INTRODUCTION
-2066- VELNA MYY
The buzzing alarms sounded off, sending vibrations through the walls, floors and bars. There was a bubble of nervous laughter that followed along the coattails of a tense flinch. A female guard noticed Velna’s awkwardness and gave a nod, although the reasoning was unclear but it was returned on auto pilot nonetheless. Velna was familiar enough with the procedure by now. She was directed to an empty table that she was sure she sat at before, since there was a familiar chip pattern on its surface. Tried as she might to distract herself with it, she wasn’t given the time as the guard tsked her teeth to grab her attention. Following her eyes that were facing the opposite side of the room, she caught on to what induced her grimace. Velna, on the other hand, couldn’t help but make the opposite expression. A fierce burn surfaced behind her teary eyes, leaving her face flushedーnot the most attractive expressionーbut the return look from Simon eased her anxiety.
In seconds, he was right in front of her; tall and lanky with brown, shaggy hair even longer than last remembered. There were dark circles under his chocolate brown eyes and a purpling line that reached from his right cheek to the corner of his lip. Hands shot out to reach his face, thumb caressing the cut in gentle motions. Simon nearly melted in her palms, his eyes closing and a long sigh spilling from his lips. Yet the intimate moment was abruptly cut when the guard cleared her throat.
“Keep the touches limited. Remember your rules,” she gruffed out at Simon. With a final glare, she walked off to stand her post at one of the walls.
With the moment ruined, they stiffly took their seats at the table. She said the touches had to be limited, but hand holding was allowed and Velna wasn’t going to squander the opportunity. With desperate speed, she reached across the table and Simon followed suit a second later. Velna gathered her words before taking another look at his cut. “What happened to your face?” She questioned softly.
Simon shook his head, rattling the waves on top. “It’s nothing.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Vel, it’s fine, forget about it. Tell me about everything else, please.”
His voice was pleading. The desperate tone managed to stop her short, weakening her resolve to ask more questions. Instead, she chose to clue him in on her changes. “I’ve gained 5 more pounds and the doctor keeps recommending a strict diet. The usual keeps going on at work. Your uncle is a saint. And you know, I miss you.”
He responded with a faint smile. “Do you know the gender yet?”
The mimicking smile she hadn’t realized was dancing on her face, immediately disappeared. The question was barely out of his mouth before Velna vehemently shook her head in answer. “No, no I didn’t ask.”
“Vel,” he sighed, now sounding exasperated.
Ignoring the impending argument she could feel rising, Velna quickly tacked on more news. “I’ve also spoken to the lawyers.”
Thankfully, it caught him off guard. “What did they say?”
“That there’s promise. They haven’t guaranteed anything, but you have a clean record prior to the riots and overall, you have a good standing.”
“What’s the hiccup?”
“They did warn me that the one thing they’re worried about are the log books. It’s evidence that proveーI mean, suggest, according to Mr. Ableーyou set up all those meetings.” By the end of her speech, she found her voice to be practically whispering to Simon, afraid that somehow the guard who was still stationed across the room could hear them.
Simon was quiet and for once, his expression no longer looked stressed. The frown lines and forehead creases mellowed out and seeped back into his skin, reminding Velna of the youthful Simon she went to school with. It had been a very long while since she’s seen this version of him. It made her wonder where he went where she couldn’t follow. Because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t confess actual knowledge on whether Simon committed the crimes or not. Not that it mattered anyway since Simon didn’t deem her allowed to know. Nothing hurt worse than the secrecy.
The loud buzzard rang again but the two of them were too deep in their own worlds to flinch this time around. Still, Velna felt ill at the thought that they were going to be separated again. The feeling swiveled its way around her gut where her unborn slept unknowingly and tapped on its glass walls. It felt around the edges, to test for any cracks it could wedge its way through. Simon assumed the fat tears pooling at the end of Velna’s eyes were for him and if it comforted him in anyway, she’d continue to let him believe that. Except it was to tolerate the gravity she felt pulling at her insides. She wasn’t experienced in forbodance, but she could tell, that was what this was. Together they stood but remained silent, hesitant to say goodbye. Before the guard could make her reach, Simon encircled Velna into his arms, exhaling his fragile breath into her hair, and reached his lips to her ears to whisper, “I’ll pray for a little girl.”
