picture source: https://pixabay.com/photos/train-station-transportation-people-2593687/
Rich. The story of a
spygirl named Michelle, a girl chosen to save her people from the Dysopian society they've fallen in by the- well, by you know who. (they're in the title).
“Please, invest!”
This guy with black, curly hair near a huge grassy hill stood maybe four feet away from Steve and me with a sign that read a word I’ve never heard before. Entrepreneurs.
“What?” I asked. He had broken me out of my daydream for a made up word? “What even is an in-tray-pre-new-ours?” I asked .
“On-tre-pa-newers.” the dude corrects me. “That means people who own their own businesses. Me and a few friends own the ‘F.O.’ organization. We want to ask the Rich reasonable questions, and also ask for a real map from them. I’m Geovanni.” He told us, his soft brown eyes going from me back to his sign.
“Strange.” is all I say after.
There is a silence before Steve speaks up. “He- you must be confused. We’re Regulars, not Rich. We don’t start jobs, we work for them. The Rich make the companies. Maybe you are just in need of a job. You can always work for Ready-Made at any of their stores, they’ve always got a job for even the most inexperienced bunch, and the newspaper place is about to close down. I know the boss there will have a ton of jobs you can do-”
“No.” The Guy said with a straight face. “I don’t want to work for anybody but me. All I asked is if you would invest into my project, not find me a job.” He was suddenly more serious than he was a few minutes ago.
I didn’t like him one bit.
“Why would you want to question the Rich?”
“Because there are lots of things that just don’t make sense.” He answered. “I mean, where do they take all the old people? Or where do the Rich live anyway? I mean, they don’t live in any of the sectors, or where does our mandatory ‘Donation Money’ that gets taken out of our checks go? ” The guy said.
“Isn’t that none of our business?” I asked.
“Where your money goes is none of your business?”
I was tired of him. I didn’t like that my check was docked every week, but what could I do about it?
“Get out of my way.” I told him.
“Why? Because I’m trying to wake you up!?”
“Shut up!” I told him, and sped walked past him. He matched my steps for a moment before stopping, just staring at me as I walked off.
“Hey bro! You com'n!? Some boy at the bottom of the hill yelled with a sandwich board version of the sign The Guy was holding.
“Yeah!” The Guy answered and left.
Oh. So he wasn’t lying about the whole organization of friends. I was beginning to think that whole thing was a big money scam.
Steve and I started walking again.
“I can’t believe that guy.” Steve started to say. “If there’s one thing my brain said throughout his prattling, it was dysfunctional.”
“Everything in this town is dysfunctional.” I snapped.
To me It was true. People have always called my imagination dysfunctional ever since I was little.
“I can’t believe he can get a job, but he’s just choosing not to get one.” Steve nagged.
“You thought Balo’s was cool for that,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but the Rich don’t just usually allow Regulars to-” but before he could even finish his excuse, the sidewalk stops and turns into grass and we see a huge sign saying ‘Now leaving Sector Seven.
No residents beyond this point.
The minute we stepped into the grass both Steve and my phone blanked. Their screens were black and I could see my reflection on my phone’s screen.
“What the-what's going on?” Steve tries to turn on his phone.
“There’s no signal.”
“Not sure.” I looked around to see if there were any power lines around. None.
“Strange,” I mumbled to myself for the second time that night.
“We aren’t supposed to be here, are we? Maybe that crazy guy and our phones going out are signs we went the wrong way.” Steve insisted.
“I think we're going the right way. Boss said there would be a point where our phones go out and we would have to find a hill.” I answered.
Since there was no trail, we tried to stay in the direction of where the sidewalk led. After ten minutes passed Steve started wheezing.
“Can, * huff * we, * huh * turn around yet? huh” Steve was going to give up getting to the station easily.
“Nah. You can give up, but I’m getting to that station. I’ll just take your portion of money along with mine when I get back.” I teased, but I wasn't kidding.
