Chapter Text
“You may now proceed to the room no.2AB.”
That voice alone was enough to send the grey-haired men to perspiration. He swallowed his saliva several times to the point he couldn’t count the number of times he had done that. As he walked through the alley along with the two guards behind him, his eyes scanned the view in front of him while still lowering his head. Some cell doors had been passed. Each door lied certain numbers that contained abortive salvation for those who turned their back from the laws. The only visible sounds in that place were their footsteps, clanging sound of irons and chains, and other muffled sounds he couldn’t tell what they were. There was barely any sunlight that came through the place, at least to warm up the frigid atmosphere. Hands clamped together forming a sweat, waiting for the apostle of death to embrace his vulnerable being.
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Birds chirped outside the window, serenading the morning soon to be slipped by. Morning dew on the leaves slowly tumbled while waiting for the gravity to entirely affiliate them with the ground beneath. The sun awakened from the hollowness of the midnight horizon, ready to cast the town with its luminescent glow. Over the window, the kitchen was bathed in golden light. Armin eagerly unlocked the window to let the mild breeze, in which the morning held, entering the room. He interlaced his fingers as he stretched the weariness away from his body. Inhaled, exhaled. A relief sound after the stretch erupted in the kitchen.
“That was quite a loud noise you got there,” Armin jolted when he heard a female voice appeared from behind. His gesture turned, only to see his wife stepped into the kitchen along with their daughter. Shoulders relaxed from the tension that was eventually replaced by a blush of pink flared on both cheeks. Received teasing and innuendo from his wife was nothing particularly odd for him. Acknowledging the fact that he had been living with her for 10 years, he knew well how to “retaliate” against her. He made his approach to her and placed his lips dangerously close to her ears. “But not as loud as yours during our previous session, right?” Armin whispered while wearing his pride beneath his sleeves. Precise as a dart, the roles now had reversed. Her wife blushed 40 shades of red.
“I thought we’re going to forget that!” His wife stammered.
“How would I even forget if your voice pinned to my head oftentimes, Mrs. Annie Arlert?” Armin stated with a grimace grew on his lips.
“Ssshhh… we don’t want our girl to hear this,” Annie whispered intending to shush him before their discussion was progressively suggesting. Armin only nodded and replied with a simple ‘okay’ in return. Her footsteps brought her to the fridge to prepare today’s breakfast.
In the corner of the dining room, a small television was occupied. Television was supposedly known for entertainment and knowledge-absorption purposes. Nevertheless, the family didn’t bother to switch on the device. Even if the screen was vacant black, they were able to remember the repetitive sound and the visuals in their head: Nothing but the adoration for their “chosen ones”. Switched onto the next channel and you would see the oration of how to be a civilized citizen. One of the most Zofia despised from the oration was about how art was an illicit thing for the country. Yet, they put it on repeat every day like a never-ending loop. In the third switch, your eyes fell upon the systematic cordon of “Petro-bots” who practiced their march and things they did both as soldiers and inspectors. Another switch, you’d find a documentary movie about a grotesque view of transgressors were being executed. On some days it would be about the documentary of how outside countries assaulted their country, Bellbramp. Watching a show that was tinted all nothing but a monochrome shade of black and white only wasting their iris. Iris was not made for seeing dreary sight if nature and surroundings had variants of colors to see.
The silence between them was cracked when their daughter spoke up. “Mom, Dad, look at what Zofia made last night!” As she handed her sepia-tinted book (Zofia said it was her art journal) in front of them. They stared at the creation made by the gifted hands of Zofia. Every stroke of markers, scribbles of pencil, patches of unused fabrics and papers, dried flowers, and other things they couldn’t seem to identify what objects they had created a tight-knit harmony of an abstraction masterwork. Armin’s fingers began to trace and rub each complicated elements to immerse himself deeper through Zofia’s creation. He pleasantly sighed, thinking if only they had not been born in such a deleterious system.
“You’re doing great,” said Annie. She might not give people emotional reactions most of the time, but her eyes captivated her emotions precisely. Nonetheless, Zofia was still thankful for that.
