Money-skin

Money-skin

Savora stood in the bathtub staring at the man staring back at her. She placed her palm on the back of her knee, vigorously rubbed her hand over her calf and over his face. He would not come off. She cut the shower, ran to her bedroom looking at her leg as if she wanted to cut it off.

Silver toned lights went on and off at the pace of her footsteps. The walls changed color according to her mood, becoming sea foam blue to calm her nerves.

“Close the windows. Draw the blinds,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” the Virtual Auto-Bot said.

She put her knee on a chair, twisted her neck, and stared at the man on her calf.

Benjamin Franklin stared back, I’m not shocked. I’ve seen it all before, he seemed to say. A one-hundred-dollar bill was fused onto her leg.

She looked for an edge. Carefully, she tried to get her fingernail under it, hoping to pull it off, to no avail. She got a razorblade to scrape it off. Blood came out of Benjamin’s eyes and ran out of his nose. She only hurt herself. It was no use, the bill was hopelessly attached to her body.

Tears flowed then laughter. She did not know how it got there and knew she could never get it off without causing self-harm. Fear became confusion and then resolve. She would cover it up. No one had to see it.

A week passed, uneventful. One morning she woke up, felt funny but did not know why. She looked in the mirror then fell to the floor. What she saw killed her, reanimated her being and then killed her again, only to bring her back to life. Benjamin Franklin’s green eyes had multiplied. She looked at her legs, arms, chest and back, not one pinch of skin was visible. Her entire body was fused with hundred-dollar bills, stopping only at her collarbone so that her neck and face were clear.

Sweat poured down her panicked and angry body. She grew desperate. No bleaching cream or medical procedure could remedy her. Thoughts of horror filled her mind. Marred for life, what would Dean say? He would probably leave her. Her job would be lost and so would her mind. Exposed skin like this was a death sentence. People would try to take her skin and use it as legal tender, that is if the authorities did not catch her first.

Paralyzed with fear, she stayed locked in her apartment for two weeks. She had called her job, told them she was having emergency surgery and thought about quitting.

“Dial Dean.”

“Yes ma’am,” the Virtual Auto-Bot said.

“No, hang up.”

She kept ordering a dial but ordered a hang up before a connection could be made. She could not tell her parents, no not Cedric and TaKeisha, parents of Savora Fullbedder, they understood nothing at all. First, they would make her angry by trying to get her to blame herself, then they would tell her to turn herself in to the authorities, be truthful and they might understand. Fear kept her parents inline. Nothing bad happens to good people. Injustices happened to other people who stuck their necks out.

“Savora, connect to video or pick up your cell, we’re worried about you.” That was Tonkie’s tenth message.

“Savora baby it’s me. Where’ve you gone to? Tonkie and I are coming over now,” Dean said.

When they showed up, Savora was relieved. It felt good to be looking at other people. Savora closed the door and shared with them her secret.

“They’re going to execute you,” Tonkie said.

Ordinance 5767 banned all tattoos following the winter uprising of 2050.

“How could I have broken the law? It wasn’t my fault,” Savora said.

“It doesn’t matter, ignorance of the law…,” Dean said.

“I know, excuses no one,” Savora said.

“We’re going to have to protect you. No one can find out,” Dean said.

“Aren’t you disgusted?” Savora said.

“No. People wore tattoos for centuries before the Telumide Wars. They were deeply meaning and spiritual for the indigenous tribes before they were wiped out. That’s why the tats were outlawed so no one could remember them,” Tonkie said.

“This isn’t a tat but authorities won’t care,” Dean said.

“I’m grateful you guys accept it but what about everyone else, what am I going to do?” Savora said.

“Cover it up,” Tonkie said.

“I’ll have to live this way forever. I can’t keep it up for that long,” Savora said.

“You’ll do it for as long as you have to, until we find a cure,” Dean said.

“A cure for what, I’m even sure what this is. I can’t swim. I can’t hike. I’ll have to stay in hiding. And what about work? I’ll have to keep this up every day at work. I won’t be able to handle it,” Savora said.

“Wet suit for swimming, long gear for hiking, turtlenecks and leggings at work,” Tonkie said.

“And we’ll spend more time in Virtual World,” Dean said.

“You’re really going to stay with me?” Savora said.

“What kind of man would I be if I left you because of this? You know I still love you. Besides, as long as your other parts are working, it won’t affect our relationship,” Dean said.

They laughed.

“And you?” Savora said.

“We’re more than friends, we’re sisters. We’ve known each other since childhood. I’d never run away from you,” Tonkie said.

Dean slowly ran his fingers down the smalls of her back as Tonkie placed Savora’s hands in her own and softly caressed her palm then gently kissed her forehead. The tears flowed down Savora’s face, down to her chest, stomach, thighs and to her ankles. She felt deep love for the first time.

“We’re with you,” Tonkie and Dean said.

Tonkie plopped down on the purple chaise, “I love this chair,” she said.

Dean and Savora cozied up on the divan. They put on the VR Gear and entered the Virtual World.

