Glitch (The Write Awards 2013 Winner)

Glitch - Chapter 26

It was a sobering sight. A small clump of nondescript and unimaginative clothes, a worn copy of a long forgotten book and a scratched, broken pocket watch with a key, no longer of any use, attached to it. All contained within a simple cardboard box. These were the only possessions Freya had to her name. The pitiful state of affairs had suddenly reached a peak of clarity as the box was pressed into her hands by a Patroller in order to free his hands.

Freya glanced around the corridor as her escort fumbled for a set of keys to unlock the door before them. It was relatively modern and carried with it a cold sense of characterless precision; walls tastefully an uninspiring shade of slate and furnishings sparse. The escaped Anomalies had been given temporary accommodation in the centre of the city and Freya had no other option than to follow instructions and wait for the scrambled pieces of her life to fall back into some form of order in the allocated flat for female escapees.

The Patroller held the now unlocked door open for Freya as she carried her possessions over the threshold. He didn’t follow her in. The door was closed behind her with an abrupt click; leaving Freya to orientate herself without guidance.

A sense of chaotic frenzy was immediately apparent as other girls splayed out into every corner of the flat and settled themselves into the new accommodation. In stark contrast to the flurried movements Freya stood perfectly still, lingering by the entrance, while scrutinising her surroundings and new companions.

There was a clear divide amongst the room. Some of the girls traipsed across the shared living area with sluggish lethargy, purple rings decorating their ashen skin and lacking the energy to even make conversation. Visibly exhausted. These girls seemed wrapped in their own pensive thoughts as they quietly put their affairs in order. Their movements seemed lifeless and almost outside of their control. As if commanded by some hidden force or voice of foreign control within their minds.

Contrasted against their miserable diligence to the chore of moving in were the girls animated by a gleaming excitement blaring out of every portion of their brightly fixed smiles. They clumped together in erratic conversations where the participants seemed incapable of waiting their turn to speak. It created a buzz of chatter that confronted Freya’s ears in an undistinguishable wall of noise.

After spending a few moments tuning into one of these conversations, carefully peeling away the layers of the commotion, Freya was able to diagnose the source of their excitement. They were talking about the trial.

“We’re free. My trial has been scheduled for tomorrow and the Government doesn’t have a leg to stand on. I’m not even unpacking. With any luck this time tomorrow I will be on my way back home,” one girl announced in a babbling trail of words ringing with absolute joy. She continued to talk but the content was buried under her companion’s voices as they began to detail the plans of their own. Freya found herself conflicted with a sense of disgust at the overt optimism and glee. It wasn’t particularly a fault of anyone else, but more a symptom of Freya’s isolating and festering irritability for the world around her.

The room seemed to be either too exhausted or too involved in their own celebration to notice Freya’s arrival. Not that she minded. She wasn’t in the mood to support the misery of others or indulge in the incessant gibberish of the overly-enthusiastic. Shifting the box of her few possessions into a better position to carry, Freya silently slunk along the edge of the room. Her gaze continued to wander across the faces as she clocked the vast range of emotion that cluttered the room with purposeful distance in her own emotions. She could feel her eyes narrowing without reason as her movements reduced to a cold slink. Her limbs moving like an uncoiling chain of silver.

Her eyes eventually snagged on one face that provoked instant familiarity and froze her judgement. Alexa Stalacre. The girl she had stumbled across in the ghost village. Her expression was neither corpse-like nor twisted into an unbearable contortion of smug delight. It fell into a happy medium of contented calm as she politely navigated her way around a clump of girls to reach Freya. Disinterested in the ostentatious celebrations without completely separating herself from reality. The appeal of this prevented Freya from avoiding a conversation. She paused, allowing Alexa the opportunity to catch up and removed the scowl from her face in the replace of a softer questioning curiosity.