No words, let alone goodbye, could be formed before Simon was wretched from her arms. He put up no resistance, even as another guard assisted the first one in putting him in a hold to usher him out. As if the baby could feel its mother’s suffering like it were its own, it kicked harshly, attempting to break its way out to help Simon. All Velna could do to soothe its ire was caress her stomach and internally whisper good faith. It’ll be alright. At least, she hoped.
It took several moments for Velna to collect herself, feeling too embarrassed to look at any of the other inmates and their visitors. She was tired from crying and feeling emotionally compromised. If just for a moment to distract herself and get her bearings again, she studied the chips on the table, feeling an urge to flick it with her nails. Except, it was then that she took notice of the chips that had a purposeful pattern; haggard and messy, yes, but there was a noticeable sway to the lines. She turned her head this way and that and could make out a crude hourglass shape with what, no doubt, had to be a spiral on the bottom half. After realizing what it was that whatever person carved on the table, illness curled at the pit of her stomach once again. It truly was a prisonーit had to be; if it was a norm to have that symbol on display without consequence. That symbol being, the Mark of E.V.E.
~~⧗~~
Hello there! Yes, you, the ReaderーI see you! With the eyes and nose and hair somewhere. I’m willing to bet that you have some questions after taking a gander of what Velna’s going through. That wouldn’t surprise me. Well lucky you, Reader, I’m here to take you through the journey. But before that really quick, I bet your question right this second is, ‘Who are you?’ Reader, I am the narrator, the omniscient third person that can see all. I have the power to take you through any setting, through any person’s mind of my choosing (but only within this universe). Normally a third person narrator doesn’t have an identity, or even a name for that matter, but Author said that since I play an important part in telling the story, it would be a good idea to change that. Starting by giving me a name. She’s decided on EvE (because she isn’t that creative). So let’s go through some rules that she’s given me:
I really do know everything; what’s happening, who’s doing what, etc.
That does not mean I am allowed to spoil anything before that particular character is ready to do so. Leave it up to the suspense!
and
I am not allowed to change any of the events that you will learn about as you read along
Easy enough, right? So don’t go around trying to tempt me. Oh! But I nearly forgot; Author has given me a special giftーa superpowerーthat I am only allowed to use once. Except, it will be up to you, the Reader, to tell me when it would be most appropriate to use it. It works under one crucial condition: you must possess the knowledge of all outcomes before you aim to reset. That’s right, Author has gifted me with the power to interject in any time, place or setting and reset its outcome. That’s exciting, but don’t go jumping the gun just yet; you should ask about the risks! The major one being, if you choose the wrong time, place or setting, the existence of this universe ends up imploding in on itself. This fatal outcome also applies in the case of if I’ve already traveled to that time, place or setting. Who knows how time travel really works, but if any theory is correct, I may have already travelled in time through another timeline. If I accidentally meet my other self then all the negative stuff still happens! So I’m begging you, Reader, read carefully. Choose carefully.
