The world is pitchblack. When my dad was young, he went caving with his scout troop. At one point, when they stopped for lunch at a room with a cliff, their guide said to turn off the lights on their helmets. Everything washed away in the darkest dark he’d ever seen. This must be how he felt, how I’m feeling right now, outside in the middle of downtown Chicago.
I reach down to pick up the rest of the sharp shards of my broken visor, cut my ring finger, and change my mind on rescuing the rest of it. I take my first step alone in the blinding night. I exhale, excited to take one small step for humanity, but a giant leap for me. With more confidence, I take my second step. Swallowing the rest of the fear away, I take my third step.
A wall shoots out of the sidewalk, knocking me down. Feet smack down on my bleeding fingers. Toes kick into my sore sides. I try to pull myself up, but the crowd of pedestrians seems deadset on keeping me down. I shout at my attackers.
“Why are you doing this?” my question echoes as if I’m in a cave all alone. I look up and see nothing but the dull red glow of their electronic eyes. More walls must be moving them away from me. I feel a whoosh of wind and a decrease in stomps.
“They don’t hear you and they don’t see you. Welcome to my world, young lady,” a rusty voice says to me, coming from across the street.
“What?” I ask. I pull myself up.
“The red-eyed demons. They don’t know you exist,” the old woman says, lighting a candle and showing herself to me in the flickering light.
The tiny orange light of the little white candle extinguishes the city streets’ darkness in an instant. Again, I think of my dad’s story about the cave.
“They’re not demons,” I say. “They’re people like you and me. Did your visor’s battery die too?” I limp towards the source of the light.
“Never had one,” the old woman says, “I was too poor to afford one when they came out.” I see holes in her shirt and dirt on her face. She’s been living like this for a long time.
“Well, Lord Christ Long Cock set up payment methods to help us less fortunate, unlike him. You’ve just got to prove you live in New State.”
“I don’t have an address,” she says. “This candle won’t last long. Follow me, and I’ll show you where I camp.”
“I can’t. I need to go to the LCLC Tower. Will you join me?” I ask.
“No,” she answers, annoyed. “Do you know what they do to people like us there? You better come with me until you get yourself a new electric blindfold.”
“No. I’m tired of being pushed away from the tower. I have to go and see for myself. I have to find Rebel Saint,” I say.
“Who?”
“The person who attacked the tower. I’ll try my best to sneak past the security there. Since you’re too chicken to come with me, could I have one of your candles?” I ask.
The old woman sighs, opening up her old Jansport backpack. She kneels down for a closer look inside. I see three people with red blind eyes walking briskly towards us. I run towards them with my arms ready to push. They stop and see me. They turn away.
“A wall? I though my wall-blocker was up to date!” complains the man ahead of the others in the crowd.
“This is my last candle,” the familiar rusty voice says behind me. I turn around and see a tiny stick made of fat, dwarfed by the wrinkled fingers presenting it. “Do you have any food to trade for it? If not, no sale!”
I curse under my breath, searching my pockets until I feel something so small, I didn’t even realize I had it.
“Yes, I have food. I have a microbe salad I bought the other day. I’m sure it is still fine in its container.” I present my offer and she squints.
“What the hell is that?”
“A microbe salad! You’ve never had one? It has every vitamin and mineral you need to survive and you can sip it in a second!” I say, repeating the advertisement I hear hundreds of times a day. I cringe, annoyed at myself for saying this automatically, and I realize I said the advertisement about the visor payment plans without thinking as well. I wonder if I’ve ever not spoken in advertisements this whole time. I’m hit again by the silence I hear without my visor headphones jammed in me.
The old woman shakes her head no, but takes the microbe salad anyway. I light my candle off of hers and she looks into my eyes. This hasn’t happened in a very long time. I feel naked and vulnerable. I hate her and I love her simultaneously for reminding me how it feels, and I avert my stare.
“You know what?” she says. “Take your candle and keep your whatzit.” She hands me the microbe salad. “You’ll need that crap more than me. Just promise me this. When you inevitably go back in their world and put on those dumb glasses again, please find my daughter and tell her I’m still alive. My name is Margaret Clarisse. Her name is Carol Clarisse.”
“Nice to meet you, Margaret. My name is Shelley McClellan.”
Margaret smiles, rolls her eyes away from mine, and wobbles out of sight. Her absence makes my candlelit world a little darker. I wonder if Rebel Saint thought about people like Margaret when they wrote, ‘We shall be free’ in the sky. I don’t know if I will ever be as free as her, and I honestly don’t think I want to be. I wonder if she was marked obsolete. She did make this analog device that lights my way through the dark city, and I can’t do that.
Red-eyed people dodge me as I walk towards them. I find a little humor in their annoyed expressions, turning away and tapping the sides of their heads to update their wall-blocking apps. A bus hovers over me without stopping, even though I take a seat on the nearest bench, free of charge. Rebel Saint must be living like this. I can’t wait to meet them. I’ll find them after I check out the tower that stands before me. Its doors are wide open, but not welcoming.