Benefactors' Window

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. His room was a decent sized flat. The walls were eggshell colored stiff dark blue blackout curtains hung around her window. They wold allow her to shut everything out, but they remained forever open. Her only portal to the outside world was this window. A fabled place.

She had read a great deal about the outside world and spent hours peering out at. She was an avid reader of all things nature. The great unknown except for her few house plants. A snake plant lived in the corner of her workspace and a couple potted Pothos thrived near her kitchen. A small Golden Barrel Cactus, or echinocactus grusonii, decorated the windowsill. It acted as a visual metaphor for her world. The dangers of technology, of life. The thorns protrude in such a way to remind her of connection points, the ridges the protruding spines grow on, the latitude and longitude on a map or globe. The spikes creating a protective network around the fleshy green of the cactus. An almost impermeable shield. Not easily crossed for most. She had watched an ant explore it easily and freely. The ant, able to walk the spines and eventually find its way to the fleshy part. How jealous of this tiny creature she had felt as she watched it exit the room fitting under the closed window space. Any free moments were spent looking out the window. Always trying to feel it through sight. His room was neat, sanitized, much how life is for her. All furniture was either white or admiral blue. Different patterned pillows decorated the otherwise institutional flat. Having experienced nothing else she was comfortable, it felt like a home. One painting hung on the wall. A painting of an open window overlooking a garden with rows and rows of blue flowers. A way to bilk her into feeling like there was a view on both sides of the room. Making the space feel more open and freer than it truly is. She was lucky to have inherited this safe house.

Her benefactor, was a kind benefactor. To have taken ownership of her life tax and bills as a baby was extremely generous. She was beyond grateful most days and shuttered at the thought of what life would be with out him. Her faceless, formless, unknown benefactor whom she never met. Thoughts of an alternative life, where one lives as a paranoid beggar fending for them self, is enough to keep her in line.

She received a message via governmental intervention. It was received via her work pad tablet. The message was about her benefactor and the state of affairs of the country. The message appeared the first day after she could read at a proficient eighth grade level. After which, the fully white hazmat suited and tinted masked individual stopped visiting. This individual directed her upbringing and growth in education. She was in no way close to this individual and no loneliness followed after his absence. However, he provided a critical function to her development and thus the importance could not be ignored. She was grateful to this faceless, formless, unknown individual as well. Personnel were fully suited and never spoke. They were allowed in by the pad after conducting a scan. Supposedly the suites held a hidden code that was only deciphered by the program on the pad. Space and gestures were all that was shared while both completed tasks. A complimentary dance, where I followed the others lead.

That day a ping sound came from her learning pad tablet stating it was upgrading to a work pad tablet. The only noticeable sign of her graduation from one stage to the next. Once the device had restarted a screen popped up with "ATTENTION FELLOW SAFE HOUSE RESIDENT A CRITICAL MESSAGE IS WAITING FOR YOU".

I logged in my credentials: individual number, benefactor number, along with my safe house I.D. The message opened. It unfolded as she read her job requirements, which there were three. First categorizing batches of information to appropriate departments and folders. Second, entering data into spreadsheets. Lastly, supervising the files of three individual women. She was to update and analyze the data for each, weekly.

Next, the message explained the haphazard state of the world. Years before her birth, life as everyone knew it seized to be, according to the message. A group of hackers had hostilely taken over the worldwide web, as well as the government. The overthrown government had created a safe way to communicate. Communication was only safe on the devices they specially curated after many years of hard secretive work. There had been set backs, due to deceit, that caused the creation of the pads to span years. The pads were safe. The only safe way to communicate. She received her pad on her first birthday. She had learned everything from it. It was her only learning portal.

Safe houses were safe. Spaces created for those adopted by a benefactor. Individuals were safe in the safe houses, but not insured anywhere else. To leave, is to give up your insurance and safe house. The safe houses were made sustainable for life; food, cleaning supplies and toiletries were delivered every week; there was workout equipment for the 45 min allotted workout time; there was a small kitchen/bathroom and sleeping area. The facial recognition the government was able to secure only worked inside the safe homes. Outside of the homes it was used for more deleterious purposes, such as stealing identities. Those with enough money, in the hacker group, obtained photos and used them to make their faces like the photos they obtain by way of prosthetic or surgery. Leaving the safe house was not permitted under any circumstance. It was an old story of unruly Infidels fighting the government.

