Invisible Ledge - Chapter Two

"It's nice to meet you Andrew, it's cool to meet another Insurgent kid."

I almost feel slapped by the words she said so casually. How the hell did she know? She must have noticed my confused look since she tried explaining herself.

"It's obvious by the way that old stickler treated you really. You don't have to look like I just stuck a cactus up your rear..."

"I don't... do I?" Is all I manage to say though a grin.

"Yeah, you do." She chuckles faintly, but loudly enough to get us both kicked out of the classroom. I examine my WWC Pad and notice I've got an hour before my next lecture, so I decide to walk with her to her class, whatever it is.

"Oh I don't go to the University... I'm..." She hesitates a bit, but I know what she's going to say. Insurgents who aren't Advanced Students, meaning ninety nine percent of them, have to get menial jobs just to put food on the table, as no institution will hire them for anything else.

"Doesn't matter. I just assumed because you were in the classroom." I try steering the conversation away from a possibly painful topic. I find myself not wanting to mess this up, which is odd in itself. I'm so used to being surrounded to Risen snobs who won't even give me the time of day that I actually can't remember the last time I've had a normal conversation. Which just shows how screwed up everything in this world is.

"I listen in on lectures and exams... for some reason they let me. Never hurts to know a bit more about the world, you know?"

I nod silently as we head through the crowded corridor towards the University courtyard... I could use some fresh air after that traumatic examination. She follows me without a word, holding her head up proudly in spite of fact that her exposed mark attracts many eyes and starts quiet, or in some cases not so quiet, conversations about the inferiority of the Insurgents. I feel heat boil up inside me like wildfire, suddenly threatening to consume all my good judgment. Christie however, doesn't give them a second glance. It's only when we start walking through the spacious grounds of the courtyard that she starts talking again.

"Don't let them get to you Andrew. You'll only make it sweeter for them."

"How can it not bother you?" I said, flustered and still boiling, more harshly than she deserved.

She didn't seem to notice , and just curves her lips into a grin as we sit down on a stone bench carved into the outer circle of a large fountain with an angelic sculpture on it's top, spraying water from it's eyes. A literal fountain of tears...

"What makes you think it doesn't?"

"You seem untouched by it, as do a lot of other Insurgent kids. I have no idea how you do it. The very idea of being.. branded that cattle just makes me want to..."

I trail off, unable to finish the sentence without cursing, which I'd like to evade right now. She just shakes her head.

"Hit something? Punch someone right between the horns?"

I nod. Bringing things into perspective, it's stupid to think that I'm the only one of the Insurgent that feels this way. Maybe they're just not as vocal about it.

"Yeah, something like that. It's just... it's just unfair."

It's not till I turn to face her, truly face her and absorb her form with my eyes, that I realize how completely average she looks and is just more beautiful because of it. She's shorter than me but it fits her perfectly. She has just a hint of a wider waistline and strong thighs covered by bleached jeans, crossed one over the other. The sleeves of her plaid shirt are rolled up, showing off her Insurgent mark perfectly, as well as something else I haven't noticed before. Inked into the supple, pale skin of her right forearm is an image of two intertwined roses, one blossoming and one withered. I follow it's curves with my eyes, not able to look away, What does it mean? Is there a story behind it?

We sit there in silence for a while, just looking around the campus, and glancing at each other when we think the other one isn't looking. A few times I catch her trying to open her mouth to say something, but she just purses her lips together seconds after, staying quiet. The silence goes from peaceful to awkward as I struggle finding something interesting or charming to say. Just moments before I open my mouth planning to say something she abruptly gets up, dusting off the back of her jeans for any dirt she gathered from the bench. The wind blows a lock of her hair onto her face and she tucks it back behind her ear. It's amazing how such a simple movement can make my heart skip a beat. But it does.

"I should go. Nice meeting you Andrew..." She turns and start to walk, crossing her hands close to her body to protect herself from the wind. I immediately jump up from my seat and walk up to her, still trying to figure out what so say.

"Wait..."

"I really have to go now..." There's a coldness in her voice I didn't detect before. She isn't even looking at me. Did I do something wrong?

"When can I see you again?" I finally manage to blur out after an awkward pause which involved us staring at each other blankly. Christie bites on her lower lip as if though pondering, and then finally mutters.

