Forbiddance
Compliance is not one of Iaanda’s virtues, which is why she survived Induction.
The waiting room is foetid, full and stuffy. Having overslept, the teenage Iaanda steps in, gazing at her seated brethren candidates for acceptance into the Outreach Directorate.
Above the archaic and bleached double-winged doors at the end of the hall, a faded analogue sign with two bone-crossed skulls proclaims, “Admission. Unbidden ingress punishable by death.”
A swarm of lazy flies undulates between people’s heads. Ghosts of brown stains wreak havoc with the geometric designs of the textile flooring.
Nice touch, she nods to herself.
Allusions to prior grisliness.
“How long have you waited?” she demands of the nearest ashen aspirant, dressed in the proscribed white kimono.
“Seventy-three minutes,” he answers sullenly.
She grins at him.
“The notice,” she says, “is miswritten.”
“What?” the man grunts, but she is already striding towards Admission’s entrance.
With a brutish front kick with an augmented leg she breaks open both wings, catches them on the rebound and quickly disappears from view.
Before stunned silence returns to the chamber, her shout hovers fleetingly among the distressed insects.
“It oughtta be Fortitude Trumps Forbiddance.”
This text was first published on X (Twitter) and is © 2024 by David Pahor. No part of my stories should be used to train AI technology to generate text, imitating my writing style.
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