Overwritten

09 | CAM-03

This chapter is dedicated to Bogdan

The faint smell of eggs and rice greeted me when I entered the apartment. Jake sat at the table, two bowls of fried rice, glasses adjacent, and a spoon sticking out from the bowl. I sat across from him, slipping off the black and red jacket and hanging it around the kitchen chair.

After exchanging brief welcomes, we began to eat. It was good, not fantastic, but good. Both of us, at points, had tried to start a conversation but found it dissipated relatively quickly. So we opted to remain in silence as we ate, uncomfortably aware of each other's presence.. Afterward, I helped him clean. The dishwasher made things a lot easier but left a brief 10 minutes where we stood in silence.

However, after everything was cleaned and we had put everything away. I excused myself and decided to have a shower. The bathroom was identical to the old ones from my previous apartment. The past few days I had just completely neglected my self-hygiene. To say the least, I was disgusting. Plaque had built up on my teeth, which, luckily, was quickly gone after a much-needed teeth brush.

Half a week's worth of dirt, grime, and blood swirled down the shower drain. Call it gross, oversharing, but it was incredible how clean yet dirty how someone can get after just a few days. I washed my hair with an unidentifiable berry-like scent called Fragrant Dream. I wondered who named this stuff, if one matching day, some poor girl or boy was assigned as 'Shampoo Naming Design' and was responsible for this Fragrant Dream.

After stepping out of the shower and dressing into a soft set of grey pajamas, I decided to see the channels on the television. Considering I was yet to get my tablet yet, there wasn't much entertainment as I had not visited the library lately. Making my way into the living room, Jake had laid my uniform on the chair adjacent to the couch.

Flicking the television, I grabbed the remote control from the coffee table as I sat down. When I was a little girl, my mother only allowed me to watch two channels. Documentaries and Cartoons. Contradicting, but it was safe for me. I always wondered who made the cartoons, the jobs that nobody seems to think about.

Having the ability to finally control the remote and view channels as I pleased felt powerful. It's hard to describe having power so close yet so far from you for 16 years, only to have it now as a common household item. Both metaphorically and literally, holding the power in your hands.

However, choosing which channel I had to pick was more overwhelming than I had hoped. A small weekly television guide was on the table, and each day had over a hundred choices. Mostly news channels, several fiction-based channels, children's cartoons, and documentaries. Whenever you changed the channel, a small square at the top indicated what you were on in three letters and two numbers. This also helped with links to the television guide.

NEW-02, a news broadcast detailing how assignment had gone, the new celebrities that would be on the rise, and which jobs had surprisingly resurfaced. NEW-03 to NEW-11 contained roughly the same content but from various points of view. Some stated the news as fact as if a computer churning out raw data to consume. But others, such as NEW-06, which was run by a petite woman with a round face, tended to lean towards a certain aspect, even occasionally giving their opinion.

After what was listed as the last channel, I switched it again. I flicked the channel to the last one listed, WTR-05, a weather report detailing the cold mornings of early march. There was no more channels listed in the guide. Placing the guide down on the table, I flicked it over again. To see if it would look around, or just if there was anything else.

CAM-01. A still picture of a door, apartment number 16-04 printed on the door. Our door number. Our door. A small time stamp in the corner showed moving seconds. It was live footage.