Kayla Whitney

The Deserter

Everything was covered in dust. It was a faintly reddish dust, similar to the colour of the bricks which lined my walls, but the dust that collected on the tables and chairs was a little darker. Sometimes when the walls would shake I could see the dust come free and descend through the air. The question had occurred to me before, but suddenly I needed to know the answer. I walked over to the processor and entered my inquiry, pressing each letter key precisely. There was a sliding mechanical snap when a letter was successfully submitted. The screen, from its own faint womb of copper powder, shone its thin light and a yellow arrow circling after its tail appeared, indicating that my question was in the process of being answered. Through my window I observed the city’s landscape of steeples and smoke. The processor trickled out little blinking sounds of electric thought. Somewhere I heard the engine of a delivery car strain. Soon the evening train would pass by and the last of the day’s dust would descend. I glanced back at the arrow on the screen turning in a steady roundabout. I picked up my Personal Finance report, fresh from the mailbox. According to my balance they still hadn’t fixed the error. Last month the Commission of Economic Stratification had deposited $20,000 into my credit account. My Citizen Stipend was $200. They were always making mistakes but never to this degree. I started to let myself believe the misstep would remain unnoticed. It would certainly change things. What is this dust? The yellow arrow circled.