of her lips crept upwards as she looked over me. Something in my head prompted me to grin, and she did too. It was a fragment of joy in the often-upsetting world. From then on, I greeted every customer with the same geniality.

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Stacked books glinted under my desk lamp. My hand tightened and loosened around a ballpoint pen as my eyes scanned over the question a few more times. It was nearing midnight and I was only on the second problem sum. Everything was tedious, much slower than it had been in any other year. The gears would not click.

The business course was carried out every weekday evening, just thirty minutes after my shift at a nearby community college. It was a small class with a subpar teacher that was barely warming up to his new profession. As I stumbled through lesson material, I kept a goal in my mind. I wanted a better job, something that would elevate me to a much higher position. An office job. Yes, that's what I want.

Ten minutes had passed. I threw down the pen, heaved a sigh of pent-up frustration and flung myself onto the creaking bed.

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Back at the gym. My arms felt like falling off. But I'm not as weak as before. I held my breath and pushed for the fifteenth rep on the machine. My chin reached the top of the bar and I dropped down; a dead stone.

"Good to see you, James. How long have you been coming here?" asked another man. "I remember when you couldn't even do five reps on that thing."

"Ten and a half months. Ever since the switch. Every other day, I'm here."

I clenched my fists and looked from one arm to another. I definitely had more muscle — they bulged as my arms tensed up. But that's not the main thing. Not at all. I felt so much better. It was the small things; being able to walk from A to B without exhausting myself or lifting a box without ever wanting to collapse.

With my towel, I wiped sweat from my forehead and waved the man goodbye. My thoughts flickered back to home. When are those interview results coming back? I need that job for next year, goddamnit.

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I flicked the lights on and surveyed the living room. The furniture was still the same: a second-hand sofa, a tiny table barely fitting two. An absolutely ugly home. But I love it, I thought as I sunk onto the sofa.

Most years were filled with a sense of impermanence. Time passing by, nothing mattering in the end. This year was different. I had changed my life; I had gripped it like a steering wheel and turned it around. I felt reborn. But it won’t matter in the end. This world is all about the money, and I need that job for it.

Rows upon rows of emails illuminated my face in the dark. They were all titled “Job Application for [Position Name]”. They didn’t even tell me whether I got in. Is that a bad sign? I shivered —  felt like puking. Rumbling deep in my stomach reminded me of the dinner I had yet to eat. I should get on with opening all five of them.

Number one. Rejected. Alright, not my favourite of them all anyway. Kinda underpaid too. I forced a smile. I’ll be alright.

Number two. Not my favourite, but the pay is good. That’s what matters. I opened it with trembling hands. Rejected. Biting my lips, I groaned. Guess I was a tiny bit unqualified.

Number three. If all these attempts have failed, is there even any time to settle into a new job? Rejected. I suck. My eyes were watering as breathing became difficult. The back of my throat was salty with suppressed tears.

Number four. Rejected. As expected. How stupid was I to think they would accept me? I rank so low compared to everyone else. I’ll never, never be able to escape this trap. The underside of my jaw was wet and cold. I gasped for air as I choked on my tears.

Number five. I was shaking head to toe. All my effort... Doesn’t it mean something? Rejected. My voice sounded throughout the whole house as I cried out in my confusion and pain, a knot forming in my chest.

Clenching my fists, I punched the wall. The plaster gave way beneath my fist, falling to the floor. I staggered back in shock. My foot caught on the legs of the nearby mirror. As it fell, I stretched my arms out. It slipped from my grasp and crashed on the floor. Small shards of glass were scattered across the floor like crystalline tears.

As I vacuumed the floor, I steadied my breathing and calmed down. There is a chance still. But I’m happier now than I was before, no matter what. No matter what.

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It was the night before Life-Switching day. I was rolling around in my bed, counting the seconds till midnight. The city was lively. Conversations droned on in bars and restaurants as people paid their last goodbyes to friends and fantasised about the future. Billboards were ready to switch to their “New Year, New Me” displays, attracting the few people fortunate enough to enter a life of wealth.

