The Movement

The city streets aren’t safe to take anymore, not since Jericho instituted The Movement. After the virtualization of nature, the population of the world became less forgiving of those who existed outside. The homeless, both animal and human, now suffer sever abuses within cities. The most recent governor of Jericho, thinking she looked powerful in glasses that are to square for her prominent nose and chin, stipulated that all open ground will, from that point on, be covered in steel spikes that run in neat diagonal lines barely allowing a foot of empty space between them. The morning after the announcement, the sun had just touched the top of the buildings when olive green clothed construction crews were out with huge industrial spike guns. I watched from my apartment window on the 15th floor as they zigzagged in tight lines, sending meter long spikes into concrete, never to be pulled out again. It’s been twenty years since they were drilled in and there is no talk of them ever being pulled out.

My grandmother used to talk about how beautiful cities used to be. Gleaming windows with trees scattered along streets. People used to have window boxes that held herbs or grinning pansies. There used to be parks that encouraged people to run outside instead of during stipulated time on treadmills in their living rooms, or meet people outside to talk about work or life. She told me about squirrels and foxes and other wild tamable creatures, which have all but disappeared now.

Now we are shuttled where we need to go by automated elevators and glass sidewalks. “There’s no reason for those beneficial to society to go outside,” the news programs tell us. I watch for the days where they will start questioning the shear abandonment of kindness that seems to be blindly accepted in this day and age. It’s to be expected, I supposed, since for the better part of a century riveting TV has been the middle class watching the upper class live. Reality TV took over everyone’s brain and turned them to selfish mush, more interested in how to buy shoes then how to stop giant metal spikes from being driven into the ground.

Sometimes I feel like the only one who notices, but for all our advancements, making housing guaranteed for anyone who works, there are still children born to those who can’t keep them. That’s where I come in. My job as a halo-mom is to walk the streets and find kids and teens who aren’t being cared for. I take them to the dorms, help measure their aptitude, allowing me to mentor them into work tracks they will find fulfilling. Only now, 15 years later, is it really becoming fulfilling. I’m seeing kids I helped step up and fill the shoes of those who mentored me.

Since the spikes, I’ve traded my functional Mary Jane’s for sneakers. If I had to go into an office it wouldn’t be a good look, but dodging spikes that come up to my knees make them worth the fashion faux pas. My transport station brings me down to ground level. I leave my building, greeting Minerva at my door. She runs my rounds with me. Her bring green eyes peek up at me from her perch on top of a spike. I crouch down to eye level and hold out a bit of tuna. Her eyes light up at the treat, she grabs it, nuzzles my hand and jumps to the ground to eat. “Ready for today? We’re headed to the west side. I’m pretty sure there were some kids hiding in The Woods last week. I just want to check on them.” Minerva looks up and bounds onto the spikes ready to race me to the Woods.

The Woods is what The System calls the homeless town. The residents there used the spikes as foundation for their new town layout. After raiding the dumps for wood, tin, and other accoutrements, they set about building themselves homes. The natural materials and the old style of living are what gave it the name. Most kids there don’t want to go with me. They exist in the whole “takes a village” premise, only while The Woods village retained the love in child-rearing, The System seems to have factored out. I can’t blame the kids for not wanting to leave, but I try to encourage them to take advantage of the system for as long as they can, try and change it from the inside. It’s how I sleep at night. Hoping that someday these kids that I mentor and give my phone number to will someday get loud enough and powerful enough to change the way this world has stopped caring.

The trip to The Wood’s is uneventful until we are just about to enter. A fox run from under the floor, tackling Minerva from her spike. They tangle together on the ground, clawing and going for each other’s throats. Faster than a power outage, I have each by the scruff of the neck. Minerva looks flustered but fine. I set her down, she starts to lick where her black coat was ruffled. I turn my eyes to the fox. Her eyes were sunken and her teats swollen. Her cubs wouldn’t be far away and she was starving. “If you hold on for a moment,” I said to her slowly and clearly, “I can help this little problem you’re having.” I hoped she understood as I set her down. She looked ready to bolt, but I held up a finger as I pulled off my backpack. I pulled out on of the many pouches of dog food I’ve taken to packing. The cloth I wrap it all up in is easy to open and good for nesting. “Here you go, love. Take care of the young’uns.” She sniffed, snatched the bundle and ran. I looked at Minerva, “Well, time to move on to the bigger young’uns we’re in charge of,” and the two of us entered the Wood’s.