Now that I’ve gotten all of the pleasantries done and away with, let’s get started shall we? To make sense of all of this, it’d be wise if I rewind and start from the beginningーin retelling the story, not actually going back in time! It might be important for you guys to know how this all began…
-1985- AMBER BRAMBLE
In the quiet streets of suburban New Jersey resided the Bramble family, who lived there since the beginning of colonizationーif you asked Johnathan’s grandmother. There was Johnathan, the eldest (24), his younger brother Jackson (20), and his younger sister Jolyn (12), his mother and father, Amber and Joseph Bramble, and his grandmother, Jessie. The Bramble family shared the common looks of Barbie blue eyes and sandy-brown hair, except for Amber, who wore her brunette locks in a tight braid. They all sat around the table, all 12 pairs of eyes boring into the young woman sitting at the center, in the hot seat. Jonathan’s girlfriend of 2 years, Amari Marks, a youngling (in the eyes of the older family members) of 22 whose chosen major in her community college was science. Amber was guilty of being a doting, perhaps overbearing, mother at times, but her children were her lifeline; she loved them more than words could ever describe, so Johnathan’s insistence in marrying her fed into her need to just say ‘yes, do it’. Yet, her intuition nagged her. There was nothing wrong with Amari, on the contrary: she was humorous, fashionable, seemingly good with kids, healthy in mind and body…
Except, there was an air to her that spelled something different. Amber couldn’t put her finger on it, she couldn’t put a name to it, but she knew, just knew something was there. It was something about Amari’s eyes that felt wrong. They were piercing eyes despite the lackluster color (a simple brown); every time she visited with Johnathan and held conversations with the family, Amber noticed the analyzing orbs sussing them out. Although she couldn’t speak for the others, it always left her chilled. Nearly naked. Her own bravado tried matching hers, but shamefully enough, she’d avert her gaze and busy herself with something else. Her boy, though, never waivered. He was captivated by something akin to a predator.
Were this any other woman sitting in an emergency family meeting, waiting to be grilled about her intentions with Johnathan, she’d be fidgeting, nervously twitching, sweating perhaps. Amber wasn’t surprised by how calm and collected Amari sat. Although the dining room chair was slightly too big compared to her frame, she looked at home. As if sitting on a throne. Her elbows were perched on both sides of the arm rests with her fingers intertwined loosely on her lap. For all one knows, Amari’s choice of attire was entirely on purpose too; a tight fitting, white turtleneck dress that (uncanningly) resembled wedding garb. It curved beautifully around her hourglass figure and revealed smooth, gold-colored shoulders. The clean look wasn’t complete without the slick style of her chestnut hair pulled tightly back into a slim, yet wavy ponytail.
Amber decided it was best to start off. “You understand why this is...surprising?” Her voice was reminiscent of Mary Poppins, in pitch and tone, but Amari could hear the deep intonations of skepticism.
Still, Amari had to play nice, if for Johnathan’s sake. “Yes, Ma’am. I understand your reservations.”
“Do you? I’m not questioning your relationship, as I’m sure the two of you love each other greatly. But two years...that is a short amount of time in knowing each other.”
It was obvious by the way Johnathan bit his bottom lip that he tried to keep from scoffing at his mother. “There are people that have been in arranged marriages within less time.”
“John,” Amber warned lightly by a drop of her tone. “We aren’t a family that arranges marriages. And, I am not saying I or we,” she extended as she looked around the room to the other family members, “Don’t approve of this choice. It’s just that there are some concerns.”
Amari agreed with subtle nods. “She’s right, John. Maybe I can help by answering some of them?”
Amber opened her mouth with a question on the tip of her tongue, but the light tapping of the table stopped her and she peeked towards her left side, where her mother-in-law sat. Jessie was on the side of Amber on this topic considering she was just as big of a supporter of Johnathan’s dream as Amber was.
“Let me pitch in,” said Jessie. “You have an idea of where Jonny’s heading in the future?” She jutted her chin towards Amari, ignoring Johnathan’s exasperated eye-roll.
Lips moistened by some nude cosmetics, widened to expose large and white teeth. “Yes.” Turning to gaze at Johnathan, Amari continued. “He’s going to be president.”
Jessie’s nods were curt and sharp. “That’s right and we support every choice, every decision he makes that gets him closer to that goal. No disrespect, Jonny, but your experience with women is a little on the green side.”
Internally, Amber was jumping with relief. Her mother-in-law was a sharp-tongued retortist and she could see her matching eye to eye with Amari. Hearing his grandmother call him out on his inexperience, however, resulted in a lava-like hue to paint his neck and cheeks. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Reinjecting herself into the conversation, Amber added, “What your grandmother is trying to remind you, is that youーboth of youーare still young. You want to be president of the United States of America, that means a lot of discipline. There isn’t wiggle room for experimenting or meeting new people that aren’t representatives of foriegn nations. Pretty much, whatever first decision you make, to the American public, it’s the final one. This includes...choice of partners.”
