The crumbling road had cracks lining the hard-wearing tar that had battled harsh weather for years. The protests had taken their toll on the uneven surface, but I noticed the small details; the sunken footsteps of protesters or the almost invisible scratches of multiple boots cutting into the tar.
The state of the houses was no better and the peeling of the yellow paint once lush and beautiful made me shudder in revulsion. Windows covered in grime had cracks like spiderwebs barely held together with strips of yellow Nanotape. Such a waste. Empty beer bottles that stank of anger and violence littered the street like the foam on an ocean wave. Tiptoeing over shards of glass, I pulled out my antibac Nanochief and wiped off my night black office shoes.
Passing a homeless man, he begged, “Give us some Coin, please Sir.“
I quickly sidestepped him and continued up the path without a second thought.
An old newspaper Plastic dated 2035 with a still flickering title, “New environmental tax introduced!” lay discarded on the road.
At last, after artful enduring of this so-called street, I was ready to fulfil my purpose. Adjusting my poker face, I opened the 3D Holograph and checked my appearance. My face flickered in the Dyson Light. Perfect.
Quickly rapping the rotting wooden door, three knocks we were always taught, so they knew an Inspector was calling. Inspectors were always male, in case of violence. I wiped my knuckles with my Nanochief and waited silently. The door opened and a tiny girl stood barefoot in the doorway. She had the air of an older occupant but appeared more childish than I imagined, as I would find out later. Her smooth face was drawn with stress; her eyes darted around as if calculating the odds of escape.
“May I come in?“ I said, with a slight edge. “I’m here to see Mrs Jane Watson.“
The girl glanced at me but said nothing and stepped aside.
I hesitated, looking around for anything unpleasant. I was trained to ignore unnecessary things and focus on the task. The house was extremely small, and I had to duck my head to avoid a concussion. There were only two bare rooms.
The strangest lady I’d ever seen sat before me like a petrified statue. The only sign of life was her chest heaving up-and-down as if her lungs were desperately trying to escape her body. Deep etched wrinkles shrouded her face like the waves of a horrible ocean.
But that wasn’t it. I let out a small gasp as my gaze travelled to her hands, shrivelled and shrunken as if all moisture had evaporated leaving an empty shell. The days were much drier and arid now.
Once-colourful clothes only highlighted the horrors of her body.
My gasp seemed to snap her out of her trance-like state, and she regarded me with a wild, scared look in her blue eyes that mirrored the girl.
“Hello,“ The woman’s raspy voice cut through my thoughts like a razor, “what have you come here for?“
I told her and her face transformed into a resigned expression. “Sylvie!“ She called. The girl came running into the room and scowled at me. She turned to her mother. “Go to your room, sweetheart,“ Watson said, quietly.
“Are you sure, mum?“ Sylvie glanced back and forth between us.
“Yes, and close the door,“ Watson responded in the same tone.
Sylvie disappeared and I noted that the house did have more than two rooms.
The woman had lied. There were three rooms — the environmental tax would be higher.
I regarded Watson and she did the same. Calming myself and the irrational fear growing within me, I asked, “Did you start the protests?“
The answer she gave surprised me, even cracking my poker face. “What did you say?” I continued.
“Yes,“ Watson responded with a sad smile, “but I had to.“ This was not the answer I’d expected.
“You don’t understand,“ she said, reading my mind, “look at my hands.“ I didn’t need to be reminded and stared at her face in stony silence.
“I can’t clean our decrepit street myself and show Sylvie the delights of life. Before the tax, all the streets were filled with happiness, dancing and trees. I can’t afford to look after Sylvie now that my husband has deserted us.“
That stopped me. I looked around the house and came to a reluctant decision. I did not like to be reminded of my own past. What is freedom but compassion to make the right choice?
Sylvie peered around the door. I looked at her and for a moment, I saw myself as a child. I took out the government Plastic and signed it with my retina. There would be trouble, but I didn’t care.
Sylvie stared at me in shock, then happiness, “We must let everyone know.” “No!”, I said.
As I was leaving, Sylvie shot out and blocked my way, “I want to give you this.” Her eyes glowed with innocence as she presented me with an old, tarnished King Charles Sovereign. Not wishing to hurt her feelings, I took the coin and left the house.
Walking back up the street, I came to the homeless man and dropped my Nanochief into his lap.
He looked at it in shock and then me, the gratitude in his eyes worth more Coin than the entire world. I took out the government Plastic and deleted Watson’s entry.
Continuing along, I decided it was time to fix relationships.
The next morning, I woke up in my luxury cabin. My wife and child would have a surprise today.
At the door, I saw the morning Plastic. The title burst out at me, “Crumbling street off the hook after tax paid!“
Sylvie! I did this.
Someone was knocking. One. Two. Three. No fourth. I threw down the Plastic and closed my eyes. Vitae Corona Fides: Faith is the crown of life.
God, would he be as compassionate with me?