Chapter Three

Who knew Fate lived in a glass box? The floor is made from a dark tile so shiny I can see my reflection, and a thick pane of glass serves as the wall for the front of the room. Thin white sheets hang on the other three walls, someone’s paltry attempt to give the room privacy. I settle onto the reclining chair. Rows of cylindrical cushions, six inches thick, make up the seat and the back. It is more fashionable than it is comfortable. I slip a metal contraption onto my head. It looks like the protective gear we wear during the Fitness Core, with narrow strips and lots of venting, and it hooks into a machine sitting on the table. The guard punches a few buttons on the machine. His name tag says “William,” and he looks young, barely older than me. He has the prettiest hair color I’ve ever seen—deep russet-red threaded with bits of gold. I’m tempted to ask which salon he uses, but he snaps on some gloves and slides a small metal chip into the machine. I take a shaky breath. The computer chip that will record my memory. The one that will later be implanted under my skin. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s painless, I promise.” I wet my lips. “How did you get this job? Did you see it in your future memory?” He grins. “Nah. The future me is a child-care parent, with jam in my hair and a whole gaggle of children. But my girlfriend’s memory showed her as the head of FuMA thirty years from now. She’s currently the personal assistant to the Chairwoman, so I guess they thought they’d better be nice to me, in case she decides to marry me.” 

 

He reaches under the table, pulling out a tray of meditation aids. “What do you want? A candle, white noise, aroma oils?” I look at the candle, half-melted on the tray. How many memories has that dripping wax induced? The thought disturbs me, like I’m sharing something intimate with those faceless people. The green bottle holding the aroma oil makes me think of my pre-Boom ancestors, breathing in the unsanitized air. “What kind of white noise?” I ask. “Birds chirping.” Really? That relaxes people? Too much cheeping makes me want to tase myself. “Maybe I’ll skip them all.” William frowns. “Are you sure? Most people need something to help them achieve the sufficient state of openness.” “I aced the Meditation Core. And I’ve been practicing every morning for the last six months.” He shrugs and adjusts the contraption on my head. “Fine. Open your mind and focus on receiving your memory. I’ll be right next door, monitoring you. Good luck.” Before I can say anything else, he walks out, leaving the door open behind him. The door is not closed, locked, or barred. It is open. A door made of glass, swung open at an angle. Like my mind. Like my future. A rush of something flows through me. I feel it everywhere—in my toes and elbows. Behind my ears. The tip of my nose. What on earth? Is it relief? Stress? Anticipation? 

I shift against the cushions, and my concentration shatters. What if my memory doesn’t come? Maybe I should’ve taken the candle. Panic shoots through me, and I dig my fingernails into my palms. No. I can’t think that way. I’ve got to focus. Okay. What else is open? The wide blue sky, opening up over the fields. The canned vegetables the Meal Assembler cracks open for dinner. The windows I fling open on a hot, summer day. The memory from the future that flows into my ready, open mind. Open, open, open. I feel that something again, stronger this time. Oh, my. It’s not my emotions—it’s my memory. My memory. OPEN. ### I am walking down a hall. It has green linoleum floors, with computer screens embedded in the tile. The lighted walls shine so brightly I can make out a partial shoe print on the ground. The acrid smell of antiseptic burns my nose.I turn a corner and skirt around the shattered remains of a ceramic pot. A trail of soil leads like breadcrumbs to a broken plant stalk and loose green leaves.I walk down an identical hallway. And then another. And another.Finally, I stop in front of a door. A golden placard, with snail spirals decorating each corner, bears the number 522. I go inside. The sun shines through the window, the first window I have seen in this place. A teddy bear with a red bow sits on the windowsill; otherwise, everything is hospital white. White walls, white blinds, white sheets.In the middle of the sheets lies Jessa.

 

She is young, hardly older than she was when I saw her yesterday. Her hair falls to her shoulders, tangled and unbraided. Wires protrude from her body like they are Medusa’s snakes, winding every which way before ending in one of several machines.“Callie! You came!” My sister’s lips curve in a beautiful smile.I realize all of a sudden that I am gripping something in my hand, something hard and small and cylindrical. “Of course I came. How are they treating you?”Jessa wrinkles her nose. “The food is gross. And they never let me play outside.”I flex my hand and roll the object along my palm. It’s a syringe, with clear liquid swimming in the barrel. A needle. I am holding a needle.“When you leave, you can play as much as you like.” I move the wires off her chest and place my hand squarely over her heart. “I love you, Jessa. You know that, don’t you?”She nods. Her heart thumps evenly against my palm, the strong, steady beat of the complete trust a child has for her older sister.“Forgive me,” I whisper.Before she can react, I whip my arm through the air and plunge the needle straight into her heart. The clear liquid empties into my sister.Jessa stares at me, eyes wide and mouth open.Loud beeping fills the room. And then the heart rate monitor goes flat. 

Forget Tomorrow
by by Pintip Dunn

• Genres: Fiction
• paperback: 400 pages
• Publisher: Entangled: Teen
• ISBN-10: 1633755150
• ISBN-13: 9781633755154