Although neither Jessie nor Amber were intentionally talking to Johnathan as if he were a child, he still felt talked down to. His cheeks remained red from embarrassment and regret in sharing his marital desires at all. “So what you’re saying is, Amari isn’t good enough.” Looking to his father and then his younger siblings, he had to ask for their input. “You all too? You agree with them?”
Normally the two younger ones would find any moment to one-up Johnathan, as they loved overpowering him, but this time, they wanted to stay far away from the drama. Not to mention, they had no personal feelings against Amari. Both remained silent, merely shaking their heads or shrugging. Amber wanted the whole family together to talk as a unit, but she didn’t consider how manipulative it might seem to John that his entire family was up against him.
Joseph, on the other hand, had no problem pitching in. “Actually, I’m fine with how things are. You wanna marry her,” he gestured towards Amari. “You go on ahead. I just say you heed your mother and your grandmother’s advice in some way. You end up hitching without a plan and you’ll learn real quick that an unhappy wife in a marriage is going to fuck you up.”
“JOSEPH HENRY BRAMBLE!” Jessie cried.
“Joe,” Amber added witheringly.
At Joe’s bluntness, Amari chuckled but quickly regained her composure when she caught the residue of Jessie’s glare she had originally given Joseph. “Believe it or not, I do understand where you are coming from,” she said towards the two women. “You are correct; we are young and in normal circumstances, John and I would have probably dated other people.”
“But?” Jessie griped.
“But, I love Johnathan. Very much so. I too am in full support of his dreams and want to be by his side supporting it. I understand that there is risk, so all I can promise today is to keep open communications at all times. I will not hesitate to address any immediate concerns along the way. In return, I want the privilege to be called his wife. I am all in. Whatever it takes.”
When Amari’s eyes zeroed in on Amber, dread began to zip through her spine. Especially when her two younger children smiled in hope, Joseph grunted in approval, and Jessie (surprisingly) nodded in understanding. The table now awaited on her. The dread creeped into the back of her mind, rooting itself in the corners to forever nest. While she was not a devout Catholic, Amber prayed to her God regardless. May my intuition be wrong and the future be bright.
With that final prayer sent, Amber reluctantly smiled. “Welcome to the family.”
~~⧗~~
Hmm, I might’ve messed up there; I didn’t recall back far enough. That’s not actually the beginning-beginning. Hey, I said I knew everything, not that I remembered everything in order! It’s no biggie, there is always next time. We’re going to head back to the future and meet someone new…
-2066- BROOKLYN LEE
“Ms. Ketsu, is it true the Diet is reconsidering your seat on the Convocation?”
The camera panned over to the 6’5” tall woman adorned in a white collar pinstripe and black slacks with gold jewelry accenting her ears, neck, and wrists. She possessed the stereotypical physical traits of the Japanese people: slim build, raven-colored hair that reached to the middle of her spine, unblemished skin, and small, slanted eyes. At the bottom of the screen read ‘HINDLEY KETSU: Territory Leader of Flannerinian’.
For a second, Hindley attempted at a smile, probably to placate whatever PR lackey was shouting in her ear, but when her mouth returned to its original, flat state for the 5th time, she left her stoicism as is. Not that it mattered; Brooklyn could sense the amusement through the screen, in her living room nearly 2,000 miles away.
What must have been a shock to the ears of first-timers that have never watched an interview of Hindley, was the brutally Southern twang that leaked from her mouth the moment she spoke her first word. “Yuh ‘shud ask the Prime Minista buh I’m purdy sher I’m stayin’.”
The interviewer blinked several times and peeked a glance somewhere off-stage. It manifested into an awkward pause but the interviewer managed to segue into some other topic.
