I felt weird as I followed the man in the fancy tuxedo towards his limo. Clean and polished as if it had come from a dream. I realized I knew him. Of course, I did. He is Bluebird's Movie Company Head Director and Minister of Culture of Pasargadae. Every single detail in the lives of the Darlings happens following his will, and I suppose, in mine too. A few months ago, they made it snow over his Big Mansion of glass because it was his birthday, and he wanted snow. I recall I skipped dinner that night to go outside, and check if I could see the spectacle from my house.
They say Bluebird keeps the nation united, happy, and dreaming. They give us the strength to keep on laboring every time they make a performance or the debut of a new novel. On one thing they aren't wrong. Hope only exists in the men's mind. Once it falls in the intricate patterns of reality, it is extinguished. We need someone to keep us believing good things are coming, otherwise we succumb to our own abyss. They say they are tomorrow's hope, but for whom? It was never meant for me until now, and I wonder why.
He steps out when I approach the door, my overall is dirty with grease and, now, blood. My condition clearly disgusts him but his eyes still seem to be astonished by my presence, which weirds me out. "Be my guest," He points to the inside of the limo.
I look around and take a deep breath. The Global Army keeps on urging more hustlers inside the opencast cells. Here Coral will learn how to shoot, how to stab, how to become a dehumanized weapon in the best scenario. Here she will be honored to serve the nation, and tomorrow her death will become a number hidden somewhere in the government's database.
I won't go blown up, is all I think while I lift my knee and enter the car. I curl myself up in the corner sided with the window that shows me all sorts of terrors unraveling among the screeching future Global Soldiers, and hold my sight on the carpet floor.
"Are you thirsty?" He snarls, leaning in to grab a bottle of water in the central cooler.
I am, but I don't move a single muscle. I keep staring at the floor, which keeps me from sensing his moves. When my eyes get a glimpse of his hands, he is already dripping water over my head. "Clean the dirt off your face, so I can see you better."
I rub my fingers in circles over my face, making the grease stream down. I am not surprised tears don't follow their way to land on my lap. I've been through too many humiliations to count in this life, this doesn't even come close to the best of them.
"Yes, perfect. Isn't it, Charlotte?" When he addresses another person, my eyes raise to meet a young woman with hazel hair bound in a ponytail.
"Exactly as you wanted." She says through her reddish glasses, studying me. I feel violated somehow with so many eyes running my body, and at the same time, somewhat delighted.
"Technology is our salvation, Charlotte." Mister Allaberk says with an assertive tone. It was through technology that Pasargadae became a great nation. It's our hope to win the war against the Enemy Nations.
I wonder what they would ever want with a foreign girl when there are so many beautiful girls dreaming to become one of the Darlings. I am not horrible, my face helped me to get the scrubbing ship job, but I'm not even close to what is considered beautiful.
"Should I dare to ask you why you decided to pick me up in the middle of the garbage?" I look into his hollow eyes. "Thought it was a good time to polish a rough diamond?"
The man smiles and my stomach squirms. "I have been trying to find you for some time now. Isn't that true, Charlotte?"
His words raise the hairs on my back, and create more questions than answers. The woman shifts herself and displays me her tablet screen. A sketch of a girl with long jet-black hair and square-shaped face wearing dark clothes makes my iris grow. It looks like someone drew me in that scenario.
"I don't understand. Have you been following me?"
"You appeared to me in my mind, and I knew you'd be out here somewhere. Nobody can create something new, everything is recreated." He explains but his words only form a knot in my head.
"Are you saying you dreamed with me?" I whisper, afraid of saying the words out loud. Have I gone crazy? Maybe this is me denying the fact that I am going to be sent to die overseas. Nothing makes sense.
He chuckles, and I pull my feet closer to me.
"We could say that, couldn't we?" He looks in the woman's direction who has a simpering smile in her lips. "You must be feeling like you are some sort of chosen one, aren't you?"
If I knew, I would have gashed my face with the knife I used to scrub cargo vessels all day. Why do I have to meet their expectations now? Just because they want? If it weren't for this single detail, nothing would keep me from meeting Coral's destiny. They wouldn't save me, because they loathe me. I turn my eyes from him, worried about making any kind of statement. My mind is struggling with my body, and they have reached a stalemate. I think I should be only sad and scared, but there's an intense eagerness growing inside me.
