The City Wall

Start your story with the line, “That’s the thing about this city…”

“That’s the thing about this city,” She said through mouthfuls of her Double-Decker Breezy-Bite sandwich. “You never know what’s coming next. It’s all a mystery!” She briefly put down her sandwich to gesture with her hands above her head.

“Oh, come on Cindy. Don’t go on about this again.” I scoffed.

“It’s true!” She wiped the sauce off her face and put her hands down on the table. “Think about it. What do you do every day?”

I rolled my eyes. “I check the mail, I do my work, then maybe I go for a run or get some shopping done.”

“Exactly!” She yelled. I peered around to see if anyone was watching. The shop was empty, except for a couple in the back. They didn’t seem to notice us. “You wake up, check the mail, do the work, rinse and repeat!”

“Yes,” I said, drawing out the eh. “That is what I do. It’s what we all do, right?”

“Right,” She murmured. “Right, right. But what if-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Cindy, and you know what I’m gonna say.”

She could tell she wasn’t getting anywhere with this. She went back to her sandwich. I stared down at my coffee. It was getting cold.

“But what if they told you to do something crazy!” She burst between mouthfuls. “W-w-w-what if,” She was stammering. She did this when she was excited. On one of her rants. It was just like this so many times before. I’ve gotten wise to her spontaneous invitations to the nearby Breezy-Bite. “What if they asked you to, to, to, to clone the president! Or, or, to hack into a high-security prison! What would you do, Bonni? Would you do it? If they asked you to?”

I took a deep breath. Cindy was staring at me. Her fingers were thrumming on the plastic table. Her leg bumping up and down. Her hair was a wild red mess of tangles and knots, her eyes darting about violently. I looked her dead in the eye. I gave her “The Look.” You know the one. That look to tell her no. Stop. No more of this nonsense. Her eyes met mine, before falling to her lap.

She pulled out her phone. I sipped from the wide-rimmed mug. Cold coffee on a colder day is never pleasant, but I needed something to occupy the silence. Cindy shoved her phone to my face.

“Look. It’s right here.” And there it was. I stared at her phone as the white glow revealed a shocking news article.

The heading read:

Man Found by City Wall with Axe in Backpack

It was about someone who “discovered the truth” and “can’t go back.” It was horse shit.

“Cindy,” I moaned as I skimmed the article. “You need to stop following these fake news sites.” She grabbed for the phone, but I leaned back. “Do you seriously read these?”

“It’s a legit News Website!” She huffed as she grabbed at the phone.

“There’s an article here titled ‘Earthbound Alien Steals Old Lady’s Children in Her Sleep.’”

Cindy snatched her phone back. “Shut up, Bonni!” She yelled. “Not all of it’s factual, but their ideas are true!”

“Do you hear yourself?” I asked her. She tucked her phone back into her yellow faux-leather purse. I noticed her socks didn’t match. She had bags under her eyes.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” I asked. She was startled by my sudden change in topic. She brushed it off.

“I’m fine.”

I was worried about her. “I have to get going, Cindy,” I said, packing up my stuff. I paused, for a moment. “Take care, Cindy.”

And then she was gone.

When I woke up the next morning, I had three missed calls from her. She didn’t leave any voicemail. I tried to call her back. She didn’t pick up.

“Hey, Cindy.” I had said into my earbud’s built-in microphone. “I noticed you called me last night.” The audio was interrupted by me crying out. I had dropped a mug on foot. “Jeez… Anyway, call me back Cindy.” And I hung up.

The following days were so… normal. The mail came every morning. I’d slide my fingers under the crisp lip of the envelope, peeling it back to reveal the juice inside.

On Monday, the letter that arrived read only the words: continue the project. It was referring to the website I was building. As far as I could tell, the website was a dating app. The basic functions were to pair users up with one another based on traits they connected to their names. I didn’t get to be very artistic with my task. I was tasked with the basics, the building blocks. All the traits were just labeled 1.a, 1.b, etc. Then, at the end of my work session, I uploaded it to a HoverSpace, owned by an unknown user. Those were the instructions I was given.

On Tuesday, the letter read: go for a walk. Enjoy the sunlight. So I did. I ran my normal course around the surrounding blocks, but then I stopped by the hover station. I stopped to look at the map. The closed HubTrain would be arriving in three minutes, heading to the recreational hemisphere. I didn’t stop by there often. I was mostly in my apartment, sometimes at the nearby shopping center. I hopped on the HubTrain as it slid into the station.

I hadn’t been to the recreational hemisphere in years. A lot had changed. There were huge parks, bustling fairs, and hundreds of workshops and entertainment squares all piled on top of one another. It was overwhelming.