“Connect me to Virtual Auto-Life,” she said to the Virtual Auto-Bot.

“Yes, ma’am,” it said.

Virtual Auto-Life scanned their bodies and minds. The cerebral conception simulation program began. Immediately, they were transported back one-hundred years ago to the year 2020.

Savora had landed a $20,000 deal with a major upscale tattoo parlor to do a live stream event, after having posted photos and videos of her Benjamin adorned body on Tik Tok and Instagram. She was an instant hit and become a major influencer. She signed multimillion-dollar endorsement contracts and was given a reality TV show.

From her mansion in the Hollywood Hills, Savora dressed in a latex sleeveless minidress and high-heeled thigh-high black leather boots, looked over the balcony at Tonkie draped in a liquid thin navy-blue silk shirt dress, who was directing the caterers. She looked back at Dean decked out in a tartan blue kilt topped with a leather jacket, who stood across the room holding a shot of whiskey.

All guests wore their masks and remained socially distanced. Besides being absolutely fabulous an invitee had to have a mark of distinction, any form of permanent body-art. Dean and Tonkie had tattooed their bodies to honor Savora. Dean chose an elaborate cross with feathered wings across his chest and a dragon on his back. A herd of blue morph butterflies lived on Tonkie’s back and cherry blossom branches grew up her arms, linked together by a decorative chain embedded in pink roses that came to lay upon the center of her chest.

The entire affair was glorious. Guests indulged themselves, took selfies and posted images all night.

Virtual Auto-Life took them out of the fake world as easily as it had taken them in. So deep was the trance, it took a few hours for the voyeurs to readjust back to their natural life.

Back to reality in Savora’s apartment, Tonkie left Sunday morning to get ready for the lottery which would choose a husband for her.

Dean stayed until Sunday night. “I promise to protect you forever,” he said as he tenderly kissed her lips.

Then came Monday morning.

“Open to natural light,” Savora said to the Virtual Auto-Bot.

“Yes ma’am,” it said.

Plexi windows transformed from artificial screen images of the universe, to the outside world of Sector Six. Staring out the window, Savora watched nature flourishing and the thousands of airborne electric transporters.

With new-found confidence she grabbed her patent leather backpack and left her apartment elegantly dressed in all white from neck to toe. The Travel-X Tube led her to the subterranean platform of Sector Six. As she walked through the mall, the soil and roots of the trees and foliage growing above ground were showcased in opulent underground glass showcases. No one walked above ground. The outside belonged to the forest and wildlife, the mall is where people entertained, worked, and shopped.

“Welcome back,” they all said back at the office.

The hologram spreadsheet floated above her desk like neon signs advertising beer at the bar: My check is short, I don’t see my DTV Retirement benefits, VAT stats need to be readjusted, Android Recaller v116 was killed… the language of Human Resources at the Android Recaller Employment Agency. Gone two weeks and the work was still routine.

After work she met with Dean for dinner and drinks.

“You look beautiful,” was the last thing she heard before a jolt and her body went flying. She came to and looked around. There was boundless noise and horrid screaming, EMTs, ambulances and Police transport vehicles everywhere. She saw patches of smoke and fire and heard voices in the crowd.

“What happened?” A voice said.

“An enemy EMP attack. The entire sector is down,” another voice said.

An electromagnetic pulse caused crashes of thousands of transports, the underground malls came to a halt and communications were disrupted. Emergency solar generators kicked in.

Dean lay next to her, blood came out of his mouth and a nasty bruise was on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” She said.

“Yeah. I’m fine, just a little shaken up,” he said.

EMTs stare at them strangely, approaching cautiously. They see law enforcement in the distance and a small crowd of people pointing them out.

“Why are they pointing us out like this?” she said.

“Your legs,” Dean said.

Savora’s Benjamins were fully exposed. The force of the transport spinning out of the air and landing on the ground had ripped her pants to shreds from the knee down.

“You think they gonna deal with this right now?” Savora said.

“I think we don’t want to find out,” Dean said.

They looked at each other knowing full well what they had to do, run. And they ran.

The firmament was frosty white, the mountain tops were draped in sky blue when Savora and Dean sat on the ridge. Ferns blanketed their feet, shaded overhead by Hemlock and yellow leaved Aspen trees. The rays of the sun rained down, as insects pollenated, and cicadas sang their morning hymn. Ahead, all they saw was the mountain range laid on its back like a valley full of lovers in repose.

It had been seventeen months since they had hiked through the forbidden forest to escape persecution by the authorities. They would never return to the old way again.

“Take off your clothes, I want to count your skin,” Dean said.

She never thought of counting the bills. She undressed as he touched her delicately turning her over meticulously. He surveyed her valleys and toured her peaks. Starting at her toes, he took his time, and counted each bill.

“How much?”

“$20,000.”

In the last light of the day, she unzipped her backpack and took out a small black notebook. She decided to write about the incredible journey that led them to this place and to document the future that lay ahead. She titled the first page, Money-skin and began to write.