"The shooting for our next full length film is starting in five days, but Mister Allaberk was still certain he would find a suitable person with his required features, by all means, you." Her red glasses slide down her nose, but she pushes them back up.
Who could imagine this? A foreigner chosen to be in one of Bluebird productions. Mister Allaberk must have been obsessed with this project. Even I consider these extreme measures. But I am glad, I realize. They saved me from an unfortunate destiny. I look out the window, we have left region six. By the houses and parchments, I'd say we have just arrived at region two. Territory of Bluebird Movies Company, Mister Allaberk's empire
"How did you find me?"
"Facial recognition. I guess you should thank technology, shouldn't you, Johanna Smith?" I shudder when the name of the former owner of my bracelet is mentioned. Of course, he knows it's not my real name. "There's still people who think we don't know they hide under our noses. In this era no one can afford to remain unknown."
I nod, without knowing how to manage the situation. My colleagues back in the docks come to my mind. What if he decides to contact the president to run a party there? He knows I worked there, that Johanna did.
"My real name is Marjorie Jones." I tell, studying his facial expression. He wants me because I look like a character he created, he seems to be obsessed with. This may give me leverage. "And I have a friend. Her name is Coral Meah. She was arrested with me. Is there any possibility of..."
"I know you have friends. Everyone has friends, darling. Even the most repulsive being in this Godforsaken world has highly chances of befriending someone to have their backs."
"Could you let her go? I accepted your terms. Maybe I could receive this in exchange." I purse my lips together. The celebrities I watch on television ride on fancy cars like the one I am inside now, they hire personal stylists, they wear dresses with uncountable sapphires. What I ask doesn't even require money.
"I love how each person's mind has a unique way of forming thoughts," He says, and I swallow a lump down my throat. "When did you think you had an option?"
All I can think of is Coral, shuddering among the other hundreds. But this isn't even the hardest part. It's yet to come when they ship him toward the Enemy Lands to be slaughtered. I hope she is not going to die blown up. The thought of never looking into her golden eyes, and not having her around to poke my nose and make me smile, water my eyes.
But what was I thinking? They probably think Coral should thank them for the opportunity of becoming a better woman.
"You came in a perfect timing, you even made me wonder whether destiny exists, when it clearly does not. Well, I hope you have a little talent in you. We have some express acting requirements out of you. When we stop the car in front of the Glass Mansion, you will make people cheer for the government again,"
"Will I?" I ask, trying to hide the sarcasm. Although I consider Parsargadae my nation, its population hates people like me. Foreigners are only good if it's to die in the trenches. Or to do work that even the poorest between them won't.
"When we hop off in front of the Glass Mansion you will hold onto Mister Allaberk and give an incredible speech about how thankful you are for being rescued, for being taken care in this nation. You have to call all the spotlights towards yourself," Charlotte explains. "A hopeless beautiful young girl who was destined," She emphasizes. "By mistaken, to die in the trenches. An awful accident."
"The government saw value in you. The government sees value in you all of those who fight to keep this nation standing," Mister Allaberk says. "You have to make that clear."
"Are you ready, lucky girl?" He finally asks. The trip from region six toward region two is about four hours, but it looks like it only took four minutes. Oh, I almost forget. Advanced technology plus high economic conditions means traveling on expressways.
When I step out of the car, my vision goes black, and then, extremely white. Flickering along the multiple flashes that swallow all of us. I let my hair fall over my face as I hold onto Mister Rockefeller, who doesn't flinch away this time. I guess he doesn't have an option now.
Someone picks at my side, and I don't have to turn left to know it was Charlotte. It straightened my back fast enough to give the paparazzi a perfect shot of my face. My eyes don't seem to get used to the lights as I can't stop blinking.
Those people are noisier than my colleagues at the docks, and they are usually big broad guttural men. The screaming and chattering are all that fill my ears until Mister Allaberk opens his mouth and all of them stop. A microphone is pulled up in front of him just like magic.
"Good afternoon, everyone. I hope all of you are having a terrific day because today is a landmark in our nation's history. Today we announce Bluebird's program with the sponsorship of our government to find new talents within our nation." The reporters explode in a loud astonishment. I do, too. They didn't tell me this part of the plan in the car.
