Ovum

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“Good Morning, 

                                 Good evening

                                                           And goodnight.” 

                                                                                           Spoke to a newsman on television wearing a blue suit and tie, with his hair greased back. “It is your all-day, everyday news. Today’s weather is rainy- not good news, but people in the city and further out in the distance have been splendid.” 

      A silhouette figure in a room with soft colors, a taupe-painted, polished bookshelf on the left side of the figure, with many novels. Dust had collected on some, while someone had recently dusted off others. In the background, a static TV played the local news, known as TDA (The Daily Adult).

    The scene shifts to a room that differs in comparison, located in the heart of the city of  Benedick, a tall, white, glamorous building with beige pillars. Inside a tidy, pearl-textured room, a woman paced behind a dressing screen and yanked down an outfit she had chosen for the day, placed on the top of the screen. 

     The figure revealed a hidden door within the right wall and a multitude of weapons mounted on the wall. The figure, who put on black gloves,  grabbed a few knives, making a metallic rasp as he sheathed them on his hip. He tucked a few guns along with his knives, and his gloved hand halted at a coppery, rustic military badge, his hand hovering over it. He looked caught between the present and somewhere far away, somewhere he might’ve known. Or perhaps he never knew it at all. It was hard to say. 

     The woman sat upright in front of a mirror; she felt as if the mirror itself reflected the turmoil inside her mind while she brushed her black hair. Three thunderous knocks echoed on her door, startling her before she groaned, “Yes, yes, I know!” Snatching her red cherry colored lipstick before stopping slightly, looking down at a crumbled up piece of paper placed on her neat bedsheets. She knew the contents of the paper, every word inked onto the surface. Yet her bones deep down seeped with resentment for what it truly meant. 

     The figure snapped his head towards the TV, grabbing one last black knife instead of the badge that used to hold some history for him. He pulled open a black door with a round rustic knob towards him, stepping out, his footsteps could be heard echoing within the lonely walls. 

     She made her way out of the building while hastily slipping the lipstick into her worn-out purse, wearing a black dress with a beige cotton coat over it. Above her, the sky looked like a painting washed in grey. She did not revolt or ignore this feeling, resonance; she welcomed it with peace. Because, for once, she did not feel alone when the sky acted up. It’s funny how we can relate to something as simple as the weather. That’s what she thought, but she knew that the sky could not feel; therefore, it could not show emotions. She wanted to believe it, anyway. It gave her hope that perhaps one day she could feel again without the fear of showing what she felt. Nonetheless, those are just dreams, and this is reality, and reality is a cruel place.   

     The first drops of rain brought her back to reality, leaving wet splatters on the dark bricks below her heels. Her attendant greeted her next to a polished car before she turned away with a huff. 

“Sian, your meeting with your father is at 10 AM. If we drive now, we’ll make it, but-” the man began.

“I’ll walk,” she said with a clear indication of annoyance. 

“Sian-” 

“I said I’ll walk.” She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. 

“It’s raining, perhaps you should-” the attendant tried to reason. 

“Oh, for- Can’t I walk in peace for FIVE bloody minutes?!” She silenced the man.

The attendant closed his mouth immediately, sighed in defeat, and left her alone, finally.   

     She drifted down the street’s sidewalk as she observed the city’s landscapes as it rained. The sky-reaching buildings obstructed the sky; you cannot perceive most of the gloomy clouds, nor the celestial stars that look like incandescent twinkles in the obsidian black abyss. It’s as if the city lights seized their bright light from the stars above. Perhaps that is why most of the population takes up residence here; they can observe the starry light from up close, where they can reach, instead of having to reach out.  

But not all wish to resign here. 

     Black brick roads characterize the city here, lined with buildings of varying sizes. Brown, gloomy structures with pointy rooftops are common, and papers detailing the city’s latest news or announcements adorn every building. 

     She walked near an old shop that sold newsletters; in the window display was ‌last night’s catastrophe of a historical statue being blown up by a terrorist. Sian knew this building all too well. Her mother would take her there all the time and talk about how the building itself symbolized something great. But in the end, used for a lie. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but she lectured herself internally for smiling. She couldn’t help it. Somewhere she knew her mother was right, or perhaps it was another moment…where she wanted to believe it was true. 

     Her secret admiration fractured immediately when the window reflected the clock tower behind her. Sian turned to the clock tower and realized the devastating time: 9:56 AM. She cursed and started running in the rain.

     Once she made it inside, Sian opened a door, revealing a pitch-black room where a group of men sat around an oval-shaped table, lit only by the projector they had on, pointed at the wall where Sian had entered through a door. She averted her eyes the moment the projector’s light blinded her. Instantly holding her hand up to block the light from her eyes. 

Eyes. 

