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The Future Just Aint What it Used to Be |
| Written by Cheyana Wilkinson | |
| Wednesday, 16 April 2008 | |
 The Future Just Aint What it Used to Be
In a desolate corner of an intimidating city-scape, a small society of people was becoming uneasy. I was one of them. We were The City's rejects, the outspoken, the free-thinkers; we had no one but each other and The City that imprisoned us. But if our plan was executed successfully, this would all be a thing of the past. We were going to disperse ourselves among the general population, quietly gathering allies in an attempt to overthrow the iron fist of The City's empire. This night was the most crucial part of the plan - infiltration. We would infect The City. I looked around at our territory, the place we had been herded to, out of sight, out of mind. It was the darkest corner of The City, depleted, deserted, dull. Graffiti was spattered on every available wall space, the colours faded to drearier hues. I could see the backs of towering apartment blocks, the concrete cracked. I looked towards the sky above. The summer sun was nowhere to be seen, only overcast clouds, showering us in hopelessness. But not all was bleak and grey; the people were like a rainbow among stormy skies. I spied a group of boisterous youth gathered around the doorstep to a derelict hall. A fluorescent blue mohawk protruded from one boy's pale skull, which contrasted with his vivid green eyes. Piercings punched through much of his skin. His clothes were ripped and torn, a little too small. The others were just as scruffy and unique. They were most certainly an eclectic bunch. Not so far from the youth, two withered old men were competing in a friendly game of chess. The chess board was merely a battered picnic table with the squares crudely spray painted onto its surface. The playing pieces were made of a variety of small city treasures: a one-armed toy soldier, a smooth orange pebble, and a shiny red button, to name a few. It was strangely saddening to know that I would be leaving this un-loved sector of The City. It could be some time before I returned to these litter strewn streets, to see the children playing contentedly in the gutters. I would miss the chirping blackbirds that so often roosted in the rooftops, the rats that scuttled between the shadows, and even the bitter taste of the pollutants that came spilling out of the nearby factories. But I knew that when I finally did return, all these things would still be here to greet me. That was over a decade ago. On that night that is meticulously imprinted onto my memory, I was taken away, separated from the others. The City's drones had locked me up. I lost contact with my friends, some of whom I thought of as family. Now I stand in a busy city street, like any other, glancing at the street names in disbelief. No longer are there dark, crumbling buildings. Modern sky-scrapers line the sidewalk, all in an assortment of calming colour schemes. Not one measly graffiti tag can be seen on the spotless walls. The footpath is bursting with commuters, walking briskly and avoiding eye-contact. It is as if the whole area has been flipped inside-out, the colours introverted. Everyone is wearing black and white, suited up appropriately in the expected dress code. Clones. The building may have been given a breath of colour, but the people have had theirs sucked out. This is not the welcome back I was expecting. I stride towards a building I seem to recognise. The automatic doors whoosh quietly as they slide open. A gleaming metal plaque states "Welcome to City Hall," in perfectly stamped lettering. Behind the polished reception desk a man sits in an uncomfortable chair. He is utterly average looking. Precisely combed brown hair sits upon his head and his pale skin seems even more so when compared with his black suit. He gives me a pleasant grin as he asks how he may assist me. I do not reply, but I notice his ears have many small holes dotted around them. The man interrupts the brief silence by repeating his sentence in the same, practiced tone. I look into his vivid green eyes and succumb to The City. Copyright 2008 Cheyana |
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