The last bit of the message introduced her benefactor, Mr. Chilton. He had filed the appropriate paperwork accepting her life tax and bills. He had chosen her out of three individuals, based on her data. He encouraged her to work hard to help the government, the side of right, to one day gain back full control.

Every morning she looked out the window. Every workout session she looked out the window. Every night before bed she looked out the window. Every time, wondering about the world and where Mr.Chilton, her benefactor, is. Every time, seeing a deserted street except for the occasional scurrying individual. These people resembling squirrels scurrying frantically about for food or a place to hide. Outside of these occasional individual spotting's were trucks. The Trucks picked up individuals or trash. Each truck was funeral black with a white symbol displayed on its sides. Reapers, patrolling an otherwise pleasant colorful world. A world abandoned and left as a still life for the rest of time. How appropriate that it should resemble a painting, framed in the middle of her wall in his room. Mimicking the fake window hung on the wall opposite of it, but somehow possessing of some evil or witchery where subtleties changed the picture. The random bastardized individuals, the infidels, or these sinister trucks entering her frame were the only way to know it wasn't a painting. Each truck carrying a symbol. The symbol is a pyramid shape made to look as if it were 3D with an underscore beneath it. An emblem of her government or the Infidels, she could only assume. She never saw that symbol anywhere else and never knew what it stood for. It was a mystery like much of her life.

The sky, is sky blue most days with puffy white cumulus and wispy cirrus clouds. Occasionally, on rare days, there were rainstorms. There is a line of trees clouding her eyeline of the city beyond it. Most likely a camouflage to the destitution and destruction existing beyond them in the cities. Visions of crumbling buildings with cracked windows and empty shelves permeated her imagination. Now, everything, withering fronts for what life was. She could still peak at a few portions of stucco, brick, cement and metal from her perch. Only enough to keep her guesses alive. But the trees kept her from being a witness to any of it. A sheltering from testifying to the true reality and state of things.

Precipitation gathered on her windowsill and among the corners each morning. The glass was always cold to her touch. She would touch her cheek or her forehead to the glass. Closing her eyes, envisioning what the real outside might feel like. Could it truly be as icy as described? As the window felt against the skin?

Each day a good 6 hours was spent accomplishing work. Important work. Some days she altered her work, designating a fraction of her time to one of the three areas of her work. Other days, she focused on one of the three areas of her work. Always choosing correctly and responsibly for what is required. Constantly longing and wondering about what was beyond her grasp, just beyond the glass of her window in his room. Beyond the trees in her horizon and away from the cities, trucks and people.

I know this because I watched her grow. My surveillance of her, my only window to life. The most important thing I'd ever agreed to do in my life. Once of age of retirement, I relinquished claim to my room. Choosing her mom's offspring as my baby, at least financially. I became Mr. Chilton to her. A false name, meaning so much more to both of us. I am now only Mr. Chilton.

I moved to a smaller room and dedicated myself to her growth, scheduling and planning everything. I watched, understanding every look, every thought she must be having, because I too had, had them. I too didn't fully understand it all. I too worked for the important cause and never losing hope in the chance that our government would regain control. My motivation starting as a youthful hope, purpose sustaining, then profound love of connection to another fulfilling me. Often I questioned if my government was close to success, with no updates provided. With her, Abigail, nothing else mattered. Again hope that I may one day view her freed from the confines of the room, sustained by the care and scheduling required to give her a life, and fulfilled by seeing her grow each day as I stay in my small space.

Until one day, I was notified that my genetic material would be used to make a baby because the baby was chosen by a benefactor. Abigail, she had chosen a baby to become a benefactor for. She was relinquishing her spot in my room. I rejoiced in her success, and knew she would be as I had with her. She would be a great benefactor. I peered at her admiringly. How her height and facial features had changed over the years. Her pulchritude now fully developed. She now stood a slender 5'7". No longer the plump round faced cherub, but instead a beautiful adult woman with high cheekbones and dimples when she smiled. With small smile creases acting as parentheses encasing the space above her upper lip. Classically beautiful, through my gaze. At least to me. She had transformed before my eyes. I know her face better than my own. Chiseled into my memory, her face from each stage of her life. What an adventure it all was, it all is.

As I readied for my move to a bed space, I could feel our government was close to winning. Surely her baby would know a changed life. Thanks to all of us, the other safe house-ers. As I stared out the window and at her looking out the window in my room. I knew we were thinking the same. It really wasn't a bad view, a bad life.

References

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