In my awe, I think they are trying to make peace with the population. Give them something more important to think about than trying to blame the government for someone's death. They should demand transparency instead, because their fairytale may have an expiration date.
"The first participant of this new program is Johanna Smith," He announces, and his fingers grasp my shoulder, pulling me closer to him, to the lights, to the microphone. "Say hello to the world."
I look around to the hundreds of sparkling eyes in front of me, and all I see are my family's faces when I left Libra. If they are seeing me now, they will be super shocked. I hope my mother doesn't have a heart attack, and neither tries to reach out to the media, now that her daughter is a darling to be. She won't. She heard my name is Johanna Smith now.
When I left my homeland, my mother made me promise that no matter what I would stand strong. She made me repeat that regardless of what anyone thought or said, I was worth a sky full of stars. This is the first time I feel like I am even near a human being, and even standing here, I can't imagine what it would be to be worth a sky full of stars. She also made me aware of my responsibility towards my family. Any mistake I make, would be their end. I can't ever again put their existence in jeopardize.
"Good evening," I say, scared of how much my voice wobbles and falters in just two words. "I would like to thank President Harrison and Parsargadae for saving my life. Some invaders changed my ID for fun, making me pass for a foreigner. I was giving my deepest sincere goodbyes to Moon Murthy when I was arrested."
I take a deep breath. It feels like a depreciating test. To make sure I know where I stand even though they "saved" me. I will always be a foreigner.
"Fortunately, Parsargadae new technology defense system signalized the mistake before any further problem, and I was granted the opportunity of a lifetime. Thank you. Thank you very much." I let some tears stream down. It will give me a nice touch in the cameras. I know that. I've watched too many broadcasts.
What scares me mostly, though, is his decision of presenting me to the world as Johanna Smith. Won't the people on the docks say anything? Won't they denounce me? Won't the government database? My fellow foreigners must hate me now. Most of them will understand me, and many will envy me. However, I know Coral wouldn't fit in any of these options. She wouldn't let them do with her whatever they wanted.
"What is the name of this technology?" The reporter addresses the man with thin lips beside me.
"G46," Mister Allaberk answers, his eyes glisten with excitement. "It will make Parsargadae capable of targeting any possible security leak, as power shutdown, sensitive data modification, and of course, allow the drones to see through under masks,"
He's lying. It wasn't how he targeted me. I bet this is one more of the illusions he wants to spread in hope of frightening the Enemy Nations. If it does exist, it's not working still, otherwise it would have recognized me before the Global Soldier stripped my bandana off.
Many questions pop up like a shoal of little turtles, but Mister Allaberk dismisses all of them saying I went through too much and that I need to take a relaxing bath and some rest. The new face of Bluebird Movie Company deserves that, doesn't she?
As soon as the cameras go off the scene, Mister Allaberk let's go of me. He does his best to unwrinkle his tuxedo and wipe away any grease stains. I know those are evergreen, even if you are willing to scrub them away. But he has money and access to things I can't dream of, and he will probably descard this one. Charlotte sides me, keeping my pace, although she doesn't look at me.
The Glass Mansion grows in front of me and I crane my head to look around the structure. It's like I could see it, but at the same time I couldn't. Its walls reflect the surroundings. The door shows an old blond man hurrying in its direction accompanied by two women, one in a pair of orange suits and another in flayed overalls.
I wonder how long those paparazzi will stand guard around the mansion. Will they leave when the night sky starts to be painted with orange spots? I hear a mechanical sound that calls my attention back to the door in front of me. The laser gyontion reads Mister Allaberk's eyes and the path is cleared.
I cross my arms around my body, in a useless attempt to hide my own insignificance. I'd be a hypocrite like all of them if I didn't admit that in my deepest girl dreams, I wished to wander inside these doors. Enjoy the sightings, sink in beautiful clothes and get drunk with perfumes. How could I not? They splay all over the world that this is how we ought to be living. Every soul seeks this.
However, the trespass gives me shudders, because the world they paint isn't for people like me. Their simpering smiles seem to dig through the insides of my being, as Charlotte guides me around a big fountain of mesmerizing and unrealistic water dances towards a group of two redhead women, that could be easily confused with each other if one isn't paying attention. From the light and almost invisible wrinkles on the taller one, I know from the broadcasts they are mother and daughter. On their side, a boy of jet black hair whose face I know better than the alleys countering the coast.
