"I always knew it would end like this."
The ground underneath Emily's feet stopped quivering.
"Punishment for mocking them."
She stared up at the machine hovering in the air like the sun.
"You must find this hilarious?"
The ENGINE offered no answer to her silent cries of why it had marked her.
Emily rubbed the tears from her cheeks. She noticed the flames hadn't singed her flesh. Her eyes darted from side to side, noticing the citizens rising to their feet. Some smiled, others looked up in awe, basking in the ENGINE's magnificence.
"Must be nice being God."
Emily's heart roared in her chest. A v͚o̳ͮice quaked within her like a caged lion demanding release. She wiped locks of hair out of her face. A bass-heavy hum rang through her skin, buzzing and vibrating through her molars. The sound felt familiar yet alien, a half-forgotten lullaby from childhood. Her left eye shimmered an eerie mulberry hue for a moment, like a collapsing nebula.
"₩ⱧɎ ₥Ɇ?" she whispered to herself.
A citizen glared at Elijah's grey mask with envy. "Why was I not chosen!?" The citizen barked, throwing his hat to the ground. "I trained all my life, gave generous amounts of wealth to charity... and for what?!"
The citizen's nostrils flared. "You? The ENGINE chose you!? A street rat... this has to be a mistake!"
"Do not question the ENGINE; it sees what we can not!" Another citizen retorted. "My parents told me the tale of my great-grandfather. He was chosen last cycle, and he was just a humble shoe shiner."
A flamboyant citizen rolled his eyes. "At least your grandfather worked and had a family. My great-grandmother was a doctor and was chosen last cycle too. Look at her; she probably never worked a day in her life. She will just be fodder for the actual PRIME."
The crowd erupted into arguments, echoing down the streets of Leonore.
Emily rubbed her shoulder, then frowned. Her wet eyes drifted toward the ground. Everyone dismissed her anointed position, which she didn't want. She closed her eyes; the hum turned to chest-pounding bass that silenced the crowd. Her mind went blank, the voice laughing at their accusations and envy.
"Hey, kid, are you alright?" Elijah asked.
Emily's eyes jolted open. "I … oh, it's you," she muttered, then gazed down at the cobblestone road. She winced as her stomach grumbled.
Elijah sighed and shook his head. "You still haven't eaten? Stubborn ass kid," he groaned, then gazed down the road. "Let's get out of here."
"What?" Emily replied.
"Let's get you something to eat and get you out of those filthy clothes."
"Why are you trying to help me?"
"Shut up, kid, just move your legs," Elijah replied, carving a path through the crowd for Emily. "Don't let these people get under your skin."
"I am trying," she replied, keeping her head down.
"Where do you live?" Elijah asked when they reached the mall.
"That's none of your business."
"Homeless then," he said, approaching the food court.
Emily kept her mouth shut. Her face soured while she ran a hand through her hair.
"Where do you wanna eat?"
"I don't care."
"Just pick."
Emily gestured towards the breakfast restaurant she had attempted to eat at earlier. The chef, who had denied her, noticed them approaching.
"I'll have whatever she's having with a coffee," Elijah ordered, gazing up at the food menu. "What do you want, kid?"
"Waffles," Emily muttered, avoiding the chef's gaze.
The chef blinked, then scratched his chin. "Um."
"Something's wrong?" Elijah asked.
"She was chosen?"
"Yeah... what about it?"
"How did the ENGINE choose her?"
"Why does it matter? Are you going to serve us or not?"
The chef rubbed his neck, then sighed. He grabbed his frying pan and prepared their meals. "Here you go, chosen."
Emily looked at the waffles and then up at the chef, who avoided her gaze. Her eyes lit up with fury, then she balled up her fists. She then grabbed the plate of waffles and dropped it on the ground.
Elijah looked down at the shattered plate on the floor. "What the hell, kid?"
Emily's nostrils flared. "This man turned me away earlier today, and now he serves me because the ENGINE chose me. He saw me starving, called me a street rat, called me a bum. Now he serves me. You make me sick. I won't eat something made by someone like you."
Elijah blinked, then looked at the chef, who stood there with his head down. "Is that true?"
The chef shook his head. "She is exaggerating; she comes here begging."
"I asked for a job, and you turned me away," Emily said.
The chef threw up his hands. "I can't hire someone like you! You would have caused my customers to go somewhere else."
"Just admit you like kicking people down less fortunate than you?" Elijah interjected, then crossed his arms.
"What? It's not like that! She is just."
"Just what?"
The chef looked up and took a deep breath, but did not reply.
Elijah handed his food back, then shook his head. "You can keep the coin. You are going to need it when word gets out how you treated a chosen," Elijah said before they left.
