VOID by Taylor Pinderson (little red riding hood read aloud .txt) 📕

when I never had to worry about remembering sector numbers before. The idea of a name was strange to me, but now that I have my own it makes so much sense.
I survey the cafeteria reveling in the fact that everyone here is like me. And that means I’m not the strange one, the only one that can’t hide her feelings. Here I’m normal. Here I’m not alone.
“Emmy.” I’m torn away from my thoughts as I hear Alex calling my name behind me. He crooks his finger, motioning for me to follow and I do. When we are out in the hall he speaks again. “I’ve found your new calling. You seem to be exceptional at hiding your emotions and don’t seem to need training so we’re sending you right away. Of course you’re going to need to change your number, background, and even tweak your appearance, but…” his voice trails off.
“So what’s my calling?” I ask.
I’m afraid of getting all the jobs I didn’t want and even more afraid because it sounds so demanding. Alex heaves a sigh.
“You’re going to be a spy… posing as a government official.”

LEAVING SAFETY

I bite my lip and tug at my now short and pitch black hair. No one in the train wears a head scarf and we all wear the white dress robes for special occasions. They will give us the black robes we will wear for our new occupations when we get to our calling’s location. I can’t help thinking how much I will match with my black hair and black robe and scarf.
I stroke my lengthened eyelashes as I remember Alex telling us the reason for all these discomforts. I remember the way he was so serious as he looked at us and told us that the government was based on appearance and couldn’t quite grasp how easily the human being could change looks, so they wouldn’t be expecting us to be any different than the people that we are pretending to be.
While the train takes me to my almost certain doom my mind is playing the life story of my fake identity over and over again:
My new identification number is F373. I remember Alex telling us how they hacked the government's vacant identification site years ago. both my non-existent parents are "dead" making it harder for them to track me to a family. even so, I'm still expected to know they're brands and the numbers float nonchalantly into my mind. X782 and G431. The brands sound so harsh and dull after my own naming ceremony. The blocky, official sounds clumsily fall off my tongue and disperse into the sweaty chilled air.
The chill of the cold hard plastic of the train chair is seeping up through the thin white robe Alex made me wriggle into this morning. Everyone else in the train car is wearing the same thin garment, and the sleeve of the boy sitting next to me rubs my bare wrist either from cold or the tingling feeling I get every time I see him.

His brown hair is shaped bluntly and hasn't been cut in a while so a tuft or two hangs in his face bouncing ever so slightly when he speaks, which is rare. When he does speak his voice is deep and gentle, rolling through the air like birds in the wind. It's soft and raises a tremor in my stomach. I can feel my cheeks redden as I think about him and I peek through the wavy blonde curtain that is my hair to see if he noticed. He didn't, but when I look over his eyes flick towards mine.

I remember again why I feel the way I do when I see him. I lose my self in the peculiar colored orbs staring at me from under a cliff of brown hair. His eyes are a mixture of purple and blue, and not swirled like Alex and my father's eyes. The color is spiked and flecked in long straight strokes spiraling out from the center. And the emotion runs deeper than anything I've ever seen. They're gentle and filled with emotions like fear, anger, urgency-

My eyes snap wide. I see now he's been trying to signal me with his eyes to stop staring at him and resume the senseless stupor that everyone else in the train possesses. I realize I must look like a fool, with my eyes almost out of my head and my mouth wide open. I straighten up and let the movements of the train rock my body. I take mystery boy's instructions and we both look straight ahead again. I make my eyes fog over until I am looking but not actually seeing.

This little episode has made me think of my father again. How he talked about love as if it was magical and the way he acted around my mother even though she showed no signs of love herself.

Suddenly I whip my head back and it hits the wall of the train car making a resonating thump resulting in stares from everyone within a five foot radius. I rub my head and do my best to make it look like it was a bump in the track that did this and not my loose reign over my emotions. Inside my head I am screaming and not from the throbbing pain residing in the back of my skull. I am screaming from the realization that I might like this guy.

The train starts to slow and the hiss of the wheels grating the track grows steadily louder and louder. The doors slide silently open and a steam appears in the doorway as the frigid air of the train car meets the hot air waiting for us outside. We silently get up, some of the others stumbling as they recover from slight motion sickness and we shuffle single file out the door and down the steps to the street where a thin grim looking lady in all black is waiting for us wielding the standard, government issue clipboard.
My heart flutters as his shoulder brushes mine. I mentally slap myself for being so foolish, so petty. The woman starts talking and her voice grates like the train wheels on the track, high pitched and whiny,
“We are about to enter the government building. Please remain calm as we go through the process of initiating you.” And without further instruction we are shepherded into the formidable cement building looming over us.
. . .

The walk down the government hall is long, gray walk. The arches in the distance get bigger and pass over head as we get farther and farther down the hallway. So far there have been no doorways or openings of any kind. The rough burlap of my gray shoes is wearing the skin on my heel.
A sliver of light appears at the end of the long hallway and as we get closer it is recognizable as light coming from a cracked door. We stop at the door and the woman in black knocks twice and then enters. Inside a tall thin man stands waiting with a tape measure. Behind him are rows and rows of black robes, the material so thin they’re almost translucent. Our line moves to stand right in front of him and he takes the first person and quickly and efficiently measures their arms, waistline, and inseams. As the line grows shorter and people begin to acquire and don their robes the woman starts to speak again.
“These robes are your uniforms and are to be worn the entirety of your time on duty. You will be issued three of these garments and they are not to be lost. If you are evoked from your position the garments will be taken back and burned as we cannot use robes worn by defective specimens.” Again she falls silent but I can almost feel her dark eyes bore into my soul and discovering my secrets, my name. I shake off the paranoia as the tall thin man with the measuring tape signals me to him and begins to measure.
The people that have already received their robes have moved to a different room, connected to this one by a small door in the back. I put on one of my robes and drape the other two over my arm as I head through the door.
.

Imprint

Text: Taylor Pinderson
Images: Taylor Pinderson
Publication Date: 06-28-2012

All Rights Reserved