I still had no new job. At the back of my mind, it worried me. Yet, I had this sense that it was alright. A sense of contentedness passed over me for the first time in a while. Maybe it’s the finality of it all.

23:50. Ten minutes remaining. I found myself wishing to stay in this run-down apartment; remain as a man with a job at MacDonald’s. It was the newness of the drive to improve that made me want to stay, I knew. There was a potential to grow as James Luther, as I had witnessed.

23:59. One minute left. I gripped the edges of my bed and shut my eyes for the switch. It was coming, whether I liked it or not. I counted the seconds in my head. The last minute passed too fast. I snapped my eyes open, ready for the worst. However, I was there in that bed, staring at the plain white ceiling.

00:01, the bedside clock displayed. My phone showed the same as well. I peeked out of the window to see that the billboards had begun their campaigns. Something’s probably wrong. I’m so tired — might as well sleep.

09:00. Rubbing my eyes open, I looked around and expected a brand new apartment. But there it was: the mirror without glass and the desk beside it. The roof was pale white, as always. I must be dreaming. I pinched myself too hard and yowled.

At the front door, I grabbed the morning’s papers and scanned them for any anomalies. No. None! People were walking about as usual in the city. I pressed a palm against my forehead and thought hard. In the editor’s column was the yearly cheer up/congratulations nonsense. Having nothing else to calm my mind, I read it.

A few sentences caught my eye. “It’s all about the quality of life, they say. Nowhere does it mention material wealth or possessions. Does that mean a common man can break the trend?”

Nowhere. I spun around and gaped in realisation. I’ve been searching for the wrong thing this whole time! I found the key out of the trap! Someone was knocking my door. I opened it with a smile to find two black men in suits, their shoulders broad and imposing.

“We’d like your presence for an important government study.”

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Yet there were some things

I did not dare tell.

Like how your love may

fade completely away

in a day, week, month.

One day, I may

wake up next to you

and scream.

Because every instance of you

has been erased,

rubbed away,

forcefully removed,

GONE.

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Once Mother broke into my room,

heaving with melodramatic delirium.

“You told me your forgot

the day Father died.

Correct?”

A strange feeling

tightened round my chest,

begging me to say no.

But I told the truth.

She dropped on her knees

and apologies dropped from her mouth

like heavy rocks in an avalanche;

tears pooling on the ground.

The story: an ex-lover

whom she pretended to forget

— a mistake in itself.

Accompanied by a dreadful curse

(irreversible):

her first born child, from birth,

loses their memories

faster and faster as they age.

Eventually

everything

disappears.

“I thought he lied,

but now it hurts

more than it ever did.”

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You do not deserve

the agony of knowing.

So I said, “Thank you.

But I probably won’t

last that long.”

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The bejewelled mirror glimmered as I powdered my face. Adam’s “grounding” had expired two days prior, much to my benefit. I twirled my dress around to see the satisfying glint of embedded precious stones. Can’t wait to show the girls tonight. 

Wives from the entire city would be chattering, about nothing and everything, in a cramped meeting room. The party was paid for by the Women’s Rights Association, a group of fortunate women with well-paid husbands. From the name, it would appear that there were rights to fight for. There were none. The association was just a rich woman’s tea party; a demonstration of high society.

Men trapped us with their condescending looks, their money, and their sheer physical strength that had led to too many injuries to defiant wives — which they remained unpunished for. For our nation operated on a single creed, which would remain unchanged as the nation continued to prosper. Unrolling the scroll containing these selfish laws would reveal the first paragraph in elegant lettering, which contained unrighteous poison for all women.

To establish the social order of the nation, it must be accepted and enforced that men take precedence over women in every respectable aspect of life. Only chores and other laborious work are to be delegated to women. Men will command the family and women are obligated to carry out their every whim.

That’s the damned passage. My door shook with the rapid pounding of a fist. I opened it to find Adam’s stormy face.

“Evgenia!” he blustered. “Are you so stupid that you fail to realise it’s pouring outside?”

