Read Fly Away | Tapas Web Community

The high-pitched wail ringing in my earpiece shreds into the comforting warm blankness of my sleep. I feel an intense longing inside me. A longing to not have to get up and go through with another day. Another day of aching sadness. But I have no choice.

I sit up in the small space that exists between the floor beneath me and the bed frame above me. And I take a moment to gather my seeping, fraying thoughts before I start my day.

All around me is the various toys and gadgets of my "brother" Arden, and a handful of my own, put on shelves. The carefully-selected white noise of a fountain along with a quiet symphonic melody is playing through the room as Arden sleeps in his large, plush bed. Comfortable. Oblivious. Perfect. Softly glowing crystal shards in dark colours float above him.

I silently pad to the control panel on one side of the wall, careful not to wake Arden. I turn on all the cleaning tech that begins running through the room, cleaning the floor and walls and shelves. I run in front of the shelf duster, picking up everything on the shelves to clear its path. It's exhausting but eventually I'm done.

I move my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. And in the silence screaming eerie around me I tell myself that the weekend is almost over. School is almost starting.

I then get the last part of the room ready for the day. I turn the crystals into light blues and soft greens. I turn the music into something more upbeat. I bring Arden's hoverboard to the foot of his bed. And then I move to softly wake him up.

"Arden. Arden," I gently sing-song as I shake him softly, "It's time to wake up." In a few minutes he starts to stir. And then he sits up.

And thus begins the hardest part of my day.

"Hi." Arden murmurs to me, heavy with sleep.

"Good morning, Arden. I hope you slept well." I keep my voice sweet and bright submissive.

"Not really. I'm still groggy."

"Oh sorry. That really sucks. I hope you sleep well soon." How he could've possibly slept badly on a plush, soft, temperature-regulating bed that's full of new blankets and pillows is beyond me but I don't comment. Just keep smiling.

"Ugh do I have to get up right now?"

"You don't have to. But your mother will not like it if you don't. I'll defend you though." Of course I had to balance staying on his parents' good sides and staying on his good side. Any one of them could get me killed if I'm unsatisfactory.

"Ugh I might as well not face her wrath." Arden rubs his eyes and gets on his hoverboard, that sinks under his weight for a second before floating up.

Like this Arden is a foot taller than me. But in reality I'm only a couple of inches shorter than him. But he likes feeling tall.

I walk beside him as he glides into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth while I brush his hair. He has warm red-tinted brown curls that shine softly in the bathroom lights. He had soft white skin and pink lips. He had a dimple chin and a straight nose and bright blue eyes. He's very beautiful.

In contrast to him I have dull black hair and green eyes. I don't look like anything special. But Ari thinks that I'm beautiful. Thinks that I'm beyond beautiful. And that helps me. It helps me a lot.

Arden finishes brushing and we go to the two parallel showers that are joined together and strip down together. He gets into the high-tech shower, bathing himself in warm water. I get in the simple shower and turn on the water in it, which is always cold. We talk as we stand under the water.

"I can't believe I have a project to finish on a weekend." Arden loves complaining. It seems to me that he has nothing to complain about but I can't tell him that.

"Oh you're very smart," I tell him, "you will probably finish it in no time." The water screams around us.

"But still. It's a weekend." Shit. I didn't say what he wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to go through school. You deserve to be able to just play and hang out."

"I know. You have such an easy life. You get to just play and hang out all day." I can't believe he thinks that's what I do.

"Well you're smart. You can make the world beautiful."

"It's a lot of responsibility though."

"Yes. But you're really responsible as well. I know you can handle it."

He turns on the soap and the soft brushes lather expensive, nice-smelling soap all over his body. I run my bar of hard soap over my body and use my hands to scrub.

"I can't believe my teacher did this though."

"I agree. It was very inconsiderate of her."

"She is honestly the worst teacher I've ever had." He's told me that so many times.

"I'm so sorry you have to deal with her. Maybe you'll get her back one day."

"Do you honestly think I could?"

"Arden. I know you can do anything." He smiles at this, brightly, blue eyes narrowing amidst strings of dark hair.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do. You can do anything you set your mind to."

"Thanks. I just have to believe it myself. It's hard when school is always telling me what to do."

"Nobody should ever tell you what to do. You should always do whatever you want."

"Mom and Dad don't know that though."

"Yeah, they really don't."

"So anyways, it's still a weekend. We still get to hang out with the gang."

"Yeah. That's great. I bet you guys will have a lot of fun."

"Oh yeah. I can't wait."

"I'm really glad you're excited. You deserve to be excited."

"I mean it's just a small thing to be excited about."

"I agree. It is small. But it's still nice. You deserve nice things. And you deserve big things to be excited about as well. And you will have those as well."

"Like a trip to space for example. That would be so fun."

"Oh yes, it would. Keep asking your parents they're bound to agree sooner or later."

"They're so stingy though. That say it'll cost too much. I just wanna see the stars how they really are. Is that too much to ask?"

"Of course it's not. You deserve to see the stars from space. They're just beautiful and magical up there. Maybe you'll see them when you're an adult."

"But I wanna see them now," he whines.

"I understand. Keep up the pressure. They're bound to cave in."

