U.T.O.P.I.A. | BOOK 1 of Death of the Future Series

ONE

OLIVIA

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

I sat in the waiting room, hands on my lap and my eyes darting from one person to the other as they walked passed me. A banner with the words: 500 Years of U.T.O.P.I.A. caught my attention. The smiling face of President Clemento, one of the Great Five Leaders of World Population, flashed on it once in a while followed by the words; constantly in a loop — over and over as if to hypnotise those who laid their gazes on her.

Behind an opaque white counter was a woman with wrinkles on her forehead every time she raised her eyebrows. She was busy typing away on a computer, the clacking noise of her fingers hitting the keyboard was loud in this space. My eyes landed on her lips, red lipstick fading and showing patches of flesh-coloured skin.

Did she know she needed a retouch?

Perhaps not. I wasn't inclined to inform her either.

Almost as if she had sensed I was staring at her, she lifted her head up from the screen. At that very moment, I flicked my gaze away, taking in the emptiness of the corridor.

I focused my attention on my surroundings instead to alleviate my boredom, taking in everything without really wanting to comment on anything. I supposed nothing here made me want to be excited.

So sterile — the place I was currently in. Everything that could be made from metal, reflecting warped images of its surroundings, was and the rest were in different shades of white. Right next to me was a vase and the flowers in them would fit right into the background. They were unnoticeable — the petals being all eggshell-coloured and nothing remarkable to make note of.

I caressed them.

And within this clinical environment, I looked out of place with my baby pink dress. Like a dash of colour, an eyesore, that was forced to be acknowledged. Dropping my hand to my clothes, the material underneath my fingertips was as soft as it had been this morning when I had worn it.

"Miss Jensen?" The lady looked up from the computer and gestured me over. Her voice echoed far louder than it had any right to. A frown almost settled on my lips. I stood up and lessened the distance between us, eyeing her. Though, I knew clearly what she was going to say. "Your match is here. He's in Room 301. Head down the hallway and take a right. May you feel the Spark!"

I turned my attention to the very hall I was supposed to go in. Taking a deep breath, I didn't bother with a 'thank you' and nor did she, it seemed. Judging by how she didn't cast another glance at me and went back to staring at the computer.

There wasn't any sense of nervousness fluttering in me if I was being honest with myself.

I was calm and collected.

All my life, I had waited for my Match. It was what my parents had told me time and time again ever since I hit puberty at the age of twelve.

They made me listen to how they met and fell in love immediately over and over — to the point I could recite their story in my sleep. It should have made me feel excited. Should have caused butterflies to swarm in my stomach and make me breathless. The idea of meeting the very man who would love me from the very moment he set his eyes on me should've kept me up all night.

And yet, despite that, all I could think of at this moment was nothing but: Let's get this over with.

It was time to meet him and it was a fact I embraced.

I walked down the hallway, passing by some couples who emerged from their own rooms, hand in hand and smiles on their faces.

Would I be like that? Would I feel that connection they were feeling when I meet him?

It was foolish, almost, how curiosity had taken root in the corners of my mind. Reality was clear to me. Of course he would feel the connection as I would with him. It was predestined in our DNA. We were Matched because we were compatible. Any other alternatives would be putting a hole through the reality I grew up in.

Room 301 greeted me with coldness and silence. The metal door did not radiate any happiness like I was told it would since I was young. I stood in front of it, fingers curling into tight fists by my side. Right on the other side my Match would be waiting for me. Someone who I would feel the Spark with.

There were no rainbows decorating the walls in U.T.O.P.I.A. Playground. There were no coloured pictures of young happy couples placed on the desks of the employees of this place. And certainly there were no trumpets or drums beating to announce my presence nor celebrate the anticipation of meeting my 'one-true love'.

All that happened was the door sliding open with a quiet hiss.

Whoever you are, are you the one for me?

I took a step inside.