     An eye was the very image they were projecting, though before she could catch sight of such an unusual image, the unnamed men had shut it off abruptly with a red switch. The room suddenly flooded with light, revealing all the men’s faces, the many varied faces. 

     One man with a round face, short black hair slicked back with grease.

“You’re late!” The man accused, his chair scraped across the floor as he stood.

“Yes, yes, I know, Father. I had gotten distracted with the news-” She began to explain before the man waved his fattened fingers dismissively, annoyed at her late appearance. 

   “I don’t want to hear about the terrorist. I hear about him at work enough as it is. I am getting thousands of angry phone calls from that bastard!” He spoke like a man speaking about an irritating assignment before continuing. “This is your first meeting, and you’re late!? Time is irreplaceable!” Her father declared loudly. “Now sit.” He demanded, as he massaged his temples with exaggerated annoyance, pouring himself a cup of wine. The red liquid almost waved over the rim of the glass, mimicking the motion of ocean waves during a storm. 

     Sian placed herself at the other end of the table, sitting in the last unused chair in the room. Her father had a delicate plate of crackers arranged in a circle, and in the middle of the crackers was a bowl of hummus for dipping. 

     “I have some more meetings about this terrorist,” he spoke with venom whenever he mentioned the terrorist, “so I’ll make this as fast and clear as possible. We have an issue within Billingtor, and the solution is you.” 

“Me?” she wondered aloud. 

     “Yes. You are going to marry Earl McQuill, a HICP member, the son of Colton McQuill. Colton is the one who created the HICP. It would do us well to be in an alliance with him.” He spoke nonchalantly. 

     She stammered, words lost themselves to her lips for a moment, “Isn’t this city already in alliance with HICP? This city is the capital of 

Billingtor, and HICP is the most recognizable science program in the entire nation of Billingtor. What more could-”

Her father cut her off abruptly, “Well, it’s been a while since this country showed any appreciation for HICP. We don’t want people to forget about all the wonders HICP has done for us; now, wouldn't you? Especially with this whole terrorist fiasco.”

     She froze, looking at her father, hoping it was a joke; she even chuckled hysterically, even when dread washed over her like a fog in the morning.

“I am not getting married-”

“The contract has already been signed. You will do as you’re told, or I’ll strip you of all your titles and belongings. Perhaps even worse. Do I make myself clear?” He threatened while he chewed and munched on the crackers. 

Sian began trying to fight her way out of this nightmare, but the rage in her left her speechless. In the end, she nodded with a tight lip.

“Atta’ girl!” exclaimed her father, sipping a significant amount of wine, “Get yourself ready, because the marriage is tonight.”

She knew better than to talk back to her father. She remembered what happened to her mother. Laid in the foggy ruins of old memories that she had buried away and believed she had forgotten. Clearly, she had not. 

Once dismissed, she left with a tremor in her hands. It wasn’t fear that shook her hands; it was anger. Rage. 

That night she had met all of the Coltons in their own home. It was homey. But not right. As of that moment, she was already legally married, since the documents were already signed without her consent or knowledge. It was stunning how her father got away with this, but again- he's the mayor.

She took a mental note of the whole family while she was here on this evening. Earl's mother was around 60. Old wrinkles decorated her face sweetly. It was an odd difference since Earl is around 20. Earl was smug. He held his head high like he knew the entire room, but proved otherwise whenever he opened his mouth.

After supper, she began to feel queasy. It must've been from all the drinking, she thought. She excused herself from the table and went upstairs to explore the enormous home. She was focused on a few paintings when a hand grabbed her shoulder; quickly turning, she saw it was Earl.

"Oh. Hello." Sian softly muttered.

"Hello, darling, would the lady grant me a dance?" Earl charmingly smiled.

She didn't really have a choice. She was stuck with this, after all.

"I suppose so."

Earl gently took her hand and swung her until she was facing away from him, and he held her tight against his body. He smelled of mint and something metallic. It wasn't metal though she smelled; it was the metallic scent of blood.

Suddenly, he injected a needle into her neck. A clear liquid spread out into her system. Her body felt weary and tired, like chains were being pulled from her ankles and wrists down towards the ground.

"Consider this your proper introduction to The Butterfly Effect- or HICP." His voice distorted as her vision began to falter. He sounded sadistic and gleeful.

Before she passed out into darkness, she saw him inject her with a second needle from his other hand into her stomach. It stung. A scream tore at her throat, but it never came, because sleep was faster.

.

.

The TV popped on with a static sound, and the newsman was wearing the same suit and tie, with his hair in different directions. “It seems we have an emergency news… There has been an indication…of a fatal virus. The authorities advise you to stay indoors. We are sorry to inform we will not be broadcasting until further notice…

            Good morning,

                                           Good evening, 

                                                                      And goodnight.”