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The spaceship was a glistening white,
a human ingenuity, a craft that didn’t need human guidance, a ship among many,
a ship that had the ability to use the air as fuel, and it was gliding
peacefully over everyone, and not a single person looked up to watch it fly,
except Peter Steel, who was daydreaming about being a Dream Chaser.
The spaceship crashed into
Allen Manmoet, and he didn’t even notice, or maybe he did but knew better than
to raise his voice, because that was what happened last week with the other
teacher, that guy raised his voice and now he was in hospital, something about
a punctured neck.
Allen turned around, briefly
looking at the paper spaceship on the floor. He was a small man with a face
only an animal could love. While adjusting his head visor – trying to get the
blue, transparent wall in front of his eyes back online – a fight erupted from
behind.
‘What you do old man?’ the
teenager asked, adjusting his jet-black jacket, making sure the already-up
collar was up. ‘Saw you climbing off that bus in the morning I did, so you
must’ve done something to piss the city off.’
Allen, the teacher for the day,
gave up fixing his visor and turned his attention to the quarrel. ‘Excuse me,’
he said, lifting a hand as if stopping traffic. ‘May I please know what’s going
on back—’
‘Why don’t you shut your
fucking lips,’ the teenager said. A paper spaceship flew over his head, this
one hovering toward the auditorium’s exit where a graveyard of crumpled papers
awaited. The room was divided into two groups. The young ones sat on the left
side; the older ones sat on the right side.
Peter Steel was a month away
from eighteen, five-foot-seven, and just shy from good looking. For some reason
he already had gray hair sprouting from his messy black. His mother, Jackeline
Steel, always joked that it was a sign of great things to come and that girls
secretly found it attractive, said it made them see you as a man with wonderful
potential. Peter turned his head and looked at a girl who sat with the older
people. He didn’t know her name but she was easy on the eyes – blazing red hair
neatly trimmed into a short bob, small shoulders to match her frame, and a face
with soft curves. She had to be around his age, Peter thought. When a person is
around your age, you just instinctively know. He wondered why she never sat with
the younger ones, and she never seemed to mingle with anyone either. He looked
away as she looked at him, and he thought: who can blame her, making friends is
a stupid idea, especially in this part of the city where trusting someone can get
you killed.
The room had an overdose of
perfume hanging in the air; it smelled like a barroom at 3 a.m. about to call
it a night. A group of Asian women wearing blue overalls (with the lettering TOKYO
CLEANER at the back) broke out laughing and gave each other a high-five.
They were rambling on about the special day tomorrow, the only day in the year
that their part of the city, Lower City, got a break from work. It also meant
Peter would be able to see his mother, who fell sick the last time he saw her a
year ago tomorrow.
Allen finally got his visor
working. The left side of his face lit up in a blue transparent wall, where
white text went up and down with eye movement. He pointed at the black board
behind and a picture appeared. He readied his throat by coughing. ‘May I please
ask for order? We got a hell of a lot to do, and we only have an hour left, and
if we …’
Peter sighed, a deep and long
one that felt like forever. What was the point of this, he thought. It’s always
the same thing. They try and teach them about the city life and no one listens.
Though, Peter can’t blame the people around him. He’s getting tired of hearing
the same stuff every day as well, teachers telling them how they should clean
the city properly, how they should maintain professionalism in a city that
doesn’t care about them,
The spaceship was a glistening white,
a human ingenuity, a craft that didn’t need human guidance, a ship among many,
a ship that had the ability to use the air as fuel, and it was gliding
peacefully over everyone, and not a single person looked up to watch it fly,
except Peter Steel, who was daydreaming about being a Dream Chaser.
The spaceship crashed into
Allen Manmoet, and he didn’t even notice, or maybe he did but knew better than
to raise his voice, because that was what happened last week with the other
teacher, that guy raised his voice and now he was in hospital, something about
a punctured neck.
Allen turned around, briefly
looking at the paper spaceship on the floor. He was a small man with a face
only an animal could love. While adjusting his head visor – trying to get the
blue, transparent wall in front of his eyes back online – a fight erupted from
behind.
‘What you do old man?’ the
teenager asked, adjusting his jet-black jacket, making sure the already-up
collar was up. ‘Saw you climbing off that bus in the morning I did, so you
must’ve done something to piss the city off.’
Allen, the teacher for the day,
gave up fixing his visor and turned his attention to the quarrel. ‘Excuse me,’
he said, lifting a hand as if stopping traffic. ‘May I please know what’s going
on back—’
‘Why don’t you shut your
fucking lips,’ the teenager said. A paper spaceship flew over his head, this
one hovering toward the auditorium’s exit where a graveyard of crumpled papers
awaited. The room was divided into two groups. The young ones sat on the left
side; the older ones sat on the right side.
Peter Steel was a month away
from eighteen, five-foot-seven, and just shy from good looking. For some reason
he already had gray hair sprouting from his messy black. His mother, Jackeline
Steel, always joked that it was a sign of great things to come and that girls
secretly found it attractive, said it made them see you as a man with wonderful
potential. Peter turned his head and looked at a girl who sat with the older
people. He didn’t know her name but she was easy on the eyes – blazing red hair
neatly trimmed into a short bob, small shoulders to match her frame, and a face
with soft curves. She had to be around his age, Peter thought. When a person is
around your age, you just instinctively know. He wondered why she never sat with
the younger ones, and she never seemed to mingle with anyone either. He looked
away as she looked at him, and he thought: who can blame her, making friends is
a stupid idea, especially in this part of the city where trusting someone can get
you killed.
The room had an overdose of
perfume hanging in the air; it smelled like a barroom at 3 a.m. about to call
it a night. A group of Asian women wearing blue overalls (with the lettering TOKYO
CLEANER at the back) broke out laughing and gave each other a high-five.
They were rambling on about the special day tomorrow, the only day in the year
that their part of the city, Lower City, got a break from work. It also meant
Peter would be able to see his mother, who fell sick the last time he saw her a
year ago tomorrow.
Allen finally got his visor
working. The left side of his face lit up in a blue transparent wall, where
white text went up and down with eye movement. He pointed at the black board
behind and a picture appeared. He readied his throat by coughing. ‘May I please
ask for order? We got a hell of a lot to do, and we only have an hour left, and
if we …’
Peter sighed, a deep and long
one that felt like forever. What was the point of this, he thought. It’s always
the same thing. They try and teach them about the city life and no one listens.
Though, Peter can’t blame the people around him. He’s getting tired of hearing
the same stuff every day as well, teachers telling them how they should clean
the city properly, how they should maintain professionalism in a city that
doesn’t care about them,
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