“No way am I passing up mula!” answered Steave, apparently willing to pass out for money.
With everyone using slidewalks these days and sitting at work all day, no one really moved. So you can expect most people weren't exactly so vigorous. Some people were obease, and others were sluggish. As a young kid, me and my twin sister used the slidewalks for everything until dad’s dad had a really bad disease attack and was told he could never run again. From then on, dad made us walk to the beach, run all the way up to the forest trail, and back down once a week to keep us fit. Sheila and I complained until we were old enough to realize that it was good for us.
“If we don’t, *huh, * stop *huff, * I’m gonna fall out,” Steve complained. We eventually approached a grassy hill. From the top, I saw what had to be the train station at the bottom of the hill. There was a big, smooth looking white train with a red stripe. It had round rectangle windows and was hovering a few feet off the ground. It had a smooth, silver railing in front of it. We had come from the north, but there seemed to be a clearing to the left in the west woods where a few people were coming from. Farther up there seemed to be a bus with more people coming off of it. Did they come right out of the woods? I thought. They must live there. No, that wouldn’t explain why they were going the other way. My head was cloudy with questions.
“I see the station. Or at least I think I see the train station...” Steve looked as if he were getting nervous.
I hope he doesn’t quit and bail at the last minute. I thought to myself. Steve was worried, and when Steve was worried, I couldn’t always tell what he was gonna do. I didn’t want to go down there by myself, so I had to persuade him to stay. “Don’t bail now. We’re almost there.” I said just in case he started to say we should head back. “I wasn’t gonna bail.” He answered. Though Steve was a coward, he hated being called one.
But as I think about it myself, as we approach the train station, night falling and loud conversations floating around as people get off the bus, grab a ticket, or talk with others, I get a nervous feeling in my stomach. How will we find Angela? What impression will we leave to affluent people? Will they think we are breaking a rule, being at their secret station? But I’m not backing out now. Not this close.
As I came closer to the train station, I noticed how beautiful this place was. I noticed that the station was covered in light brown clean neat wood with decorational hand-carved lines at the edges of almost every plank. Some wooden planks had beautiful swirls in them, also hand-carved but not too deep into the floor where you might think it’s a dent.
To the left was a ticket wall with spaces for workers to give out tickets, and even that was elegant with amazing detail. The ticket wall was also made of that neat and pretty wood, splitting apart for rectangle-shaped shiny glass for the ticket agents to talk to people.
Before we could go up, those fancy wooden steps, (with golden designs painted on the front of each!) two guards with batons walked up, obviously seeing we aren’t well, Rich. Steve was getting ready to wave his arms around running and yelling back to the sidewalk and I hoped he didn’t. If anything, that would make us look more suspicious.
“What are you doing here?” one guard asked. His eyes had admediatly darted to Steve. This guy’s eyes looked cold, a shade darker than ice blue. “Fowling? What are you doin’ hangen around a Regular?” The second guard asked me.
I didn’t know the Rich used the terms ‘Rich’ and ‘Regulars’ to describe us and them as well. I thought that was something that only Regulars like me and Steve do.
“Fowling? As in Angela Fowling? Where!?” I said, looking around me, but I saw no one behind me.” “You!” The second guard said back. Looking highly confused.
“That ‘aint Fowling!” the first guard yelled to the confused one who now looked surprised. “The Fowlings would never be caught coming from the north side. And Angela would never have a troll right next to her!” “Troll?” said Steve, looking confused. I myself was having a hard time figuring out what was going on. This guard thought I was Angela fowling!? And what’s with them calling Steve weird names like Troll? So many unanswered Questions. “Well then,” asked the first guard who clearly regained his dignity. “What are you trolls doing over here?”
“We’re-these files- Angela Fowling.” Steve stammered of course, scared as always. “Fowling?” the first guard said. “Oh yeah. Ain't she expectin’ two people over here?” he asked the second guard. the second guard thought. “Yeah. right. Two trolls from the town up there.” he said ‘trolls’ as if we were disgusting bugs on his front lawn. He continued “You got an excuse to be here now. You can look around the train station to do your job. But whatever you do, DON’T board that train. And you better be outta’ here when the train’s ready to leave.” said the icey-eyed first guard. He talked as if there were only one of us.
