Ascension by Daniel Weisbeck (reading tree .txt) 📕

Liza flinched as the needle pricked the inside of her left arm. Rose-coloured liquid raced up the tip of the tiny clear cylinder. The blood thickened, an instinctive and futile effort to heal its stolen body.

“There we go,” her nurse grinned an almost human smile as she pulled the syringe away. The android was a new model the Government introduced as part of the Ascension Program. Female in shape, her blue unibody construction was seamlessly covered in a flexible rubber-like skin. She wore a grey nurse’s uniform with a single orange flame embroidered on her right chest and the word Dignity sewn in white thread below.

“Almost done. Isn’t that exciting?” the android said, pressing a sterile patch of cotton against the pin-sized dot of blood on Liza’s arm.

“Exciting?” Liza murmured in disbelief, turning her anxious eyes to a message board hanging on the wall over the nurse’s right shoulder.

The large digital display lit in luminescent colours was projecting a multidimensional looping video. A field of golden grasses swayed in a gentle breeze, surrounded by dark blue jagged mountains in the distance. Evening sunlight caressed the tips of the long thin stalks and haloed the flying insects hovering over the grassy landscape. Scrolled underneath the picture, white words in a black box read: Duty with Dignity. Let us help you help others.

Placing a small adhesive bandage over the cotton patch, the nurse turned her back to Liza and marked the blood-filled vial. “That is all now. Please wait in the lobby. We will have the results…”

Liza stood, peeled her sleeve down her arm before the android could finish, grabbed her purse, and walked out the door. The hall smelt of antiseptic. Grubby streaks left by heavy traffic lined the lower part of the otherwise pristine white painted walls. Her mind went fuzzy for a few seconds. Bright florescent lights overhead dotted her glossy eyes. Suddenly, the corridor felt as if it were getting longer, stretching out in front of her. She tightened her grip on the bag clutched under her arm and quickened her step.

Almost skipping, she sped past the check-in counter as a young male receptionist stood. He said something. Waving his arm, he tried to get her attention. But she was off, racing through the packed waiting room. Worried eyes, terrified eyes, wet eyes—all watched her, knowing their turn was soon to come. Her throat closed in, holding back tears as she ran through the double glass doors, past the chanting crowd outside.

“Stop the culling,” the protestors sang in repeated unison from behind chipped and worn cement barriers. Her eyes avoided them.

She fumbled in her purse while dodging through rows of vehicles. Having found her transport key, she pressed it tightly in her hand, alerting the vehicle of her speedy approach. Pulling on the handle, the hatch opened readily, and she jumped inside, quickly closing the door behind her. The demonstrators’ voices softened. Not gone, mind you. But tolerable. Like a fading headache.

A floating display lit up over her dashboard with a holographic image of her transport vehicle glowing green.

“Hello, Liza, are we going home?” came the male voice of her virtual assistant (SIVA) from the vehicle speakers.

Silence followed his query. Liza sat still, staring forward, unblinking.

“Is everything okay?” the assistant asked. “Your heart rate is elevated.”

A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and washed down her pallid cheek. She inhaled deeply and let out a long jittery breath.

The shouting outside her car had stopped. The protestors stood around aimlessly, mingling as if discussing something as benign as the weather while waiting for their next target to enter or leave the clinic. She hated them. Their pointless protests. Where were they when Amendment 10 was voted through?

As the minutes passed, her mind drifted into a cloudy numbness. She was like a bird in a cage looking out from the shell of her body. The detached feeling was marked by a blank stare forward and a small bead of spittle gathering in the corner of her open mouth.

Ding rang an alert on the vehicle display, giving her a start. She finally blinked.

“You have an incoming message from Dignity,” said her assistant.

Something moved in the back of her mind. A memory came forward. Something about a message – yes, it all started with a message. She had been watching one of her favourite archive videos—the one about the ancient rain forests. A time when animals roamed through lush undergrowth. When water poured over rock cliffs. When sunshine glimmered rather than burned. And trees, so many trees. That’s right. She had been watching a video of the world before the Scorch, before the pandemic, before the damn message from the Government interrupted her show.