“But remember, what I told you, Zofia,” said Armin with a warning tone beneath his voice.
“This journal will be the death of us,” Armin and Zofia stated the line simultaneously. She had been keeping the book and her parent’s promise for 4 years. The only people she trusted and gave them access to view her art journal were her parents.
“Armin, you’d better off to work. Zofia you too, don’t wanna be late for school.”
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“We live in a world where numbers prove our worth because numbers are powerful. They are what make you the person you are right now. We don’t believe in creativity or other nonsense like that. Those things are for daydreamers that won’t do a thing for this country’s advancement. Such subjectivity can only cause chaos. However, if you want to choose death, you know that’s a way to do it, right? Your friend, Jeff, is the concrete evidence of his stupidity by making nonsense art. Look at him now, gone with the wind!”
‘Another day, another baloney indoctrination,’ thought Zofia as she twirled her pen while hearing her teacher’s so-called “speech”. Never once crossed in her mind to think how art was that useless when in reality, the infrastructure and other technologies would not have been existed in her country by now. Lucky enough, she became immune throughout the time listening to revelations. Her half-lidded eyes randomly scanned the classroom. Her urge to open the art journal was immense. Escaped into her own imagination was merely the paradise on this world. She did not have to spend a cent of money just to access the world of possibilities, because the world was accessible in her own mind only. She would have been killing the time by laying her hands on her precious journal. However, if she opened the journal by now, she could be a dead meat in no time.
Her thoughts were interrupted with the penetrating sound of the school bell. It was a sign that the class had ended. The teacher told the students to collect their assignments in the exercise book. Zofia handed hers to the teacher, followed by other students, and packed her things before heading to her home. On her way home, she could not eagerly wait for a long time just the thought of laying her hands on her art journal. There were gazillion amount of thoughts and emotions that were soon to be poured into a piece of paper.
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“I’m home!” Zofia shouted to know the people in the house that she came back. “Finally, you’re back. Let’s have dinner first, I just prepared your favorite food,” said Annie from the living room while approaching her. Though there was no presence of her dad, she was used to it due to the fact her dad came back home late. There were times her dad returned to their home in the next day. Though, the pattern became habitual, she admitted the lonesome sometimes haunted her, but what could they do if the corporate held the highest claim of the regulations of their workers?
Her eyes lit up when she saw her favorite red bean porridge was on the dining table. She could feel her stomach revolt inside, begging to be fed. During the dinner, she talked with Annie for god knows how many hours had passed. Engaging in a thought-provoking conversation with her mom had always been like a remedy to her, albeit about her tiresome school life.
“Don’t you ever get bored by the speeches?” Asked Annie whilst gulping down the mineral water.
“Always and has ever been.”
“That’s bad, …But it’s okay, I understand how irksome to experience that.”
“Yeah…. Lucky that I didn’t puke right in that place”
“Anyways, can I take another look your art journal?”
“Sure! That shouldn’t be a question though!”
Giggles of Zofia erupted in the dining room. In a middle of their conversation, the TV was automatically turned on, a sign that there was an urgent report from the reign. As they saw what was on the TV, the atmosphere became tensed abruptly. Eyes wide opened. The blood ran down rapidly in both veins. Both of them were frozen in the place. This was not what they expected.
“ATTENTION TO ALL THE BELLBRAMP CITIZENS, WE WOULD LIKE TO REPORT BAD NEWS. TODAY, THERE WAS AN ODD STUFF THAT WAS FOUNDED IN THE RED SUN JUNIOR HIGH. THIS BROWN BOOK CONTAINED SUCH RUBBISH AND ENDANGERED THE LAW. BASED FROM THIS BOOK’S NAME INSIDE, IT IS OWNED BY ZOFIA. WE ARE SOLICITING THEM RIGHT NOW. THEREFORE, FOR THOSE WHO HAVE CAUGHT THEM ESCAPING, INFORM US. OR ELSE, DEATH PENALTY FOR FALSE INFORMATIONS AND FOR THOSE WHO RESIST TO TELL. THANK YOU AND BE A GOOD CITIZEN.”
To be continued.