“Yes sir.” Steve said obediently. But I didn’t.
After that They got out of our way. Steve looked around at all the Rich people, all buggy-eyed and quiet.
I huffed and rolled my eyes. “Are you gonna talk to anyone?”
“Oh right, right yeah, let’s… search I guess,” Steve clutched the files and walked up to a random woman, shakily holding up a finger in question.
I turned to the man inside one of the booths. Inside his booth he had a list. His golden name tag read Joe. I walked up to his booth. “What’s that list for?” I asked. I even pointed to the list in his booth so that he couldn’t say, ‘What list?’ and waste time. Something told me the people here weren’t easy to talk to.
“Quite the nosey one.” he called me. But before I had time to respond he was already talking again. “This is a list of names of people who are spos’d to board this train. People haf’ to come to me before they board that train, if they don’t, the gaurds’ll take care of ‘em.” he answered. Boy he used a lot of slang. He pointed to a lot of places where guards were posted. My mind was busy.
This place was loaded with guards! Besides at meeting rooms, where there were like, four, I’d never seen them in Sector Seven. I couldn’t believe there was like seven on this train boarding platform! I wonder if they have a lot of guards where booth guy li-
Wait! Where did this guy live!? Was he going to board the train after everybody else, or did he live in the Row? I’d have to ask him that.
“Are you on that list too?” I chose my words carefully. I didn’t know if he’d be friendly or not hostile to this question. “Nah, I’m not on the list,” He answered nicely. “But, I do get on the train a few minutes after everyone else is loaded.”
“They let you on?”
“Yeah!” All I have to do is pull out my ID and all the guards’ll step aside.” said Joe.
Dang it. He didn’t really answer if he was Rich or not. But, at least he answered the question. I probably definitely would have gotten an ‘it’s none of your business,’ from the guards.
When the train hooted it’s horn, that reminded me of why I was here. I got distracted. It’s not everyday someone answers questions like that. Actually, it’s not any day in Row Seven. I walked over to Steve.
“How’s it going?”
“Not good. I haven’t found her yet.”
“The train’s about to leave! We have to find her!” my whisper evolved into a quiet yell. “Maybe she already boarded. I’ll check with the booth guy.” I pointed a thumb in the direction of the man I was just talking to.
“Hurry!” said Steve as I went back to the booths. I hoped he didn’t get all panicky at this time. Not when we were this close to finishing the job.
“Hey,” I said as I came back and the dude looked up. “Do you know if a woman named Angela fowling already boarded the train?” I asked. “Uuuhhhhh.” he answered looking at his list. As his eyes slid down the paper, My brain was saying, she’s not on this train. The boss mixed up someone or something with the wrong time and you came down here looking stupid.
“Nope. She’s not on my list.” he answered.
“How can this be possible!? The boss is a liar, isn’t she?” I muttered to myself. That’s when I popped back into real time to see Joe staring at me.
I thanked him for the information. “You're welcome. Now if you’ll excuse me, I've got a line.” I turned behind me to see a line of rich people behind me, some irritated to be waiting.
I smiled and left to find Steve.
“Anything?'' I asked though I knew the answer. If Steve had found Mrs. Fowling, he would have been giving her the files while becoming a sweat puddle.
I went and asked everyone I saw. “Excuse me, are you Angela fowling?” okay, but do you know where to find her?” I’d ask over and over.
Some people looked at me with wide eyes and said “Angela! What are you doing here!?” before I explained who I was. Gosh, why did everyone think I was Angela!? Did we look alike or something!?
And then the train hooted again: this time after the hoot an automated voice said the train will be leaving in ten minutes.
Time was running out. I could only think of one other place she was at.
TO BE CONTINUED
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