He was right. Terribly right. In my enthusiasm, I had brushed aside the patter of raindrops on the roof.

“But why are you angry, Adam?”

“You left the laundry out! Idiot! My new suit is now drenched.”

Oh crap. The jet black suit costing a fifth of his salary, disgracefully wet. As I ran outside to check its condition he stepped on the tail of my dress. Rip. A smack across the cheek. While his hand was trailing downwards, it caught on a necklace which it snapped. Pearls were lost in the carpeted floor, like the tears which I lacked the courage to shed. He grabbed me and yanked me closer.

“No party tonight.”

“It’s once a year!”

“No exceptions. You’ll make a fool of me.”

I gripped his hands and tried to free myself from his deathly grasp. Instead, I trembled as his grasp became even stronger. He reached for the cane, always by the door of my room. He bent me over and lifted my dress of shame. Thwack.

The lashes came as a torrent of pain, stinging when it hit and aching after the rod left my skin. His laughter taunted my tears as he abandoned me to cry by the door frame. I’ve had enough. It was time to do something.

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I slipped on the surgical gloves. “I can’t touch raw meat with my bare hands,” I remembered complaining to Adam. It was a lie for my little operation. Adam had nodded sympathetically for once, his spoiled mannerisms working against him.

In the kitchen, I grabbed a knife and began chopping the beef for the night. The portions were smaller: my celebratory dinner. I called Adam over, trying to hide the excitement that almost burst out of my throat.

“What do you think of today’s steak?”

“You used half the budget to buy this tiny steak? It’s fit for one person. No dinner for...”

His voice rose in the familiar beginnings of a rant. It’s time. I plunged my knife into his chest. Blood gushed out onto my apron. The sickening stench of iron and the wetness of blood permeated the room as I pulled the knife out. Adam collapsed before me, his face frozen in shock.

“No one’s going to miss you. Bye-bye, Adam.”

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“Luke has not returned from his last mission on Mars. He may have been captured by the Grineer. Please help to find him — he has a Frost warframe equipped.”

He got himself into a real mess this time. I strapped my bow, sword and gun onto my back. I was Ivara, the huntress and thief. About to steal my boyfriend away from Grineer clones. The stars raced past like rips in the galactic fabric as I went full speed to Mars.

“Ordis, make a quiet landing. Nobody should know I’m here.”

As my feet touched the floor, I got into my usual prowl. My body became invisible, save for the faint edges of my figure that sometimes shone in the burning sun. Creatures plated with layers of heavy armour decked the site. They were milling about, mumbling. I crept behind them as they opened the doors that lead to my lover. The dust in the air crept into my throat. It itched, and I gagged while suppressing a cough. 

After passing through a series of passages laden with the Grineer’s resources, I arrived at the holding room. There were lights on the top of each circular door, showing red or green for the presence of prisoners. Three lights flickered green with troops stationed nearby. There’s so many of them. Footsteps echoed behind me. They grew closer. And closer. No, no... Don’t tell me you’ve seen me.

“You will pay for your sins.”

The black mask with red carvings. No — why are you here again? I don’t even know what I’ve done. He swung his scythe at me. I ducked, striking his legs with my sword. He was quick, stabbing my legs which lay under him. Blood gushed out like a fountain. Running with a limp, I hid in the storage crate area. His all-too-familiar murmuring. He had teleported behind me. I stuck out my sword without looking, only for his scythe to swing towards my neck.

Not today. I grasped its handle and twisted it from his hands. He snarled as I thrust my sword into his torso. He followed up with a cut on the forehead — I was literally seeing red. Scarlet tears dripped onto my body. Swinging my sword around, I finally hit him hard. That was good luck. Cries of pain as he fell to the floor. I finished him off with a stab in the chest. He squirmed on the floor as I dragged him behind a few barrels.

The guards were my main obstacle now, pacing about with wary eyes. I took out the ones at the corners with a steady aim. The ones near the doors remained there; no choice but to try all three doors. One minute after the guards spot me, the execution of the prisoners would be carried out. Execution. Death. There was a stirring in my belly; the thought of losing Luke made me sick.

