The Basic

I turned around from the bar and caught a glimpse of you. You were sitting next to the captain beside the pool, your hair orange red under the sun. The two of you were talking in the wind. I could not make out a word but the waves that were racing the cruiser.

The deck was wet from the morning swimmer. I finished my drink and ordered two more, for you and the captain. I knew I shouldn't be drinking that early in the day, I had promised you, but I just couldn't watch the good wine turn to waste in those Russian's stomach.

On my left, your favorite cocktail, on my right, the captain's water. I tilted my sailor hat at the bartender and gave her a tip. She carried a smile with a mild dimple like you, very lovely.

I got up from my seat and straightened my back, but the world turned dark on me. I closed my eyes and tasted salt, but not the fruity flavors from the wine. Ah, I had been leaning on the marble bar table for coolness, and now my bone's stiff. I should blame myself for not putting down that book last night when you begged me to. How did I not understand your concern about me?

The polished wooden floor felt warm under my bare feet. I trod lightly on the wet surface, and walked briskly on the dry, alternating my pace. You are just the pool's width away, and I did not look at you but at the bodies of the swimmers. Among them were children of different ages, their skins still burning red from yesterday's sun. Floating in the pool, treading water beside them, were their parents, mostly womanly, or rather, motherly figures that had scored a balance between healthy and attractive. My eyes were on those, even though my mind was on you.

For whatever stupidity that was still haunting me from the shore, just as I was closing in,  I almost flipped backward as I stepped on a toy, a yellow, plastic duck on the floor. I flapped my hands and regained balance, but the drinks took a beating. I could only tell that no one was watching, or even realize where the contents of my glasses had went. A small amount of colored liquid into a pool of water, no problem.

You smiled when you saw me. You introduced me to the captain and we shook hands. You told him to stay when he politely excused himself. I intervened and told you that the captain had works to do, and your lips were angry. The captain stepped forward and hugged you and kissed you on the hand and say his goodbye and went away. You didn't say goodbye. You were looking everywhere, including the back of the captain, but me.

I held your hand, and we went to the bow to reenact the scene of the Titanic.

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Internal Storage Unit

Clock in, clock out. The horde of people chained in cyberspace formed an intangible barrier. Their digital records transferred between molecules cry out for salvation. And their bones crackled in sweat.

Just like everybody else, Jearom Benn practised the way of the cyber. She put her body on lease to Reve Rent three months ago. Not because she needed the credit to appear in her bank account, but for various of reasons that had been buried inside the Non Disclosure Agreement. The moment she had been cybered, as people in her generation say, she was still wondering how her body would react to the foreign data.

It is an undeniable fact that people who rented their bodies to Reve Rent or other cyberspace storage companies, are legally binded to a contract that forbade them freedom to roam in the society. They would have zero access to outside interaction besides with those who were in the same data center facility.

Benn, at her late twenties, had done a dozen jobs and changed her name more than twice. She was eventually tired of evading the the loan sharks after all these loveless years, and decided to hide behind the protection of the data giants.

Reve Rent was the first one that came into her mind. Thanks to the subconscious bombing advertisements and jingles and slogans, Reve Rent had quickly rose from a worthless startup in Nevada to the tech giant located in the thousand acres wonderland of New Mexico, where the sun provided heat energy to its uncountable data center.

The day Benn reported into one of the data center, she was minutely given a set of employee clothing and an injection that soon rendered her operationable. By operationable, it meant she, or rather, her body, has been used as a vessel to carry loads of data from around the world.

If she hadn't thought better, she would think that the area she was allowed to roam was actually quick comfortable and large, about the size of the Central Park with people like her, who had lost control over their freedom but to work day and night in the limited area.

Starting from day one, Benn was assigned the duty to mop the floor with the team A, which at that moment consisted of a group of ten people. Group leader Judy Federals didn't like her at first sight and shoved her away to mop the toilet.

In some sense, Benn was living in a prison without committing a crime but serving the world with her body. The technology that enables people disabled her, but she would gladly accept the work if she was given the chance again. She was making money, minimum pay by doing nothing soul-crashing. She'd waitressed, she'd saloned, she'd even chiefed in a remote diner where customers ate worms and crickets.

She paused on the way to the toilet and looked at the crowd. It wouldn't be odd at all for her to think that everyone around her worked like ants. They were contributing to a central ideas by interacting within a designated area, it wasn't magic at all how the technology worked. It was a thing nature had been doing for thousand and thousand of years, only human didn't harness that knowledge until fairly recently compared to the age of the earth.

Someone grabbed her hair by the root, and pulled hard. Benn cried and felt a hand covering her mouth.

"Now, now, didn't I tell you to mop the toilet?" It was Judy Federals.

"I'm going there," Benn said.

Federals let go of her and slapped her back.

"Aw."