We start putting on shampoo. Arden gets his head massaged by the special brushes lathered with expensive shampoo. I rub the bar of soap into my hair and massage it.

"Oh I love this shampoo," Arden comments.

"That's awesome. Why?"

"It just makes my head feel so comfortable. Almost like it's buzzing. But in a good way."

"Oh that does sound really comfortable. That's great."

"No more talking for now. Let me just enjoy my shower."

"Okay."

I am left with my thoughts. And in the freezing cold I think of Ari.

After the shower we dry off. Arden with his new, colourful, fluffy towel and me with my old, worn, ratty towel. We then walk and glide into his walk-in closet.

He looks through his clothes before pulling out a shimmering maroon shirt with golden embroidery that reaches halfway down his thighs and a pair of new blue jeans.

"You look amazing," I tell him, "I love the colours you picked."

"They do go together so well, don't they? What will you wear?"

"Oh I'll be happy wearing whatever you pick for me."

He gets me a simple light green shirt and black pants. I put them on, glad to be covered.

"Oh these are so beautiful. Thank you, Arden."

We go to the breakfast table and Arden's parents are already sitting on the sleek metal and glass monolith, the floating chandeliers spinning and gliding and dipping around them. Their synthetics sit on either side of them, silent. Mr. Harrison is a tall man in a cream dress shirt with a blood red collar with metallic red embroidery. Mrs. Harrison has a dress made of sheer layers of purple and white and her hair is dyed purple to match. Her synth has the tips of her hair dyed the same colour of purple and Mr. Harrison's synth wears a cream dress shirt with a normal collar.

"Good morning, Arden," his mom says.

"Good morning Mom. Good morning, Dad."

"Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Harrison."

We take our spots around the table. I do not have to talk here. Arden and his family will do all of the talking. All I have to do is try to not feel left out. Which is impossible.

Arden piles his plate high with salsa and green beans and flakey garlic bread. He pours a glass of mango juice. I just take the bread and a glass of water.

"So I hear that the communists set an huge banking office on fire," Mr. Harrison remarks. I look at Mrs. Harrison's synthetic. Her name is Ella. She looks at me. There is a spark in her eyes.

"Oh how horrid," Mrs. Harrison replies, fiddling with the dial of her personal temperature system that is floating by her chair. All the owners have one beside them.

"Those communists think that the country is theirs." Arden's voice is irritated. "They think they can take on our police and military. But they can't."

I say nothing. Because it's not my place. Because it's never been my place. And because I can't let them know what I'm really thinking.

"I've heard that sixty-five to eighty percent of the communists are synthetics," Mrs. Harrison states. I look at Ella and Sam, the other synthetics. They look at me back. Hope sparks in my heart. How can all these synthetics escape their owners and go on to join the rebellion? I hope I can one day go and join. That would be magical.

Sam smiles at me mischievously and no-one else but Ella and I notice. I think he's going to join the communists. I think he's going to escape. That would be amazing.

"So, Ella," Mr. Harrison continues, "what do you think of these rebellious synths?" It's strange to be addressed in the mornings. Mornings are supposed to be family time.

"I think they're really foolish and arrogant," Ella says smoothly, just as she is meant to, "our owners are like family. Like more than family. You keep us safe and provide for us. Of course any reasonable synth would be loyal and happy with their owners." She smiles. And you would have to look very deeply to see the plasticity and the darkness of the smile. But she smiles.

We continue eating. And the family continues talking about politics. Us synths continue to sneak glances at each other. They give me strength. Give me hope. We are like our own family, the three of us. It's just that we have to spend most of the time with our owners.

After breakfast Arden sets out to meet his friends so they can go to an immersive theatre. I go with him, walking along as he floats down the sidewalk. The houses on either side of us are large, with many large windows and softly glowing metal walls. They are designed in various beautiful styles and patterns. And they all have lush and blooming well-manicured gardens.

"Today it's Sally's turn to pick an immie," Arden tells me.

"So how do you feel about that?" I ask him. I have to know what his sentiments are in order for me to be able to echo them.

"I think it's fine. She's got good taste."

"She does have good taste."

"But I can't wait until it's my turn."

"I can't either. You've got the best taste of all."

"I do, don't I? But still, I have to be a good friend and let my other friends pick."

"That's very responsible of you." I say nothing of the fact that the synths never have a turn to pick. He doesn't want to hear about that. And he doesn't care.

"It is, isn't it?"

"You're a very good friend."

"I try to be."

"That's very good of you. Trying is what matters. And all your trying is coming to fruition."

"Well I think that if someone tries, they're bound to eventually succeed. It's all about caring enough to apply yourself." That's not the way he feels about school.

"You're absolutely right. That's very insightful and inspiring."

"It's just my thoughts."

"You're a very good thinker. You should become a philosopher some day."

Above us a giant iridescent mechanical dragon flies by, letting out a powerful, melodic roar.

"Wow," Arden exclaims, "that was super cool."

"It really was super cool." I echo.

"I wonder where that thing is going?"

"I wonder too. I wonder where it came from."

"Oh yeah. I bet the kid who owns it is so lucky."

"Do you want one of those?"

"If I can get mom and dad to pay for it. I would love a flyer."

"What type of flyer would you want? A dragon?"