Black Book

As far as eye can see, black masks swarm in groups of six. They have to, that’s their limit. Christmas and Thanksgivings are the holidays we know no more. Families have been shrinking since humans have grown apart from each other. And more and more A-families stop supplying the new patient serum. Patients are what we call them; since the new presidency, everyone that’s born has to get the vaccine. I wouldn’t want to take them either, so Thank God I’m not having any. The kids look happy but I can tell , the kids have this unsuspected trust about them, kind of like a pig to his trusted farmer right before he gets shot between his eyes for bacon, and grits. That’s what kills me, the kids. They’re the only ones who hold the patient serum. They are taken to a lab that runs the entire day, 12-6. Which is governed by the city and run by the riches. The elites. Their wish is that by the time it’s year 3000, there will be no one alive besides the premeditated demographic and clinically constructed. No ones ever seen them before but my only guess is they don’t come outside else, there faces will be exposed.

I wear a bricks mask. That’s what separates us. My job is to ensure the safety and order of parts of the A’s so they can be healthy enough to regenerate quintuplets, there’s the ones allowed to procreate beyond this point. Almost 80% of the population are A- family and can happily reproduce, while the other 20% is divided between Sojern, which are the elders(those born pre-apartheid war)and more like me, the immunes. Which is the lowest ranking member of society. Useless, unproductive, and overweight. They have no use for us but to round about their 65 million A-families each day. Many like me have been killed at the hands of the elites in protest of the new changes.

I am thankful for every day so walking home with a head held down , I take up the corner spaces on the train ride to my apartment. Already thinking about kicking off the bouya and shutting the door to make my grandfather's kimchi bimpap.

The trolley comes to a stop alerting all passengers they have reached their destination. Eager for a taxi I weave in and out of the line that’s descending the escalators stair to the bottom of Broadway Junction. Getting out to the fresh air a taxi cab comes whirring to a stop, a passenger plows out probably off to catch the last train for the night. I don’t even remember what day it is, but the weeks go fast. I hop in and she takes off.

The driver tonight is wearing a mask that maybe her children made her in all black ribbon and some type of felt or chamille. I think it looks gorgeous on her.

We get to the highway as the city lights start blinking, telling everyone to go inside as night watch’s supposed to start. I’m inclined to take a walk across the Manhattan bridge but instead I recline myself in the seat. That’s when I found the book, instantly I go down to grab it I clasp the back of the front seat so when windows start spraying my prayer goes into double time as I drop both my knees to the floor and the car comes to a screech. I hear several machine guns and about six shots fired from a shotty. Ceasefire continues for another minute but it seems like forever. . I stay crumbled up in the back seat until I hear someone call for help. The sound is so faint I could almost ignore if I choose to. I grab the book and sit up near the window which seems to be my only escape route. I don’t bother looking in the front car because something tells me there’s no waking up from the stain of blood splatter I felt when one of the shots went off.

Searching through the broken traffic until I find the sound of someone’s voice I realize it’s my own. Loud and clear as day as if it’s someone else’s telling a story over and over in the radio.

First the book falls I fall with it, crumbling to the ground I weep for what seems like eternity. After the lights become a single line and my eyes adjust and expand I open the first page to through the book. It says:

“If You’re Reading This You Are Welcome”.

Flipping through the pages I realize it’s a road range to a bank . It tells me where he hides his will and, for the reader will then have to go to each landmark to cross off the things in his bucket list as he chooses to take his own life March 2, 2020 I look down for my phone hoping it has juice and secondly to pray that the Second of March has not arrived yet. It’s too late. It’s 12:15 am on Mar.3rd, my suitor has taken his own life. In the past 20 minutes so many people have died at the hands of senseless violence. But this attack felt so familiar, because he chose to die like I once did right before change has been made.

At that moment I chose a new career. To avenge the death of my knight; for I do not know where the road range will take me , but with the hundreds of million dollars in the safe, I know it will keep me busy for the rest of time