It's Tyler Allaberk. I have seen his growth in television, as I grew in my homeland. He always performs good characters whose destiny is saving the world. The smoothness he portrays gets loose in real life, where he's often found drunk and doing despicable acts, that I think Bluebird should prohibit. Using drugs or any other way of putting your mind out of the present reality easily sends you to overseas war, and surely isn't what they look for to put inside their citizens minds. But every time he has an episode, people leave everything they are doing to take in the news.
Maybe this adventure will be of worth something, and will be good for me and my family. They will pay me, won't they? My old parents and brothers are still in the slums of a forgotten nation, living out of what I send them. There people starve as easily as the wind changes when a storm comes. That if you're lucky enough to avoid the violence that breaks out like a heavy rain, and it's hard not to get drowned. My heart bleeds with the thoughts. I have to return the favor they did for me.
It's not like life is good here as a foreigner, or maybe as a low income person, but we have security and the least a human being could ask for. The citizens don't have to worry about being slaughtered by bandits, or lose even what they don't have. For my friends and I, Pasargadae colors weren't so colorful, but were enough to paint our future and our family's.
"Look at what we have here," The youngest redhead walks around me like a feline. "You did get away with what you wanted after all, didn't you?" Her green eyes address Mister Allaberk who joins them to look down at me, as if I were in a gallery.
"She's not perfect, I have to admit, Scarlet." Mister Allaberk says. The older redhead shoves a shard of hair that was hanging over my face to the side, and flinches her hand right after. I observe as she wipes her hand compulsively against the fabric of her dress. "But I wasn't going after perfection. Reality is the key of the game,"
"She's awkwardly similar to your drawing," The mother says, and reaches out for Mister Allaberk. "Congratulations,"
"She'll look better after tomorrow's procedures," Charlotte guarantees from under her red glasses. "After all, she's all dirty with all...this," She points out to several places over my body until she realizes it's pointless.
"What do you think of her, honey?" Petra's voice changes when she addresses Tyler. Her feelings are almost tangible.
My eyes hover over the boy's from under my bangs. Is there a wrong answer for this question? Is his opinion capable of changing my destiny upside down again? No, I don't want to go to the trenches. Being a hypocrite doesn't seem hard, and lies come out of my mouth as easily as I breathe. Living as a foreigner has given me enough lectures.
He steps in closer, examining all of me like you would do if you wanted to buy an animal. "She's alright," His dark eyes stuck in mine. I flinch under the feeling of power he conveys. "Maybe you should talk to the President to demand immigration programs. Imagine how many good characters you are losing, Mister Allaberk."
That wasn't intended as a political opinion, sounded more like some sort of attack towards the middle-aged man in the room. And, as swiftly as the words poured out of his mouth, he vanished into the immense house.
"You need to get a hold of your son," Mister Allaberk scowls. "Petra, you need to make sure he's capable of performing his role in the next production,"
"He's just upset about Moon Murthy's death. It will pass. He's a young boy, way too sensible for our standards, but responsible. He knows what the greater good is." She answers with gritted teeth, harshly like a threatened animal.
"Sometimes I wonder if he understands what the greater good is," He says in a dim way that makes me question myself if I know what the greater good is. Winning the technological war is the greater good. Maintaining Parsargadae a strong, good city with its ethic and morals respected is also part of the greater good. Tyler Allaberk clearly doesn't understand that.
"You are going to take her to the Center, right?" The younger redhead asks.
"She's staying here tonight. I know it's weird, but she's a special gamma. Besides, we have four days to make everyone in this nation feel like she represents them, and that we have welcomed her into our family."
Special gamma? What's that? Am I different from the others? I mean, of course, I am. But how? Won't they pay me? Will they allow me to send money to my family?
"Gamma?" I whisper. My voice sounds odd in this new structure. It feels like it shouldn't have come out. I thought I knew everything about the Darlings. That's how they make us feel, but I don't.
"Charlotte, take her to her room and make sure she doesn't ruin the silky sheet. She's your responsibility until the shooting begins."
Charlotte's light hands grasp my shoulder, guiding me in the family's opposite direction. We go up the translucent flights of stairs that take us to the upper levels of the mansion. The house can easily be compared to an entire city, full of passage ways. It looks like all of a sudden, I am a newcomer to this nation all over again.