Asteria

The sun rises slowly over the gloomy structures of Segment Two. The buildings are so vast and numerous that they span across the land as far as everyone that lives there can see. No-one has been beyond them. For years, everyone has been told that there exists a vast and dangerous swamp full of strange and humongous creatures beyond their outer edges. This knowledge has trickled down from each generation, so it is now a fact that no-one disputes. The buildings that litter this segment are so dark that the natural light that now creeps over them creates shadows of infinite despair. It is a place of such darkness, that the orange morning light only accentuates this, and offers little relief. Not a sound can be heard, but it is not peaceful. This silence hangs in the air with force, with weight. It is thick with dread. Fear and terror blow through the dim and soundless streets. The countless shiny exteriors glint ominously in the growing glow of colour.

This day is different from the others.

No-one looks forward to this day, but many burst with their need for it, can start to feel the ache in their bones as they try to sleep. Their hearts start to beat erratically and their skin twitches viciously, as if infected by tiny demons. The control they have over themselves starts to diminish, in tiny physical ways and many do not sleep at all, terrified over what they might do before they are allowed. Before it is time for their allotted expression of emotion, each person toils in their own personal expectation, hums with a complicated mix of terror and elation. For in this segment no-one is to share emotion, nor ever publicly express it. This is the daily burden they all carry, in their own unique ways.

Mr Dionysus appears on their screens now, the enigmatic leader of Segment Two. His long body is dressed in black velvet, his long fingers poised and ready to start ‘day number eight’. Everything about him is long, he moves as if he is an endless piece of string, his length a testament to the glory of this segment, a nod to how far you could go, how tall you could be, how free and spritely you could move. His index finger hovers over the button whilst his purple eyes look directly at the people watching. “Happy Release Day,” he says, his voice as clear and sharp as cut glass. He presses the big, black button and the day officially begins.

In one of the low squat residential squares, between the towering black columns and behind grey door number 23, Asteria wakes up. The shrill ring of the public alarm vibrates around her, filling the space, consuming her. Release day. The air feels as if it is pressing upon her, she is aware that today it is harder for her to breathe. Her father moves through the house now, his footsteps dense and loud. His heavy knock on her bedroom door is brash:

“Asteria. Officer Cartwright will be here soon. Put on your uniform.”

He speaks in the tone of the segment, low and measured. It carries no trace of emotion, it is the calm and focused way they are always spoken to.

Asteria exhales as she kicks the thin, grey blanket off her legs. Officer Cartwright. I hate him. Officer Cartwright’s eyes are hard and fierce. They burn with something hateful. Something alive. She shivers, an uncomfortable tingle spreads through her body. I hate him watching me. Officers are supposed to be in the corner of the room for health and safety reasons, and not watch. But Asteria always feels his eyes on her the massive creep. It thrills her to think this thought, to know that even though the rest of her life is so policed, no-one can see into her mind, cannot read her thoughts. This delight feels like a tiny beautiful bird swooping in her chest diving around her heart.

She pulls on the “release outfit”, the pallid grey of it depressing. She closes her eyes and remembers her favourite colour. Azure blue. Her mother had worn the most fantastic colours. She blinks. Don’t think about her. Not today. The grey jumpsuit is comfortable, a mixture of cotton and silk. The segment have decided this is important for compliance. She ties her long black hair up in a grey tie and walks downstairs. She does not bother to brush her teeth. She is too full of nerves; they jiggle around in her belly, little snakes of dread.

Her brother is already there. Of course. He sits at the table, methodically spooning porridge into his mouth. He looks up,

“Asteria” he smiles, “how beautiful you look, grey really brings out your mood”

“It really brings out your stupidity” she hisses back, forgetting herself for a minute, her snakes unleash.

“Asteria, politeness is key”, says her father. He is using that tone. I hate it.

“Yes father” she replies automatically, careful not to show any anger. But it burns through her like hot lava. She has learnt to let it burn, to perfectly adapt her face and body so no one is able to tell. The fire is absorbed by her inner organs, makes little balls of heat that live within her.

She remembers when she had liked her brother. She studies his face as he eats: rigid and empty. Now, he is so polite, his actions so considered. Sometimes, she can see the strain in his face: his own internal fire. At these moments she wants to reach out, touch him. Brother, it’s me too. But she knows this would cause trouble. She is aware she has lost this ability anyway, that her body could no longer facilitate this movement. I don’t know how to touch him anymore.

Her father is talking about today's release to her brother.

“This will be a good one Arlo, remember to use it wisely. I can tell how you’ve progressed,”

She hated it when they spoke like this,the shame burns in her. I’m not doing it right.

Whilst her brother had changed, she had not. Her brother seemed to glow, especially after the releases. He whirrs. She plays with her porridge, isn’t hungry again. No-one notices. Her father and her brother continue to talk around her.

“My releases have evolved father, and my energy levels are really doing well”

They look at her brother's hands as he holds them out, fanning out his fingers and there is a faint blue glow there, lines the colour of the sky zig zag from finger to finger. Her father nods.

