The Upside Down Sister

 

PART ONE

 

INT. SUBWAY COMMUTE – EARLY MORNING

Standing here, holding this pole, I begin hyperventilating. The morning commute to work is dreadful for someone like me who is claustrophobic. “I am going to die, I am going to die, I am going to die” are the words drifting through my head. Squeezed here, I feel like screaming, and it does not help that someone’s lack of deodorant use is making me nauseous.

Staring at the faces in the subway car around me, they look like they just came back from a funeral with their lugubrious expressions.

This torture only needs to be endured for a few more stops, I console myself.

“Excuse me,” I say meekly, as my stop is next, to the obese man standing in front of me blocking the door. “Are you getting off at the next stop?”

He turns around to face me and shouts madly, “Are you telling me what to do?”

“I’m sorry, I was just asking you a simple question.”

“Imbecile, don’t you know there are no simple questions?” he says and trips on his way out of the car’s door. I must hold in my emotions. If I don’t, they might be the end of me.

 

EXT. CITY STREETS -  EARLY MORNING  – CONTINUOUS

As I walk to work, I enjoy the old streets of Onetreeall. The second I turn the first corner, I am startled to see my colleagues scattered anxiously outside our office building.

“We are locked out. A power outage just struck,” Naomi, one of the account directors, at our Video production company, says.

“What? We haven’t had one of those in 20 years,” I say.

“The note that I found on the door states that we are to wait for our CEO, Ms. De Ville,” Kevin, the brown-nosing Senior Intern, instructs. He is always the first to arrive at work and enjoys spewing the boss’s commandments at us. Being her nephew, he self-promoted himself to this role.

Then she comes out and says in her fake British accent, “People, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that you all have the day off. The power is expected later tonight. The bad news is that the corporate office will be docking your pay during those hours. You can head home now. Ta-ta.”

Corporate Entertainment-A acquired us. Since then, we have three-day work weeks and monthly pay deposits. Since we can’t afford to live on that, we have access to their centers that distribute food, used clothing, and cosmetics handouts in boxes. We each have pre-made boxes made according to our personal profile.

 

PART TWO

 

EXT. SIDE STREETS  – MINUTES LATER

Dread takes over me as I walk to the train station. The Corporate Police Agents (CPA) start putting the list of names of the ones they have killed at 9:00 a.m. sharp on the window displays of where restaurants and retail stores used to be. Once the governments around the world collapsed, the corporations closed all the retail and food stores.

We are allowed three 10-minute walking breaks during the day, and this is when we see the new list of the dead by day.

Worrying about employees being late to work is also a preoccupation of the past. Everyone is at work by 8:45 a.m. sharp, no exceptions. We get 10 warnings for performance misconduct before they kill us. One of them is for being late.

When there is a glitch in their system, we can stay out as long as 6:00 p.m. due to the train schedule. It rarely happens. 

Suddenly, I change my mind, and I decide to walk over to the Old Port. I miss seeing the water. But three dead bodies on St-Paul Street caught my attention. They are tied with a thick rope, and we get to observe the back of their heads as we walk by on our breaks. They are usually picked up at night.

On my way to the port, I, for some reason, walk into the gallery of the dead.

INT. GALLERY OF THE DEAD  –  30 MINUTES LATER

Artists take some of the dead and display them up to 24 hours after they have passed. They all look grey and stiff standing in the displays they make. I can still smell the rotting meat, despite the perfumes they use. People go in to pay respect to the deceased, who have received their 10 warnings.

I sit in one of the viewing chairs. I feel for their souls.

Then I notice that one of the women hanging upside down is my baby sister. I couldn’t miss her long red hair anywhere. I go numb. Then, I sweat profusely. Why did she laugh? I told her many times to be careful with making jokes and being tempted by the jokes others made.

As tears roll down my face, anger takes over me. She only had three warnings. But if you laugh publicly and the CPA catches you, they kill you on the spot.

I realize I cannot have a breakdown here; I cannot leave her here. I wait until there are no more passersby and head to the back. There used to be a restaurant there. It is vacant. Luckily, I find an old knife. I go back inside and cut the cord holding her body upside down. I drag her to the back alley and cover her with the fallen autumn leaves. No one will find her there. I sit there with her for a while in silence.

They do not bother with missing bodies.

“I love you, RNE,” is all I manage to say before leaving with a heart now full of holes.

EXT. STREETS TO TRAIN STATION  –  11:45 a.m. 

 I no longer wish to see the water. On my way home, one of the agents whom I pass says, “You look very sad. That’s terrific.”

“Yes, thank you,” I muster up the strength to say.

“So, what is our motto?” he asks.

“Serious faces, make serious profits.”

“What is your name?”

“C.B.I.L”

We are not allowed to mention our full names. My name is really Cybil, and my sister’s name was Renee.

We also receive a warning if we mention our actual names, and the CPA enjoys trying to trick us into saying them.

“Make sure you keep up the good work,” he says.

“Of course, I will.”

He seems satisfied with my answer and lets me go.

EXT. TRAIN STATION  – NOON

There is a mob of people waiting for the train that runs during emergency days like this one.

The train runs on solar energy. I manage to get in front of the line. When people see my face, they let me go. Once in the front, I get dizzy.

An unknown man comes to hold me up and helps me get seated on the train. We don’t say a word to each other.

I don’t know how I managed to hear my stop being called “Singles Living Quarters.” Singles in our society are assigned 300-square-foot apartments to live in. Forty percent of our pay is deducted for them, but public transportation is included as a benefit.

 

EXT. TRAIN STATION SINGLES STOP  –  MINUTES LATER

I trip and fall as I get off the train, straight into the mud. No one helps me. They walk over me and continue to their flats. As I find the last strength left in me, I get up and walk to my studio 

  

PART THREE

INT. C.B.I.L’s Studio  – 10 MINUTES LATER

The second I close the door to my apartment, I run to get a towel to bite. I must hold the pain in. If I cry, my neighbors will report me. Uncontrollably crying also gets you a death sentence nowadays. It makes you unproductive

My sister was my only family.

What do I have to live for now?

By muzzling myself, I keep crying until I drift away into sleep. I wake in the middle of the night. It says 3:00 a.m. on my digital wall clock.

I have decided to walk beyond the city borders to see what is there. In my many sleepless nights, I have never seen the CPA patrol my area.

I pack my knapsack with power bars and my scissors. It is the sharpest thing I own. I might survive, or I might starve to death out there. But I can no longer live within the city’s borders. 

EXT. CITY WIRING – MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

I have reached the city's border. Exhausted, I turn to look back at my building one last time. Cutting the wire encircling the area, I expect to be electrocuted to death, but I am not.

I cross over and keep walking into the unknown. The terrain seems stable. But once the sun finally rises, I reach a forest with bird sounds, streams, and trees. I sit on one of the logs, and I  allow my tears to release in nature.