Dilosen Naicker
Mar 11, 2019 · 4 min read

It was time for tea. She scurried around her ático, adorned with plants and celestial things. Through the patio door, which was open to the solar, emitted a sound that struck fear in a lot of the inhabitants of Barcelona but not her. She was used to it. The ting ting ting.

The kettle whistled on the hotplate stove and she began to prepare her Matcha. Matcha of course, for it’s natural healing properties, or something like that.

Moving like a sharman through her shaggy carpeted floors, she closed the patio-leading door and curtains, shutting out all the solar. The room instantly filled with darkness and the only thing that could be seen or heard was the orange flickering and whistling of the kettle. Then, nothing.

Sitting down on the carpet, Matcha in-hand, she pulls out a set of cards like a magician in the pure eternal darkness. Feeling the edges of the card she begins to choose five, placing them in front of her.

There’s an ache in her neck and it needs to be attended to. She adjusts her posture, the darkness providing focus on her muscles and joints. Her tendons and tissue. She moves her body, curving and carving her shoulders and stretching the sinew and her energy. Then she sips her tea while her eye adjust to the darkness.

Even with her eyes open, the complete darkness consumed the outside world and the only thing she could see were the cards beginning to glow on the carpet in front of her. The light glow-in-the-dark yellow hue of the cards glinted shallowly in the room. She could make out a three trees, a sun and a crescent moon all now brightly glowing in the dark. She took mental note of this, making up her own assumptions, tapping her fingers on the Matcha cup in her hand, as though to be some world-class trumpeter or flute player or something.

There it was again, the ting ting ting. From down on the street. Passing by; ting ting ting. Metal on metal. A sharp and clear sound in complete silence. Silence because everything runs on solar these days. Solar is silent, apart from the hum humming or the buzz buzzing emitted from the high voltage capacitors and resistors.

Silence, because there was hardly anyone left in the big cities. Entire floors have become apartments for families; well the ones that aren’t waterlogged that is. The climate refugees, the ones that have settled out in the Wasted Lands under these gigantic solar panels, had to do so because their previous homes was destroyed either by fire or flooding. They had to move. The only habitable places eventually turned to desert or got insanely over-populated and over time the solar panels were put up as a way to both harvest solar and to provide shade for the inhabitants living below. War broke out, of course.

To really understand the state of the world, it’s become very tribal. Pockets of people, in cities, under panels or underground. Different factions and communities. There are parts of the world that have become remote and isolated. The third world war broke out around 2033, when resources became scarce and the ideas of space travel were still underachieved. Trade and commerce still happens between cities of course, and much of the world returned to normality after the Resettlement War.

Some buildings in the bigger cities you can get to by some sort of water craft. Some of those places are fancy. Opportunity for profit, of course. Water-side residences for the rich and famous. If you have the right dive equipment, you could head down to the ground floor, and still see the old world; sign posts and roads, cars, homes, life abandoned. Even the McDonald’s drive thru’s. Don’t worry, you can still get a big Mac when you resurface, of course.

You can enter old apartments, what with their eerie waterlogged rooms, either ruined or completely submerged. The fancier water residences converted the waterlogged floor into a lobby. For your boat, of course.

Not much else has changed really, life continues. It evolves. A new world of survival of the fittest but also with the a mastery of AI. The new wave of singularity is taking over. Soon, humans won’t exist. Well, not in the traditional sense. Those children will eventually grow up.

Swiping from left to right, she collected all the cards in one swift motion. Standing up and bowing, for what ever purpose, and then beginning to let the solar and air flood in, she opened all her curtains, eyes shut tightly to protect from solar blindness.

The room, a moderate 2049 styled apartment floor contained a total of seven combined apartments. This room, in apartment 2a, her meditation room, was filled with weird shit that she collected over the years — scavenging and stealing them from abandon apartments and IKEA. It was both minimalist artful, with the white on white on white IKEA stuff, but then filled with statues, masks, plants and shaggy-ass carpets to make it feel like a Swedish voodoo lounge.

Like a mummified self, she shuffled back towards the desk, cards in hand and eyes still firmly shut. When she knew she was a safe distance away and facing away from the solar, she opened her eyes. The solar reflecting off the white on white on white as the blood pressure exited from her temples immediately.

There was a white out. Her eyes hurt and throbbed and felt full and heavy. She placed the cards down in the pack and shuffled them. She began humming a tune that she listened to on a nice record player that she found in an abandoned apartment.

People Are People

This is a publication of short stories about people who live in interesting times. I hope you enjoy.

Dilosen Naicker

Written by

Provisionally I, practically alive!

People Are People

This is a publication of short stories about people who live in interesting times. I hope you enjoy.

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