"Don't let me caught you slacking," Federals turned her back and walked off.

Benn didn't understand why Federals hit her on the back. She didn't understand why would the old people hit someone just to make a point. For her, she would just keep her distance and talk until whoever she was talking understand what point she was making, because physical contact was unnecessary and obsolete. She didn't like someone touching her, not even loved one or family members.

Three months in, Judy Federals was removed from the squad without notice, the old lady simply vanished. Benn hadn't seen a shadow of her, nor did anybody. Benn herself had been relocated to a new group, which was responsible for clothes and bed sheet cleaning. It was tedious work, and at the end of the week, she simply flexed her arms and could see the muscles building up. The facility's protocol clearly advise everyone to grow up in size, and Benn figured they must have slipped something in the drinks and foods, besides asking everyone to work progressively toward labor-intensive tasks, to strengthen their bodies.

Last year alone, Reve Rent made up a total of 87% of gross income in the state of New Mexico, it was like the most profitable alternative data farming company in the states. So Benn rationalized that if they were earning that much money, they must be willing to invest in their own labor in order to gain more from the profit margin.

Day in, day out. Benn began to drink less and eat little. She had completely lost her appetite a week shy of five month's working. She looked into the mirror and saw herself, pale but stocky.

Reve Rent suspended her contract when they sent her to the medical unit. Meanwhile, the loan sharks had discovered her location through a leaked employee directory of Reve Rent online.

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Unsettled

Not everyone has a heart for charity, and one would certainly find that this is especially true for Jared. For he is the typical homeless person you do not see but know that he has his presence in your surrounding.

He dresses in untidy, unconventional clothing, and has long, tangled hair with hidden treasures embedded inside. He does not look at you when he speaks to you, but his hands would always be moving around your pocket. He is no thief by any tradition, because he steals none of your money but your sympathy. It is totally up to you to decide whether or not to give them what they have been asking for, or just give them a shrug and hasten away from their foul body smile.

Jared is aware of his condition, though he could not do anything about it. You don't have to tell him that he smells like the sewer, or that he looks terrible. No, he knows better than you. The most important thing for him at a daily basis, is that he survives another day. Living under the highway bridge, the back alley, the bench at parks, the street, in front of a closed bar. You name it, he have done it. What unstable living environment taught him is that he knows the boundary. He does not dread on a place if he is not welcome there. Well, sometimes Winters hit hard or a torrent of wind poured down at midnight, he would have to break the boundary and find a place to settle for a short period. In fact, he knows where he's been blacklisted and where he's been allowed to stay on a burning wire-once the spark reach the end, he would have to go. Not a shred of tear would drop, not a moment of reconsideration.

What makes him special is that he lives in a different group. Jared maintained his livelihood a bit different from us. He has got no jobs that earns him a stable residence or regular meal, he has got no personal possession other than those he gathered from the path he crossed since he has started living off from the street. While he doesn't need anything, or anyone, he does have a heart for scold.

How many time do you not hear Jared cursing, or other times, singing off his sorrow, on the street? Alas, this is the way he knows how to express himself, his discontent, his anger, his bitterness.

A child ran toward Jared with a charity box carried around her neck. "Would you like donate some money to help our charity work for the homeless people? Just chip in a little would be a big help, mister."

Jared peered inside the box of money, his eyes fluttering, his cheek shivered. "Why don't you give me the box there and help the homeless right now? Easy, and direct."

The child held the box and looked into it. Then she raised her head with an innocent look, her cheeks pink as roses. "Alright mister, you can have it."

With a soft pop, the child opened the box, and Jared held his hands in midair, formed a cup, and heard the coins clinking against each other, felt the texture of paper money pressed against his palm. His eye shone with hope.

"That's all. What are you going to do with it?" the child asked, her hands at her back, her body twisting around slightly like she is asking her mother for a new boyfriend.

"I'm going to spend like I know how," replied the homeless, unkempt, illicit Jared, "I'm going to buy all the cheap liquor this money can buy and have a fantastic night."

"Don't you want to buy new clothes?" the girl pointed her tiny finger at him, "you could really use a new pair of trouser and a new shirt."

Jared checked his shirt and jean, swiping his hands over his body. "They look fine to me, girl. But if you are buying, that's a totally different story," Jared keeps an eye out for an adult who might be this girl's legal guardian. "Say, you don't happen to have some money on you?"

"I haven't got any, mister. But I do have candies in my pocket. Would you like one? Mom said we were suppose to share the sweet with others."

"Do you see my tooth here?" Jared crouched down with his left hand pressing on the floor, his head leveled with the girl. "Are you see this? This is what eating candies did to me. Do you want to be like this?" Jared put his little finger through the crack of his lost tooth and filled it up.

The little girl let out a shriek and runs away.

Jared, what have you done, again?

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