BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Freddie Armitage and Michael Lucas

The Missing Artwork

The province of B12 glowed with a dim, acid green in the early hours of October 13th. The ominous, all-consuming light was that of the stacks: power sources that boasted never-before-seen efficiency, providing an ample supply of electricity to the populous. This was all complete falsehood, Si knew. He gazed into the eyesores from the balcony that he had earned through his years of service. The Order advertises their own non-existent generosity, he thought to himself angrily, while most of us live in poverty, unable to better our existence with. Si returned inside from his balcony.

According to the schooling of the Order, Si’s childhood home was one of contradictions and lies; born in Ytius, Si had, in reality, lead a comfortable and fulfilling existence, but like all others, he was drawn to Omega through the propaganda of the Holy Order of the Nine. His regret at the decision had been on the rise ever since, and now, it was at an all-time high. He had been duped into a ‘life’ of constant labour and servitude, with a constant fear of being lynched by the Order. Anything that could be considered a hindrance to productivity was forbidden, with all concerned sent to the death camps. Si’s ambition to escape from tedium was not gone in spite of himself, and he still found solace in music, his one definite passion. His undiscovered record collection was his only escape from his hopeless reality. This is what had amplified the Order’s decision to outlaw music and all other arts: an attempt to maximise productivity and efficiency; a crushing blow.

Now, every time he indulged in his passion, he feared for his life, and the little sanity he had managed to maintain. Si also feared for the fate of his few friends, should his collection be found alongside his cordiality with them. These thoughts haunted him more than ever, as he locked the door to his flat, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the early grey morning. As he walked down the stairs of the sodden council flat, his anxiety was steadily increasing. Each painfully loud step brought out the fear from the previous night, and many before. Had he been noticed? Had his cover been blown? Could someone have discovered his secret treasure trove? He knew that just one glimpse would give him a one way-ticket to a stay in the camps, with everything that he had worked for taken away (his precious balcony includ ed). He frantically swiped his card through the registry machine to sign out, before his mysterious affairs could be detected.

Then ensued a seemingly eternal ride on a derelict train. During the journey, the train spewed Order propaganda, garbled by the faulty speakers. Si looked across the carriage. A dishevelled old man, wrapped in a ratty old duffel coat, stared at the floor.

How didn’t I notice him? Si thought, sitting, as usual, far away from anyone as possible. I can’t move now, he might pick up on it.

Then the man spoke, with a voice that had an air of regret, loss and cheap gin.

“Ya ain’t much of a talker are ya?”

Si’s heart raced. Strangers were dangerous. Strangers wanted to report him to the Order. Strangers could destroy his whole life. He mustered up courage equivalent to that of a vole.

“No…” he stammered. He was surprised his voice hadn’t vanished out of lack of use. He started mentally preparing for what was to come. He knew he was doomed.

“Just relax, I ain’t out to get ya.” The man replied.

The bell rang. It was Si’s stop. He was safe.

Completely disregarding his previous logic, he rushed out the door, and off towards the mighty doors of The Stacks, feeling that he was escaping death row.

Inside, the power source had an aura of immensity. The shouts of labouring men, women and children bounced off the walls. A command to slacken the ropes could be heard in the nearby quadrants of the plant, a scream from a worker falling to his demise heard sometimes throughout. Si had seen so many fall to their death in the thorium mines. He strapped himself onto the rope, and took the plunge.

The thrilling bungee jump effect was now lost on Si. In fact, he felt safer here than he did on his way to and from work. Here he was collected. Here he could focus on his task, and not have his thoughts stray, as he hacked at the rock. His state of calm seemed absolute; his simple job becoming second nature to him, until the ear-splitting whistle sounded, signalling a designated break. He was hoisted upwards from the abyss.

Now in the bustling lunch hall, and with a scant portion of gruel, Si sat with Kay, one of the only people he could consider a friend. Kay held a supervising job, a higher position than Si, but had taken a liking to him when he joined to stave off loneliness.

“It was absolute murder out there.” Kay spoke in a hushed tone, in order to avoid any secret informers. “Three people nearly fell to their deaths. The stress, it takes a toll.”

Si muttered something inaudible.