"I don't know. I'll find you, alright?" She turns around and walks away with a quicker pace than before, not sticking around for an answer.


I spend most of the day in lectures without really paying attention to what deceptions our Risen professors were blurting out in every single social study class I take. Advanced Human Anatomy was interesting, and Intermediate Physics managed to knock me out of my own head enough to pay attention for a bit. Everything else just dragged on indefinitely while my mind wandered the corridors of the University, searching for long, black hair.

I was so caught up in my thoughts I didn't even notice I'm the only one left in the classroom apart from the professor. The Science of Generality class which had just ended left a hollow space in my head as it always does. I'm told the subject was once called Philosophy, but no one has used that term in centuries.

Quietly and quickly I turn off the recording option on my WWC Pad and scurry to my feet, aiming at the door. Recording of lectures is illegal, as is misuse of technology, but I forgot all my notebooks at home. What I was thinking about this morning, I'll never know.

There used to be a time when technology was used without any restriction. Humans liked the idea of machines and technological inventions so much that they gradually took over our every day activity, and the Humans lived a life of complete leisure and luxury... for a decade or so. What comes after is the single most important lesson in our entire education system: The Twilight Years.

In the year 2047 Earth was struck by the most massive electromagnetic storm the Sun has generated up to date, frying any and all electrical circuits on the face of the planet. The repercussions of this event were far more grim than anyone could predict. Humans were by then so thoroughly dependent on electricity and machines to do every single task in their lives, that taking all that away completely decimated their way of life. There aren't many records of The Twilight Years, and it's not a subject mentioned lightly by anyone, but it's known that it was the most desperate, grim period the entire human species endured, and ended with almost three quarters of the population dying from the conflict that issued, from hunger, disease, or any one of the other hundreds of disasters that occurred in that period. When the dust settled and the people slowly recovered, a universal pact was made. Technology was never to be used so recklessly again. No one wrote this law, no one spoke it, but all adhered to it. For the most important lessons are the ones we learn on the skin of our back.

Just as I touch the door handle and pull it down I hear a voice behind me and I know it must be the professor. He saw me. I'm toast.

"Mister Harris, before you depart I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

I turn around to see the professor sitting at his desk, staring at me with stern eyes tucked behind a frame of thin glass. He motions to the chair in front of his desk and I can't help but feel like I'm sitting down to another exam as I head his way with nothing but a nod.

I sit down, back straight and rigid from fear. Christie was right, I probably do look like someone struck a cactus in me. The Science of Generality professor is so much alike Edward that it sends chills down my spine. They're both middle aged men with cropped hair and stern eyes hidden behind spectacles. Yet, they're so thoroughly different in demeanor, that I slowly start to relax when I catch his gaze. Where as Edward is borderline sadistic , snide and egotistic, this one appears almost ... kind? Now if only I could remember his name.

"Something I can do for you sir?" I blurt out nervously, trying to pretend like I didn't perform anything highly illegal just two minutes ago. To my surprise he simply smiles and starts going through the many folders in the drawer of his desk, finally pulling out a blue file, and opening it on the table. After a detailed inspection of the papers laid in front of him which I struggle to read since for me they're upside down, he tucks them back into the envelope, returns it to the drawer and finally turns to face me.

"I've noticed a rather odd anomaly in you grades, mister Harris. I was hoping perhaps you could shed some light on the situation?" He says with a calm, icy voice, inspecting me with his eyes as if though I'm an experiment. At least he doesn't think I'm a lesser species, like Edward does,

"I didn't know there was one, sir. Anything you mean in particular?" I reply, still trying to extract the professor's name from the back of my head.

"You're barely passing on all your social studies classes, all AC-s or BAC-s and an AV from Theoretical Sociology, while you're getting top marks on most of your other classes. I find this rather odd."

I don't. I've always caught on to things quickly, and even though Advanced General Education - my field of study for the moment, is said to be one of the hardest, since we study everything about anything in general, I've never had trouble studying. Me failing social studies is simply my refusal to learn Risen lies by heart, my own little secret rebellion against the system.. Obviously, I can't say this so, I just blurt out the first lie that comes to my mind.

