Third World

Chapter Two: Projection

Prim and uniform, the Inspiration Hills neighborhood sat twisted against the sheer rocky shelf of the mountain Troika was built into. Filled with high rise condominiums, exclusive bars and enticing lounges, it was First World's playground for the wealthy, important, and ambitious. Throngs of people sauntered between the extravagant boutiques and restaurants, stopping here and there to give and receive greetings from their like-minded social climbing associates. On nearly every street corner Enforcers stood watch, making sure the Troikan police presence in First World was obvious and intimidating. Though moving, joyous music spilled out into the streets from the omnipresent speaker boxes perched atop the streetlights, the air was filled with suspicious stares and cautious conversations.

Panting, Montiel arrived at the Sunken Gardens park, perched in the center of the Hills. He had completely forgotten how steep the winding road leading to the park entrance was; he ended up jogging the last portion after realizing he was running even later than before. Fine beads of sweat had begun running down his flushed face, and he yanked his hoodie off in an effort to cool down. Popular with couples and families, a steady hum of activity swarmed around him as he texted Jonas.

Here, gonna go take a piss tho. Meet at the restrooms?

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed past a pack of giggling school girls checking out the wealthy passerby and turned into the shady cypress grove where the restrooms were. Clumped together, the thick rhododendron and azalea bushes saturated the wind with a sweet, succulent fragrance, dusting the sliced tree trunk path in lavender and white flowers. Through the dense array of branches above him, the star studded sky twinkled brilliantly. He had always enjoyed the outdoors, especially the parks designed to emulate Earth, but had only visited this particular garden once before. It was hard not to be drawn in by the sudden tranquility and silence, and Montiel soon found himself daydreaming in a lucid haze.

Maybe one day I can bring Amelia here, he thought absently. The two of them talking, strolling through the peaceful park, was intensely appealing to him. She had taken hold of his heart from day one, and this wasn't the first time he had let himself wonder what it could be like, being with her. 

He was so caught up in thought - her thick brown curls flowing in the breeze, her tinkling laughter digging into his ears, her blue eyes crinkling in happiness and meeting with his as he leaned in for a kiss - that he walked straight into the restroom door with a dull thud. A passing couple chuckled as the now red faced Montiel quickly opened and locked the door behind him. Leaning against the door, the echoes of his fantasy lingered in his eyes and he shook his head a few times to clear his thoughts. 

Get it together Montiel, he thought, scolding himself. You can't spaz out like that at the party, not if you want to actually have a chance. Pulling himself together, he took care of his now nearly bursting bladder in resolute silence before going to check his appearance in the mirror. He wasn't very concerned about his ebony hair - Jonas had finally convinced him to go for a high taper fade that actually suited his facial structure - but nonetheless retrieved a comb from his bag and tidied it up. Nearly his entire life, the sleeves of his shirts had fit loosely, making his tall, lean frame appear gaunt and meager; now his arms filled them up nicely, accentuating the various muscle insertions he had worked so hard for. He smiled, flexing a tiny bit in slight satisfaction. I... actually look good, don't I?

You're getting fat Montiel. 

Norma's earlier comment punctured his thoughts, disorienting him in the reticent room. She had stated it so matter-of-factly, as if it were obvious that he was actually fat and was simply deluding himself into believing he was getting into shape. He knew objectively she was wrong - he had adopted several comprehensive eating habits in addition to the strength training regiment he had developed - but having the implication that all his hard work had been ineffective thrown in his face was jarring. He thought of his obese father waddling through the house, his grandmother's death from hardened, fat clogged arteries triggering an aneurysm.