CHAPTER THREE
Teresa spent the last few coins she had on her daughter’s treatment. The physician had diagnosed Amelia with a viral infection, and Teresa then collected the medication from the only chemist nearby. As she gave the money away, she found herself clutching at the coins frightfully. She was not ready to part with them. She had asked the chemist if there was anything less costly she could get to treat her daughter, but the sad look on the young man’s face left her heart empty.
She grabbed the small brown bag with the capsules and swiftly walked away, forgetting to thank the young man for his help.
A cluster of dark clouds formed in the sky, obscuring the sun. Teresa’s lips were crisp with dryness and the skin around her eyes was thin, showing signs of fatigue. In the fading sunlight, she looked frail and ill. She clenched her fist tighter around the brown bag with the antiviral medication. Her heart throbbed painfully against her chest; her breathing had become laboured.
Abruptly, she stopped on the dismantled pavement, as though she had seen something wicked. Her eyes darted back and forth anxiously and the skin between her eyebrows creased softly. She was certain she had seen him, but she couldn’t believe it. She quickened her pace, holding the bag near her chest. As she walked purposely across the muddy, unkempt street, she recalled her mother’s stories of a time when this place was a safe haven for many.
After the Third World War in 2023, almost one-third of the population died. The world had gone into anarchy. Food and electricity were scarce and looting became the norm. She recalled herself as a young girl, merely fifteen, darting through a shop and grabbing a loaf of bread without paying for it. Twenty-five years later, Teresa was still paralysed by the guilt. The world had become a cruel place for those who were unfortunate enough to be born into poor families. Education and prosperity were privileges left only for the elite and their kin.
Of course, the government held elections every three years. They branded and televised it in order to show their pathway to democracy. Teresa loathed that term. The Internet was heavily censored and the media was clever to ensure information made available to the public would keep them in their place. Every so often, when people tried to revolt against the oppression, a young man or woman from a poor background from the four Areas would rise to be “someone,” and silence would consume the streets again, every man, woman, and child suddenly filled with hope.
Teresa had hoped her children would have a better future, a future in which humanity rewarded justice and hard work with prosperity instead of showering the greedy with more money.
“Oh, sorry, Mrs Raymond,” said a small girl as she collided with Teresa. Teresa stared at the girl. She was no more than twelve years of age. The girl smiled, revealing small, spaced-out, stained teeth, her blonde hair blowing against the wind. Teresa didn’t think she knew this girl, and the way she smiled was strange; it seemed as though the girl intended to hit her. Teresa smiled and placed a gentle hand on the girl’s small shoulder and walked past her.
The encounter unsettled her. This was the second time today she had felt uneasy. Teresa stopped abruptly. How did the girl know who she was? She looked behind to ask her, but she was gone. Shaken, Teresa walked as fast as her legs could carry her, amongst the crowd and through narrow, dirty alleyways towards home.
Area Eleven, once known as North London, was a ghetto just like the other four Areas. The streets were littered with rubbish, faecal matter, urine, and vomit. The air was putrid to inhale, and yet the people had become accustomed to it. Those who worked for the government avoided coming to these Areas, and when they did, they ensured they did their job “cleansing” the Areas of all criminals in a mere day.
Sometime thereafter, Teresa arrived home, barely conscious of herself. She gave the antiviral medication to her daughter and sat on the old fabric sofa near the window. For hours she sat there, staring at nothing, until it was time for bed.
Defiance Page 3