"Oh. Well.. I'll try to work on that, sir." I just shrug, hoping he will let it go and dismiss me. He doesn't. He continues staring at me, as if though wanting to peel my skin back with only his mind to see what lies underneath.

"Harris, you and I both know this isn't true. You won't, because no Insurgent offspring that managed to become an Advanced Student has ever touched Risen social studies past the passing grade. Why do you think that is?"

I'm not surprised he knows what I am. All the officials do, as Insurgent are all kept on record. He's testing me, just like Edward was, I know it. These Risen will do any single thing they can to keep people like me down. Isn't it enough they've won?

"No sir, I just... haven't had time and am prioritizing other fields.. like your subject, for example." I state calmly. I have an OT- Outstanding in Science of Generality, and thought it would do me good to remind him. Seems it worked.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I can't help but feel like he's shredding back layers one by one with an imaginary scalpel, checking for signs of insubordination and rebellion. He'll find none.

"Are you sure this is the only issue? Prioritizing or not, you choose Advanced General Education, meaning all of your grades are taken into consideration upon your Orientation. You would do well to remember this, Harris."

I nod, not really sure what to say to that. Orientation exists solely for Advanced General Ed. students. After the primary studies we each pick a specific route, and work towards a specific degree, after which we can get jobs and become an integrated gear of the giant machine which is our city. Few Insurgent have obtained the honor of being Advanced Students along with the Risen kids and the exceptional children of the general populace. I need to remember this.

"I'll do my best sir. Can I go now? I have a bus home to catch."

He weaves his hand dismissively at me with a frown and turns his full attention to his papers, without giving me a second glance. Sometimes, being unimportant and invisible has it's perks - they won't bother with you.

I walk outside the classroom calmly but nearly break into a full blown sprint when I see the time on the wall clock on the main hall. I'm late for the bus. Being late means walking home. Walking home means passing through the city and possibly getting stabbed. But worst of all being late to the dorm means missing supper..

My lungs burn and my empty stomach growls as I run through the long corridors of the University, then the courtyard. Every muscle in my legs and arms screams as I push them, but the only thoughts that go into my head is that I really need to run more often...

I reach the bus stop just in time to see the transport vehicle turn around the corner, taking my supper with it leaving only a noxious cloud of exhaust fumes in it's wake.

I curse, bitterly which causes frowns of passersby. Cursing is so.. Insurgent, I think and just grin at them even more. Defeated, I put my hands in the pockets of my jeans and slowly start to walk towards the city, trying not to step in any gunk along the way and just remain as invisible as possible. Nighttime is very dangerous in this part of the metropolis.

Technology might be dangerous but it had it's advantages, or so I've read. People used to live easier, safer lives. You wouldn't have to worry about being shanked in a back alley because everything was lit by neon lights and security robots patrolled every urban area. Before 2047 crime was almost non existent. And then it all went to hell.

As I make my way through the city it gets progressively filthier and darker, and to my distain, more quiet.. I go against my better judgment and take a shortcut through a particularly narrow alleyway. I run across the dimly lit pavement already regretting my decision as I head further into the alley.

A bullet flies above my head and I grind to a complete halt. The blood in my veins freezes as I stand still, paralyzed by fear. I hear footsteps behind me, drawing closer and closer as I struggle to breathe. When did I become such a wimp?

I hear a coarse, sickly voice behind me, but I don't dare to turn around and see who it belongs to.

"Well look at what we 'ave here. An inner city lad, with his fancy clothes and full belly wandering around the outer district?"

My clothes are neither fancy, nor is my belly full of anything other than terror but I dare not speak to defend myself. As much as I despise my life as an Insurgent social outcast, I don't want it to end. Not like this...

The man continues to speak, almost as if I'm not here.

"What's a little Risen brat like you doing' around 'ere? Your papa sent you to check on the Insurgent filth? Or is your little Risen dick just hungry for someone desperate enough?"

I don't hear his speech. Just one simple word he said is enough to jump start my brain again. Insurgent. He's Insurgent. I manage to build up the courage to pull up the sleeve of my right hand quickly, praying that he doesn't just shoot. I expose the snake encircled falcon on my forearm and manage to stutter out.

"Don't shoot! Please..."

I hear commotion behind me but I'm paralyzed once more. What if I'm wrong and he's not Insurgent?What if he really just thinks we're filth? I'm dead.

