A good reader is one who accepts this invitation, who isn't constrained by the past constructs and limitations, and therefore can enter the literary world with ease. Such is B.
*
Another man walks from the other side. He is your co-worker at the city hall, a clerk carrying kraft paper bags, wearing a black coat and pointed shoes, looking at his phone. You have seen his face a few times, but there are no intimate connections between Some-Ones, especially between clerks. That’s the way Some-Ones’ relationships work: you know Some-One, see him a lot, exchange names, phone numbers, small talk – but you don’t really know anything other than that, even though he is your colleague.
But the sight of your colleague has triggered something in you. Something has been jolted awake. Your past comes back to you in flashes, the days when you were also a Some-One working at the city hall, when you were no different from the man walking in your direction. The city hall is a huge and hallowed building, solemn and stately. Everyone who has a job in the city hall is remarkable and respected, seen regularly in newspapers and television and often the subject of rumors. Each one of them has a name–a well-known name, in fact–but to make matters simple, you call them workmen. Workmen walk in and out every day, slaving away at repetitive and tedious work. It’s considered an honor to work here, but even in the after-hours workmen would get constant calls from their superiors in what seemed to be daily emergencies… And you know it’s a workman when you hear that signature, ominous ringtone. Ding-a-ling. Ding-a-ling. Your colleague jumps and picks up the phone.
The workman frowns but answers in a cool, professional tone. “This is Mike speaking.”
“Absent from work? Missing calls?? How strange…He hasn’t spoken to our team all day.”
You hear Some-One’s name. Your name, or at least what used to be your name. Immediately, you dart behind the nearest tree and hide in its shadow. He must not see you. “Understood. I will go to his address and find out what’s going on. Yes, I will contact local authorities…”
He hangs up the phone and brushes past your hide-out. Just when you think you’re safe, he turns and stares straight into your cloak of darkness. You make eye contact. It’s too late. “▖▜▝, why are you here? Why aren’t you at work? You know there are consequences, right?”
You cannot answer his question. It doesn’t pertain to you any longer. Seeing him approach, a cold trickle in the pit of your stomach creeps in, and your heart pounds like a frantic drum, each beat echoing loudly in the ears, drowning out all reason. Palms almost slick with sweat, you start to run. Breath comes in sharp gasps, and you look back, seeing the confusion on his face. At the sight of your sudden flight, he seems to be more scared than you are. Fortunately, he does not run after you — his pointed shoes are designed for workmen sitting in the office, not for quick, agile movements. But you do not put your guard down, and quicken your pace.
Though you’ve already turned your phone off, the landline rings. It’s the police, your superiors, and your co-workers. Yes, the Some-Ones have noticed your absence — they are coming for you! Should you just wait for them to arrest you, force you to tell them who you are, and assimilate you, or shall you escape?
But escape to where?
*
But wait, where were we? We’ve gone on an even longer tangent.
Here’s C.
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