“Your releases are working well. The power is strong”

Asteria gulps quietly and fans out her own fingers under the table. She can only see two lumpy shapes and between her fingers nothing but space and air. She feels embarrassed by them, by their size, their inelegance. Their lack of blue zig-zags. I’m useless.

The doorbell rings and Asteria snaps her fingers together and gulps down the porridge that is in her mouth. An involuntary shiver goes through her, a wave of nervous excitement.

Officer Cartwright, one of the most feared and high ranking enforcement officers enters the room. He is a tall and lithe figure, with a deep scar down his left cheek. The segment have created a story about this scar, about how it was gained through the unauthorised and almost deadly release of emotion. They have been purposefully vague about when, and which emotion. But the message remains clear. Unscheduled emotions can be fatal, they can ruin your face. Asteria tries to look more closely at the scar, is drawn into its depth. Looking at it feels to her like falling down the crevasse on a dark mountain. She steals her glances sparingly so as not to be noticed. With no expression on his face Officer Cartwright glances over the family, nods at their grey uniforms. His eyes pause at the tiny pin on Asteria’s brother’s shoulder and points at him,

“You will be taken to a different location today”

He turns to Asteria “You will be in a different car”

Asteria’s heart jumps: this has never happened before. They always travel to the releases together, piled into the big black shiny cars of the officers. Placid faces, no talking, and Asteria staring out of the window, transfixed by the seemingly endless buildings.

Her brother and father begin walking outside and Asteria takes a last gulp of her porridge and follows them, Officer Cartwright at the back, Asteria aware of his presence. The day is mild, and there are two of the official vehicles outside, black and huge. Her brother walks towards the one to the left, stops briefly to brush the shoulders of his grey official jumpsuit, as the door slides open, and he steps in.

Asteria waits awkwardly, unsure of this new arrangement, until officer Cartwright points at the car on the right and speaks “Asteria please approach this vehicle”. She walks towards it, suddenly scared, can feel her heart beating, tries her best to contain it but cannot quite, “Dad?” she says, her tone not quite as measured as it is supposed to be.

Officer Cartwrights eyes narrow, “Asteria, please calm down, your father will be going in the car with your brother today.”

She remembers herself then, and swallows her fear, so it sits in the depths of her stomach, “Of course, officer”

Asteria climbs into the huge vehicle, her legs partially trembling. She exercises the self-control she is constantly being taught. Imagine an ocean, calm and the palest blue, serene. She sees waves lapping, their soft and gentle sound make their way into her veins. Her heart slows down, her legs stop shaking. She sits on the cold leather seat in the back whilst Officer Cartwright sits opposite her, stiff and quiet. Is this a test? She has never been alone with any of the officers anywhere other than the release area and her body feels strangely as if on fire. She feels heat creeping up her thigh. She suddenly craves to be touched, watches Officer Cartwright's hand and notices the length of his fingers, the hard skin around the base of long, elegant fingers. I feel hot.

“Base 145 please driver. Speed 45, expected arrival 15 minutes. “

They arrive at a long strip of huge outhouses: big rectangular boxes, all high with shiny black shutters. These, she is used to. Asteria is led out to the biggest building, right at the back. The feeling that she is about to burst starts to overwhelm her. I’m going to explode. It is as if her feelings remember they are soon allowed to be expressed. Rage, excitement, fear and happiness bounce around her internal organs so she feels like a pinball machine. Officer Cartwright opens the door and she is in the huge room.

“Dark or light? “He asks as he takes the position on the chair by the door in which they had come in.

“Dark” she whispers. She likes it to be dark when she unleashes. I can escape in the darkness. Her requested props are there, huge blow up figures, sharp knives, bubble wrap and an inflatable bouncy castle are dotted around the room.

“You have an hour, I will sound a five minute warning before you must stop and I will intervene where I have to, only in extreme circumstances”

A klaxon goes off and she screams immediately, as she always does, a blood curdling sound, because she isn’t able to express her voice this way anymore. She screams, and she swears and she tries to forget the hard, black eyes upon her. She runs towards a knife and grips its handle with both her hands, still screaming and she stabs and slashes at the inflatable while it hisses it last breath I hate you all. It withers around her, on top of her so she is almost suffocated by it and she can scream more and lash out at it, so it is her brother and her father, this whole awful segment, it is the feeling in her legs, everything she is not allowed to do and everything she wants to do rise up in her and overwhelm her body, waves of adrenaline course through her and everything goes black, as black as the eyes that watch over her, as black as the car that drove her here and as all-encompassing and dark as the world in which she lives. The balls of heat in her body rise up and explode.

She comes too, and she is bloodied, can smell vomit, I know it’s mine. Her releases have started to go like this, and the tears come, her whole body shakes as sadness descends upon her, she is aware that this isn’t making it better, that when she returns to the world, it will be harder yet again. I’m so alone. I’m so tired. She does not want to go back, to fold herself back into herself, a reverse Russian doll. The klaxon sounds, and for her last five minutes she wails and sobs in front of still, bleak eyes. Her sobs echo round the dark room and are absorbed by the shadows.