Neither the bullet nor the pain that I expect to follow suit come however. After a few moments I hear him again, though he sounds less agitated.

"Oh for crying out lout...Turn around you pansy."

I obey and find myself almost face to face with a middle aged man holding me at gunpoint. His face is a mask of pure apathy, his deep blue eyes looking tired and exhausted. He's unkempt, unshaved with black bags under his eyes and smells of cheap liquor. Not exactly my idea of a preferred date in a dark alley. I put my hands up in the air, making sure my mark shows before I try to mutter out a full sentence, barely managing.

"Please sir, I'm just heading home I..."

"Oh put a cork in it." He interrupts me rashly, his gun still pointed at me.

When my brain finally starts working somewhat properly I manage to realize something. This man is far too old to be an Insurgent kid. Most of us are in our twenties, some in their thirties. This guy is at least fifty...

He gives my perplexed gaze little thought and after a few moments of agonizing silence he lowers his gun.

"You're a disgrace to your kind. Coward. You can thank the sacrifice your parents made that I'm not sending you to join them right now, whoever they are. Go on, shoo . And don't come back here again!"

Every fiber of my being says run, every single neuron is already telling my legs to start moving. Yet, something forces me to stand still and defiant. Is it pride? Or stupidity? I can't be sure at this point.

The man eyes me up and down seeming as confused as I am.

"Didn't I tell you to keep moving, you overgrown chicken?"

I still just stand there, still and stubborn, yet I lack the words to express what I am feeling. How am I a disgrace? By trying to make something out of my life which was predetermined to be miserable and pathetic? Alright, so I froze when I heard the gunshot, but who wouldn't? Something tells me he wasn't thinking of that when the told me a coward...

"I am not a coward sir, but I like living.."

He shakes his head, irritated. His gun is still in his hand, and although it's no longer pointed at me just the sight of it tempts me to break into a sprint.

"Doesn't seem like it, since you're still here." His words are threatening, but his tone isn't anymore. He just sounds tired and agitated but I'm more and more and more confident this won't end with me lying on the pavement with a bullet inside my head now, so I keep going.

"I'm not a disgrace. I'm an Advanced Student at the University of..."

"I know what you are!" He interrupts me, and I'm slowly starting to think I should have just walked away. "I can practically smell them on you. You're nothing but a Risen puppet. They'll attach their little strings to you, and make you dance to their tune for the rest of you life. Go back to your puppeteers like the coward you are." he continues with a look of utter disgust on his face.

How could this man know anything about how things work in the city? From the looks of him he hasn't seen a shower in months, maybe years, let along anything else. Something that he said hit a sore spot, like an old wound that never closes. Risen puppet.... Those people want to control every single thing, every action of every man woman and child. They consider free will to be the cause of all of man's troubles, and thus seek to abolish it as much as possible. And the worst part is that they're succeeding...

"I'm not a damn Risen puppet! Nor a coward!" I say suddenly, and perhaps a bit too rashly for my own good. I see his finger twitch on the trigger and immediately regret my decision but it's too late. His moves his massive arm and I find myself starring down a the long, metallic barrel of a gun, pointed straight between my eyes. Before I can even think I hear his voice again, cold and still and even more terrifying than before.

"Prove it."

Prove it how? Give up my studies and go live in a gutter? Go shout out in the streets about how fucking unfair they are? I'm tempted to shake my head and tell him to screw himself, but I'm pretty sure those would be the last words I say if I acted on that impulse.

"Come on, hotshot. Prove you're not a little Risen pansy! Show me there's Insurgent blood in you."

I rarely act on impulse anymore. I've learned to calculate everything I do in my life. Predicate the risks and ensure there are benefits to every action, and if not, just don't do it. But all those little lessons seem to vanish from my head and for the first time in a long time, I just act.

Everything happens in a blink of an eye. I move my right hand and to my amazement manage to shove his away from me, finally getting me off gunpoint after what seems like an eternity. I clench a fist and try thinking of a place to land a punch when I feel dull pain on the center of my face and hear bone cracking. Next moment I'm on the floor and blood is gushing out of my nose. The man shakes off his hand, and to my horror points his gun down at me. This is it, I think, I finally pissed him off enough to kill me. I'm done for.