‘Plink’ and the TV went off. As amusing as the interview turned out to be, Brooklyn needed to return back to reality, which, speaking of the Convocation, she needed to stop procrastinating and start putting together her campaign plan. Election time was in another year but with all of the meetings and interviews scheduled throughout, it made time skip forward by half that. Except, her arrogance lightened any worry she might have had to begin with. Similarly to Hindley, Brooklyn was confident that the Italian government would vote to keep her in her seat for the third year in a row. The other potential candidates were dreamers, young children that wanted to better the world with the idea of resuscitating the old America. One being a man from an old military background. Granted, that increased his chances a little bit, but he was better off returning to the back burner where all the other wanna-bees usually ended up. There was a slim chance that the governments would allow for another...kalkún (or tacchino as they called them in the Cybillian territory) to take a seat, especially with the emergence of the riots.
The riots. That reminded her that she needed to make a public announcement before more chaos broke loose. Apparently there are some major scares being spread around the country, triggering a lot of the older population about the “old days”. No physical evidence has popped up to validate any of the concerns, but the governments won’t continue to approve of the riots escalating in any of the territories. It was best to nip it in the bud now rather than later. And as if scheduled ahead of time, a knock sounded off against her office door.
“Come in,” she commanded.
The large mahogany door opened to let in an oval with arms and legs. Well, there were some other details Brooklyn neglected to visually recognize. Like the familiar blue-green color of his eyes and thick brushes of eyebrows that resembled her own. Like the similarly beige colored skin stretched around a hefty build. For Brooklyn, it was rather easyーand felt betterーto forget those articles of his design, because it made the reality of him being her younger brother more tolerable to digest.
“What is it?”
Despite there being a wad of papers in his hand, notably the newspaper, Hattlyn wrung his fingers together in a tight grip, turning the ends into a sickly shade of purple and red. Were he to squeeze any tighter, his fingers were sure to sound like a freshly opened bottle of champagne. There was sweat beading at the edges of his hairline and most likely around his neck due to him choking himself with a tight collared shirt. The button rooted at the top looked desperate with every jiggle of his skin and that was all before he even spoke. Brooklyn imagined that prolonged speech would be tortuous on that button.
“There, uh, there are three calls put on hold for you,” he wheezed out. Using one of those abused fingers, Hattlyn skirted the rim of his collar to alleviate the pressure and clear his throat. “From momーmother, I mean, a reporter from the New York Press, and...the President.”
“I’ll have to take the President’s call. Tell Mother the usual and just hang up on the press.” A dull throb was beginning to echo through her membrane. Talking to the President of Italy was going to take at least half a day, iterating the same nonsense she always did to calm him down. Nonesene being, of course Cybillian aims to be open and peacefulーblah blah. Not for the first time, she was bombarded with impulsive and aggressive thoughts on what would happen if she told the president off and ran Cybillian her way.
Noticing that Hattlyn remained boubously erect in the same place since entering, she morse coded her inquiry via a blink and eyebrow raise. “Sorry, it’s just, uh, if I canー”
“What?”
“The press...I thinkーit might, I meanーbe a good idea to speak with them.” He gulped several times, pushing his double chin into the button harder.
Being a longtime acquaintance of Hindley has taught Brooklyn the art of listening first. “‘Idiots luv tah speek first, so let ‘em’”. Granted, everyone seemed like an idiot to Brooklyn, but the principle was still important to value.
“Because?” She asked, feeling generous for a moment.
“The news about the riots. They’re talking about the riots, and uh, saying that it’s causing a lot of unrest.”
“Don’t you think I already know that?”
“Yes, yes of course. I mean, it might help, uh, to calm the people down first. So that they don’t think to complain to the President. That way, you only have to worry about the campaign.”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought along the same lines before, but in previous years, working in reverse seemed to achieve results just fine. No longer wanting to dwell on the same issues, she rubbed her temples and grunted a resigned ‘Fine’. Hattlyn understood his sister’s limited language and hurriedly made his way to the exit. A faint beep hummed on her table a few seconds later, that being the business line. It was then she realized that she never asked which line was which and she felt too petty at the moment to call Hattlyn back in. If she followed the order Hattlyn verbalized before, her mother was probably the first line; instead, she pressed for the second, hoping it was the president.