I dashed to the two occupied cells that lay side by side. At the corner of my eye was the third cell. I slunk behind the guards and started breaking into the console. They spun around upon hearing the beeping, seeing my shimmering figure and activating the alarm. One minute. A whine of frustration escaped from my mouth as the first cell revealed a crawler smelling of rot. I impaled it and the guards, who had been shooting me with weak firearms. 45 seconds left.

The second cell was hard. Keys would not fit into their slots. Thirty seconds left. He was not inside: another enemy slain. I cannot witness his execution. 150 metres to run to him. My legs propelled me forward, wobbling as they went. Yelling guards. A blaring alarm. Flashing lights. Fifteen seconds left. Calm down, you got this. I hacked it and leapt into his arms.

“Darling, I missed you.”

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Henry frowned. Flowers? Time travel? What? He rummaged through his memory for a place to pick them. There was no money for a professionally arranged bouquet, nor was there a place to hide fancy flowers. His mother would rage if she thought he was dating someone. "No girls before you graduate university." She never lets me live. 

"There's a group of flowering trees deeper in the park where I met you. Let's go there today — a nice outing for both of us."

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The cobbled path was comprised of irregularly-shaped stones, smoothened at the edges for safety. Soft clicking of people's shoes echoed all around Helene and Henry as they made their way into the depths of the park. Henry was looking at Helene, who had her eyes set on the sky. A temptation rose up in his heart to pull her aside to tell her how much she intrigued him. She was unforgettable; he savoured every second with her. I want to know what she knows.

Helene was short, at the height of his shoulder. Her face was broad and her expression was one of enduring patience. She seemed to study the world with eyes of caution, but because of experience instead of paranoia. 

They were approaching the trees heavy with scarlet flowers. Their branches pointed to the ground like welcoming arms. Henry reached up and plucked five from a tree, giving them to Helene as he picked five more. 

"Ten flowers is more than enough. Eight's the minimum." 

Henry took a flower and stuck it behind Helene's ear. She cocked her head to the side, not sure of what he was doing. Filled with nervous energy, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her in for a hug. Barely a second passed before she pushed him away, snarling. 

"What do you think you're doing? I told you to not try anything with me. You barely know me." 

"You — you're just like nothing I've ever seen before. I'm sorry... I really just — just want to know more about you." 

He put a hand out, hoping for reconciliation. Seeing that she remained stoic, he withdrew it and let out a sigh. 

"I don't get close to just anyone. You know why? Because way back, I was dating this wizard. About to propose and all that," she spat, shaking her head. Her body had stiffened as she tensed her limbs. 

"Helene, calm down. You look so angry. Really won't do it again, I promise." 

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at him. I came home with a bouquet of roses, only to find that he had hooked up with a bar girl. Oh boy, he didn't say sorry. I dropped the flowers because I was goddamn furious." 

"I'm sorry. I wish I knew... Gosh, I really shouldn't have done that— " 

"That fool cast a disappear-and-forget spell on me! But it didn't work. If it did... Wouldn’t be here today." 

Helene held her breath and then dragged out a sigh. Red had blossomed on her cheeks as sweat ran down from her temples to her jaw. As calmly as possible, she told Henry how she had blacked out and woken up in an Ancient Roman street. The countless hours that ticked by as she figured out how to replicate the spell with the bit of magical knowledge she had obtained from her ex-boyfriend.

A circle of intact flowers, freshly picked and vividly coloured. A cup of tea using the petals of two flowers — as well as a bit of belladonna — made in an enchanted pot. Helene recounted how she burst with ecstasy upon discovering the spell inscribed on a wall. 

“It’s so that everything the pot cooks fills the eaters with extreme agony,” she said with a proud smile. “I wish you knew how hard it was.”

“Honestly, I’m scared now. But I can’t wait for you to show me.” Henry put his hand out again and Helene took it, her soft palm pressing against his cold hands.

“You’re the first person I’ve told about this. I really do feel better now.”

“Well, friends?”

“Friends.”

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