I started at the park. Long paths that winded around one another. Trees as tall as buildings. It was almost magical. I stopped at a street vendor on my way back to the hover station. He was selling Ice cream. I bought a strawberry scoop on a cone. It almost tasted real.

The HubTrain took a few stops before it reached Housing Platform D4. I had never really seen the other housing platforms. Platform A2 looked lively. B3 was especially unique. When I got to my apartment, it was already mealtime. I made the usual stew with my nutrient pills. I wished I was eating the ice cream.

On Wednesday, the letter arrived digitally. It had a file attached. I read the note above it. “Upload the file, complete the task.” I opened the file.

I dropped the steaming mug of coffee on the ground. Burning brown liquid spattered across the tiled kitchen floor. The cream-colored porcelain mug shattered into deadly shards. I stood in shock, staring at the file on my phone. I made no effort to move my feet from the burning liquid.

The file contained my website. The one I had been working on for the past several months. But the variables were not labeled with numbers and letters. The terms had values, and it was not a dating app.

It was watching us. Everyone in the city. It was tracking us. I stood there, for minutes, in total shock. Before I called Cindy.

“Cindy?!” I called into the phone. A robotic voice came from the other end.

“I’m sorry, but the number you are calling no longer exists. Please be sure you typed it in properly.”

I frantically skimmed my contacts list, before clicking on Cindy’s page. I triple-checked her number. It was correct. I called it.

“I’m sorry, but the number you are calling no longer exists. Please be sure you typed it in properly.”

I typed in the numbers, one by one.

“I’m sorry, but the number you are calling no longer exists. Please be sure you typed it in properly.”

I was terrified. I had only had this happened to me once before. I had been going through old clothes, and I saw an old photo of my family. I was touched, and I called my mother. I was going to ask her if she remembered that day, the day we all went to the zoo, and I got stuck in the monkey enclosure. And the error message played. And I remembered she had died three years ago. And I had cried.

It seemed like everything went blank. I didn’t remember how I had gotten to Cindy’s apartment. I didn’t even know I had known where it was. But I was there. Standing at her door. I knocked twice. No reply. Three times. No reply. I pounded my fists on the door.

And I heard a click.

She was alive.

It was ok.

The door opened.

“I’m sorry, who are you?’

It was a woman, standing behind the door. She had long black hair and olive-toned skin. She wasn’t Cindy.

There was a long moment of silence. “Did you,” My voice was rough, almost silent. “Just move in?”

“Yes…” She said cautiously. “Three days ago.”

Three days. It had been three days. Cindy had been gone. And I hadn’t even noticed.

I left the woman’s doorstep. I must’ve looked insane, still in pajamas, out of breath, tears in my eyes. I walked home. I sat on my bed. I held my phone in my lap. I saw images of Cindy. She looked happy. I should have been there for her. Something was wrong, I had known it. I should have told her to come with me. I should have protected her.

I ran the website.

I signed in as an operator.

I suddenly got floods of messages from the website. I knew vaguely how to navigate the site. I pressed the tab where the messages were flooding in from.

I opened the first one. It was me. Everything that made up me. My full name, a family tree, a brief description of my physical and mental traits. It was all formatted neatly on a page. The second one was somebody I didn’t know. Most of them were. But I quickly came to know them. Where they live, what they look like, how they act. There were hundreds of these.

As an operator, I had to sort them. Some of the names had flags. I had to inspect the flags and determine if it was an appropriate fit. Then, I had to sort the newly flagged info cards into digital ‘boxes’, for further sorting. Other people were working on this. At that moment, I knew I had two choices. I didn’t hesitate to choose.

I kept my phone logged into the website. If they were watching, then it would buy me some time.

I arrived at the HubTrain but didn’t get on. They would know if I did. Instead, I inspected the map. The outer wall was miles away. I began to run.

It didn’t take long to tire me out. I was thirsty. I should have brought water. I was hungry. I should have brought my phone, to pay for a snack. Like strawberry ice cream. No, I couldn’t bring it. They’d track me. I walked until I could run again. Then I ran.

It was dark when I reached it. The outer wall. It was beautiful. It was tall. I realized someone would try to call me. They’d get the error message. They’d think I was dead. And that sparked hope. Maybe Cindy got out. She didn’t die, she escaped. I hopped up onto the wall.

I dug my fingers into the cracks of the bricks. I stabbed my toes into the crumbling holes. I hoisted myself up and reached for another hold. I rested my foot on the hold I had just let go of, but it crumbled beneath me. I fell to the ground, landing on my back. And I got up and went at it again. Crack by crack, hold by hold, I made my way up. And the top was in sight.

My hand gripped onto the top of the wall. I looked down, to see the great distance between my feet and the ground. I swung my other arm up across the top. I lifted my torso about the top. I swung my legs up. I was at the top of the wall. I could see the other side.

And all I could see were bodies.