Everything is in slow motion
The burning pain has swallowed me whole. I close my eyes tighter and brace myself. A new sharpness radiates through my stomach, up my throat and erupts as a bloody mess of mucus and guts on the concrete. The powerful force behind the hit is almost inhuman. I have no idea what I am being attacked with, probably a crowbars or iodized pipe. Everything in my head is screaming at me to stop being a victim and protect myself, but I'm too weak, too disoriented, too hurt…too damn scared.
I can feel the bruises that are blossoming on my skin, I want to put a face to his cruelty, but my vision is screwed. Even if I could look him in the face I wouldn’t know what I was seeing.
Of course I am assuming he is even a he. The drugs they gave me keep me pretty fuzzy and I couldn't make out a face or even a clear enough body shape. The exhausted heavy breathes sound male to me, but did have a feminine quality
I think about home. Thinking that if I keep imagining it, I'll eventually get back there.
The blows cease, the pain continues and I can hear him breathing. He is probably staring at me, waiting for me to break, waiting for me to scream, waiting for me to admit something I have no knowledge off.
Or maybe he wants to see what other vulnerable body part he can damage next.
In the distance I hear sharp footsteps. Within seconds the door quickly opens and closes and I hear the receding steps of my attacker.
I'm alone again.
I'm scared.
I feel around until I find the cracked gray plastic bucket in the corner and finish spitting up whatever is lingering in my mouth. Then I pull myself over until I feel the single dull black threadbare blanket in the opposite corner and close my eyes. I can shut out the blurriness of my surroundings, I can relax into my pain until it's just numb, I can pretend I'm somewhere else. The inside of my eyelids is at first a black, then a dull red and finally a peaceful gray.
I don't know who they are or what they want but I get the distinct feeling they are going to kill me.
I'm not worth it. I don't deserve it.
The evil side of me, the side that just wants to survives play on repeat an evil thought.
She's worth it. She deserves it.
-2-
This wasn’t how my New Year was supposed to begin.
What felt like just hours ago I was in my bedroom at my parents’ house, carefully avoiding my Dad's gaze as he knotted my silk black tie. Dad was never affectionate with me and having him so close was weird. I mean, Dad wasn't a flaky parent or anything, he was always there when Mom and I needed him. He just never went beyond what was acceptable as a father.
“Dad, I’m 19 I can tie my own tie.” I said for the third time as he withdrew his hands from my neck, the pristine Windsor knot finished.
“I know.” Dad said, slightly guiding me towards the floor length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. “But, it has to be right for tonight. You don’t want to look foolish.”
What he meant is he didn't want to look foolish.
Staring at our reflections, there was no doubt I was my father’s son—we looked so much alike. Same dark blonde hair, same deep blue eyes and deep set jaw. It didn't help that we were dressed in identical black tuxedos, complete with vest and all.
The only differences were the 3 inches he had on me, the crows feet around his eyes and the fact that he could actually grow facial hair. Something that seemed to be overlooked in my genetic makeup.
“Hey Dad, how about after the party we go stand in line at the Apple Store ?,” I half-joke as we head to the staircase. Our shoes clicked in a matching rhythm against the marble.
The new Apple Syndicates were coming out at midnight. At $900 each they were even steep for Dad. Still all the tech-baiters had been standing in line since Christmas night.
“Maybe,” he said with a devilish smile, “If I’m not completely hungover.”
I forced an awkward laugh.
While my mom still treated me like a child, I was developing this weird relationship with my Dad where he talked to me like I was one of his friends.
“It would be so crazy,” I said, breaking the rhythm and jogging down the stairs in front of him.
Mom was in the kitchen fully dressed and staring off into her Syndacite. Her dress was sparkly pink, like someone had dumped hot pink glitter on her head; at her knees the glitter tapered out until it was just sheer fabric. Her thick hair was curled around her shoulders and a few strands ended at her chest. She looked pretty, but the top of the her dress was dangerously low.
Luckily, none of my friends would see her tonight. They always got so weird around Mom.
Above the sparkly diamond earrings Dad bought her last night sat her thin, pink Sony 0 syndicate. It was no bigger than her pinky finger and when she turned, it was all but obscured by the earring.
Syndicates were small, but crazy powerful pieces of technology—however as usual, my mother was using it for something stupid. She had projected the party invitation in front of us and was staring at it like it was mass partical science
“ Do you think I should do my hair up in a chingon ? It’s more a more elegant affair this year, right ? I mean it says elegant on the invite.” she asked, her voice worried.
