Fiction: Turnning Points #7

 

SEVEN

Winter is coming. I can feel the north wind finger its way underneath my coat and down my neck. The clouds ooze weight above me, bottom heavy, warning me of snow. I glance left and right. Not too much head movement, but just enough. But mostly, my eyes swivel, like secrets. I can't let anyone catch on, even feel a hint of suspicion.

Except for the last of the late night partygoers returning their unsteady way home, and a council steert cleaner, the street is almost empty. The humming vehicle is approaching on the opposite side of the road, spraying water, the sharp swiiishhh of the huge circular broom sweeping the the gutters clean.

I allow myself a quick glance at the driver, but he has eyes only for the road ahead of him. Quickly, I return my focus to the end of the street where it meets the crossroad. The curfew is close and I have to hurry. If I'm caught, there's nothing left for me. 

I cannot attract the attention of ... anyone. Nevertheless, I quicken my steps slightly. I must do what is necessary, what this moment requires. The darkness will shelter me, and the chilling cold will give me anonymity. I pull my woolen hat tighter around my ears and down to my eyebrows. The scarf still protects most of my face from both the elements and detection by the cameras. The streetlights have become orbs of ethereal light, swathed in the thickening fog.

It feels like the very atmosphere is working to protect me, to ensure that my task (or quest, I am no longer sure) can be completed.

The whole world has fractured, been demolished, taken to the execution chamber by men who know nothing but greed and power. They clothe it in salvation, but it stinks like a rotting corpse.

A Phoenix must rise. Everywhere, women like me are walking, striding towards a destiny that has been forced upon them. Unusually, there are also some men. We have the power to open eyes, unlock hearts, unblock ears with the sound and the fury of our ...

A movement. 

I sense it as I reach the corner. The silence and the emptiness of the street seem to amplify it, but I cannot, will not deviate.

I step into the intersection and head for the big building on the other side. Is this really a house, or something more? I was never told. 

A figure, moving with urgent energy, blocks my path.

'Please,' she whispers, her voice sounding stark in the night air. 'You cannot.'

I push her violently aside, despite the shock of her presence. I know her. I close my mind, just as I have been trained to do. I walk on.

I hear her get to her feet behind me, her attempts to remain quiet and anonymous obvious. She is reaching out to me across the fog and the distance that is now between us. 

The distance there has always been.

I step into the deep alcove at the front door. The sensor light is triggered. I keep my head bowed and refuse to think about my sister who wants me to be someone different, someone I cannot be.

I push my hand in between the fold of my coat and immediately touch what I need. It is cold. Familiar.

I tried. For years I tried, but I became lost. Now I am found.

The moment has arrived. I raise my head and look her full in the face as she moves towards me, tentative and afraid. I know she sees me. I know she has refused to believe, refused to let it all go. I expect to see her anger, her incomprehension. Even her rage.

The weight of the object shifts in my fingers, settles into place. Our eyes do not waver from each other. My sister stops. 

There is a shout, from where I do not know. I shake my head slowly, once, twice. A third time. 

Carefully, never refusing to turn, she retraces her steps and she too is shaking her head, over and over, until she has found the security of the bus shelter on the other side.

This is me, I try to tell her. I do this for you. The distance seems to great now.

I see something in her face, something mesmerising. A powerful wave of compassion pushes towards me.

My thumb depresses the button on the detonator. I remember that it's green.

An eternity of fire and heat, struggle and victory fills me. 

And yet, in that instant, my whispering, expanding mind, is not satisfied.