“Your brother sounds ill,” came a sharp, nasal voice. Damn it! Maybe if she slams the phone down, her mother won’t have a chanceー “I know you picked up the phone, now will you answer me?” Damn it again.
“The President is on the other line, I don’t haveー”
“I bet when his mother calls, he knows better than to ignore her.”
“You know, I’ll ask him to confirm that hypothesis.”
“You do that after you finish telling me why your brother sounds like he’s been sitting in the desert for three days.”
The dull headache from before echoed much louder, this time behind her eyes and forehead. “Ma, he’s fine. He’s always fine.”
“Not with the way he sounds.”
“It’s cause he’s fat, what else you want me to tell you?” The more she spoke, the thicker her accent, derived from the creases of Brooklyn, New York, came out.
“Brooklyn, we don’t speak that way about family. I’m so sick of hearing you say those things to him, like he doesn’t have any feelings. When are you going to get over this thing you have about him, huh? Brooklyn, I’m talking to you, answer me.”
She rambled on and on about the faults she never realized she created. It didn’t mean much to Brooklyn, because with a push of a button, her mother’s voice transformed into the soft cadence of the New York Press’ automated music player.
“Hello, I am looking to speak with Ms. Brooklyn Lee? My name is Olivia Tuckson from the New York Press.”
“Right.”
“If you have a moment, I wanted to inquire about the recent increase in riots and…”
Without the reporter’s notice, Brooklyn switched over to speaker phone; she didn’t need the words to filter through her ears to know what was being asked. So experienced was she in response that she knew how to answer on autopilot. It even gave her opportunity to look out the window directly behind her desk, where the city bustled with live movement and rhythm. She paid close attention to the street signals, how automatic everyone seemed to move with every change. There was a tickle in the back of her mind, whispering to open the window and yell the triggering words she knew would throw the scene in disarray.
With vibrancy, she could see it now. With just one word, maybe two at the most, a riot would start in the middle of the streets. The cars and buses would honk and swear words would be spat with perfect precision. Two, maybe more people would get out of their cars to breathe down the others’ neckーprobably a man and a woman. Suddenly all of the surrounding women would take notice and rally behind the one woman, forming a clog in the streets. Some brave men would try the same, but one by one, they’ll start to see just how outnumbered they really are. Before they all know it, there’s a dead man laying on the ground with blood pooling. They’ll scatter and leave him behind for the paramedicsーor garbage menーto clean. The news will print a name somewhere in the middle of the newspaper where no one will read and all will be forgotten by the next day. For many of the traditionalists, it would be one less body of matter to concern with.
~~⧗~~
Welcome back! I wanted to take this time to do some world building with you before I introduce you to more people and their stories. Now that we’ve jumped into the past and the present, you might have a general idea of what’s going on, so allow me to fill in the blanks! Well, just like the prologue says, a lot of chaos sparked up by the new millenia, but really the civil wars--better known as the Gendered Wars (I’ll let some of the other narrators expand on that later)--started by the 90’s and lasted throughout the decade into the new millenia. By then, World War III started since the Gendered Wars were beginning to affect other countries. Long story short, when the war ended, America was too fragile to survive on its own, so nine of our allies decided to step up and become our partners. Or investors. Depending on your perspective.
The nine countries are:
Japan
Australia
Mexico
The United Kingdom
France
Canada
Israel
Germany and
Italy
In exchange for their help, each country required “territories” and argued amongst themselves which territories they’d have. When all was finalized, America was renamed ‘The New Americana’. But to keep some of America’s essence, if you will, the nine governing countries would elect a leader for their territories--the Territory Leaders--and run elections every 2 years. There are no limitations as to who can run although each country has their preferences. Oh! And there are no term limits, so a candidate can run (and remain in seat) for however long they can retain their position. And if you’re wondering how the territories are split, don’t worry, I’ll show you!
https://eggsandbaconlit.blogspot.com/
Well, hopefully that should be enough to understand the set up. I may or may not pop in to add more insight if needed, but I’ll let my minions tell their stories. Until next time!
-EvE
No comments:
Post a Comment