“No, dear. You look fine.” Dad reassured her, slipping his hand around her waist and kissing the inside of her neck. She laughed and leaned into him.
Believe me when I say I can’t wait to get out of my parent’s house and back to school.
“Come on we’re late,” Dad said grasping Mom’s hand as we headed into the chilly night.
Dad’s new sleek red, Lincoln U20I was waiting for us. The clear glass hydraulic suicide doors swung open as we approached.
Mom and I got into the backseat while Dad got into the front. He pulled up the GPS system—a hologram floating above his face. After he taped in the coordinates of the hotel, the car beeped and then started driving on it’s own internal computer into the garage elevator.
When we sped out of the elevator into the dark street, Dad swiped through a few of the car's holographic screens impatiently.
"How the hell do I tint the doors ?," he grumbled to himself, before making an audible sigh. "Ah, nevermind, I got it."
With a soft pur the clear back doors began to tint a solid black.
His new car was pretty sick. The body was covered in flexible liquid LED screens and changed color at the flick of a button. It was pretty random when Dad drove up to the front of the building last week honking the horn. Mom seemed a little pissed, but I was happy because it meant I would get Dad’s old new car—which was barely 6 months old.
Mom placed her hand on her Syndicate and I could tell she was watching her favorite soap opera, Passion Cove. Mom’s eyes were still, with tiny white pin points in her irises that projected the show to her eyes. Her volume was up so high I could hear the sound of the annoying teen actress, crying over some guy coming out of Mom’s ears.
“Hey, Mom that show has a Simstim cast,” I told her
“Hmm ?” she questioned, pushing her finger on an invisible button in front of her eyes --pausing the show.
“That show has a Simstim,” I repeated as she reached her hand over and started to fix a piece of my hair. Her nails matched her dress right down to the sparkles.
”You can only use SimStims on the Apple Syndicates,” I explained. “Dad said he may buy them. Wouldn’t that be amazing ?”
“I don’t know. I don't even know what it is, baby,"
“It’s cool,” I tried to tell her. “It’s like you are an actual character in the show. Like you are standing right in the room. It’s cutting edge.”
“Yeah, cutting edge entertainment shit,” Dad added dryly. He was never big into entertainment or anyone using high tech just for fun. He thought advancements should only be used to create medicine or something else good for society.
Well, except if it helped his car obsession.
“It’s still cool,” I told him.
“Well, if we got this Apple thing for you would it make you stay at home the rest of break ?,” Mom bargained tapping her garish nails against the window.
“Nope,” I smiled, but she kept her red lips in a straight line and her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Sorry,” I added weakly, but she already had her Syndicate back on.
I had spent two weeks of my winter break from the Metro College of Art and Design at home bored out of my mind. When my new roommate, Marco invited me to spend the last week of break at his parent’s vacation house with some other guys I would have left that second, but I had to go to this party. Mom was upset because she didn’t really know Marco or any of my school accquantices and well, everyone was on high alert with the recent attacks and everything.
It wasn’t a big deal though. I mean terrorist want to blow up borders, not some middle class family vacation homes.
I turned my basic Sony S7 Syndicate back on and turned up my music. The Sony S7 doesn’t do much, but it is the first Syndicate to offer an NBA pro package. I looked out my window as we drove past the rest of the metallic high rises that made up our neighborhood. I imagined the apartments were mostly empty.
Our neighborhood was made up almost entirely of employees of Tempus Corporation—the company dad worked for. Everyone from the senior executives to the lunch cooks lived in those few blocks of the South District. Obviously, some had single family apartment while a few, like my family,had penthouse suites.
Empty spaces in between the buildings had continually running hologram ads and screens giving text news updates.
“The 4th Infantry Guards will be awarded The Bronze Heart for bravery upon return to Atlanta.”
“Terror level is no longer an Orange. It has gone up two places to Green.”
Good. Maybe Mom will stop freaking out.
“Happy New Year, South District !”
Almost.
“State Guards on the Border send love and New Year’s thoughts to S. Townsend, Helen Dawnson, Maggie F and Bradshaw M.”
Taking my eyes away from the screen I can see a bunch of kids my age heading off to arcades,parties or bars. I'm a little envious, but, I had promised Dad I would attend the Tempus Corp New Year’s Party before I left with Marco. I'd been joking with Dad he would be be lucky if I stayed around until midnight. Hanging out with his boring co-workers wasn't exactly how I wanted my New Year's to go.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N
I think I was always partial to Mimic because I liked the New Year's Setting, so I incorporated it into this. Would you believe I've re-writtent his 4 times since April ?