Emily sat at a table. She could feel the customers' eyes on her. Their judgment, their envy, their hate emanating from their bodies burrowed under her skin. Elijah ordered for them both, coming back with a generous serving of authentic Leonore cuisine. Fresh chicken, basil, spices, and orange peels hit her nose as she grabbed a fork. A subtle smile formed on her face.
She engulfed the food on her plate, burping loudly, then wiping her mouth with her arm. He scratched his salt-and-pepper beard, looking at her tattered beige shirt, ripped jeans, and faded teal highlights in her hair. He got up, headed back to the restaurant, and ordered more. Emily stayed muted, eating every piece of food placed before her.
"How long have you been living like this, kid?" Elijah asked.
"What do you mean?" Emily replied, grabbing her drink.
"I mean, how long have you been homeless? Where are your parents?"
Emily's eyes lowered. "They died when I was young."
Elijah sighed, then looked around. "Leonore doesn't have a church or adoption services?"
"I'd rather not talk about it … and why do you care?"
"Is it a crime to want to help an orphan?"
"I don't want your fucking pity, and it doesn't matter... I am going to die anyway," she replied, then stood up from her chair and stormed off.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. Emily pushed her way through the crowd, trying desperately to push out the negative thoughts creeping into her brain. It was futile; her mind lingered on painful memories of a child being kicked out of the church of Leonore because she didn't get adopted. She wanted to scream from the top of her lungs. Emily kicked a trash can. She slammed a door, barging her way through the alleyway before taking a shortcut through a clothing outlet and climbing up a fire escape ladder.
Emily scratched at the mask molded to her face, pulling at it with all her might, but it wouldn't come off. Scrambling off a narrow building edge, she growled before hopping to the next. She stared down at the citizens below, watching their anger and celebrations before lifting the tarp off her makeshift home. She grabbed her journal, skimming through the pages with melancholic eyes while scribbling lyrics onto the pages.
Where do orphans go to rest?
The needles pierce and leave their mark.
Binding me to who I are.
A future wrapped in future's cost.
She fiddled with her pen before closing the notebook. Her expression sharpened as she heard footsteps approaching. "Who's there?" she barked, lifting the tarp and holding her makeshift shank.
"Easy, kid … It's just me," Elijah replied, raising his hand in a peaceful gesture. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Ain't nobody coming up here; how the hell do you do this?"
"Why are you following me?" Emily grumbled, putting her knife away.
"I am trying to fucking help your stubborn ass."
"In case you haven't noticed, our masks marked us for death. Don't you have something better to do before you kick the bucket?"
"With that attitude, you will kick the bucket."
"Whatever... what do you want, sourpuss?"
Elijah chuckled. "Me... sourpuss? Projecting, are you?"
Emily rolled her eyes and sighed. "What the hell do you want? If you're looking for gratitude, you won't get it. Just leave me the fuck alone."
Elijah fixated on the dirty bed she was sitting on, then over to the cello sitting next to it. "You play?"
Emily rubbed her hands on her jeans.
"Play something."
"No."
"Why not?"
A thousand-yard stare formed in Emily's eyes. Her muscles tensed as her mind drifted inwards. The voice growled in her chest.
"I got you something to eat; at least repay me with a tune," Elijah insisted.
"Fine … whatever," Emily mumbled, taking a deep breath before picking up her cello.
Emily played an aggressive, melancholic Baroque tune.
Elijah's pupils dilated. Each note felt sadder than the last, angry and violent. His eyes struggled to keep up with the speed of her plucking and strumming. He couldn't comprehend how she was making that cello weep. Goosebumps crawled up his back like a centipede just when the strings on Emily's cello snapped.
"Fuck!" Emily yelled, tilting her head into the air and clutching the cello bow. "Great, now I can't even freaking play music anymore."
She cursed under her breath, then looked up at Elijah. "There, my debt is paid. Can you fuck off?"
"What was that kid?" Elijah asked, kneeling with wet eyes.
"What was what? I played you a tune, then my cello broke … now can you leave me be?"
"Kid... did you... Who taught you how to play?"
Emily shrugged. "Nobody... I taught myself."
"You taught yourself … how to play like that?"
"Like what?"
Elijah rubbed his face and stood up. "Fuck, kid … You don't know how good you are?"
"If I were good, I wouldn't be fucking homeless."
"Then Leonore doesn't know fucking talent. That... I don't know what that was... but I could feel that, and that's what matters."
Emily's attention drifted towards the clouds floating in the sky. Her arms quivered, fixating on the roar emanating from her chest.
"ⱠɆ₮ ₥Ɇ ØɄ₮."
Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her mind raced, struggling to drown out the presence clawing at her skin. She gazed up at Elijah, forcing a flawed smile while the voice rumbled just under her breath.
She did not let it out.