It's a psychological sci-fi thriller called Redesigning Eva. Loving what I've written so far, so I thought I should share it with you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Eva narrates in a stream-of-consciousness style. I just want to help make things clear. Also, beware of some bad language, a disturbing image, drug references/abuse, and a dirty-birdy sex scene!
My eyes are open, and already, three leftovers from yesterday are on my mind: the origami figure, the business card that Natasha Grant herself gave me, and Brian Hicks. When I usually wake up in the morning, I am numb, caught in a web between reality and my dreams. But not today. Today, everything is clear, can be made out.
It is still dark in this bedroom that I’m in, and probably still night. I can tell because the only source of light I’m getting are from hovers that zoom by, firing their beams through the Venetian. With each blast, I can see the ceiling fan spinning on and on and on, the little thing that it was programed to do, but evidently, it isn’t doing it too well. I’m surprised that the old AC unit out back hasn’t exploded yet.
Some part of me is telling me to go back to sleep, and forget about yesterday, but the origami figure, the business card, and Brian Hicks don’t want to go away. Last time I checked, I was out of Valium. Perfect start to a perfect day.
I get up, stand and stretch. I go over to the blinds, push one down.
Outside, Janus City, California, greets you with the neon and the hovers and the smoke and the rain. It always rains in Janus City. It always has, ever since Mother and I moved up here from L.A., where you get nasty jungle heat instead. I honestly don’t know which is better or worse for my health, and nor do I care.
Janus City, the door to opportunity.
You’re in the kitchen now, helping yourself to stale Wonder Flakes with the Stretchscreen set to 16:9 on the morning news.
“Yesterday at noon, the Tanaka Group…”
The news is not exactly an interesting or enlightening watch. Uprisings on Mars due to food shortages. Norman activist found dead in his hover behind the Hollywood sign with half of his face blown off. And so on.
Right next to the bowl of Wonder Flakes is the origami figure, in the form of a crane. Next to that, Natasha’s gift card. Next to that, a letter from Mother. All of them left-overs from yesterday, like the mini-pizza in the freezer. I don’t know how this strange puzzle came to be, or in which order they’re supposed to go. One thing is for sure: they fit.
The biggest piece of them all is the card. I set aside the Flakes for a moment, and pick it up with my bandaged left hand. Compliments of a femme fatale.
“Uso o tsuite ikite iru yori mo seikatsu no naka de warui koto ga arimasu,” the Japanese girl says, grip tight on my arm like Brian in the bed days ago. I see nothing through her Ray-Ban Wayfarer lenses but darkness, and her voice doesn’t raise or waver in the slightest.
Inscribed on the front: PROMETHEUS CORPORATION, building a better world through the fire… CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS: BABEL TOWER, SECTOR 7- FINANCIAL DISTRICT.
“Prometheus Corporation… is this legit?” I ask Natasha.
“As legit as my Zip-Locs of Bolivia,” she laughs. A typical thing for a Redesign upper to say.
In the bathroom, back at the house, I pop open the bottle of Valium in the bathroom at home. The shaking comes and goes with the storm fronts. Mom doesn’t know I pop some, and I doubt she knows that she has it in the cabinet. Like the business card, I stare at it.
“This sounds awfully familiar to me. Are they big?”
“The biggest,” Natasha says. Klaus Krieger himself is going to be speaking at the Red in a few weeks.”
“Klaus Krieger involved with Prometheus Corporation?”
“So I’ve heard. He’s high up their ladder. Still sucking cock, though.”
The little white capsules drop down your throat, and the drop is long and hard. Everything goes silent for a moment.
Brian Hicks.
We lock eyes in his bed, and the lights are dim. His boyish blonde hair is unkempt from the fun we were having. We just stare for a moment, mouths slightly open, catching our breath. Looking up his face, his head blocking my view of the ceiling like a stellar object, I feel numbed; our skin is slick and oily. I feel like something came out of me.
Closing the cabinet above the sink, I see a baggy-eyed girl looking right back at me. Her red hair and tawny puppy eyes are a standout.
Brian feels one of my bangs, and then puts his forefinger on my forehead. My eyes track it as it goes down.
“English and Literature Floor,” the AI says over the speaker.
_________________
Yes, I'm still alive.
06 Sep 2012, 11:58 am
