The Legacy Child

“I need a full detail from here to the destination. I sent Peters to drive the Operations Officer from the conference in Morfon. Did you get the memorandum I forwarded last Friday?

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you think of it?”

“It was good, sir.”

The two men walked along side the beige wallpaper that plastered the dimly lit hallway. With a pace that rivaled the speed of the thoughts that entered and exited their minds, the two men passed the seemingly unending stretch of lifeless office doors that justly opened to their bloodless owners...

“Ok. Great. We’ll present it along side the innovation prints. How long do you think it will take us to get there?”

“Approximately thirteen minutes, sir.”

...until the pattern of partially lit green LEDs that provided anemic backlight for the exit sign was within their line of sight.

“Good.”


In three black Escalades that resembled a presidential motorcade, Ward Michaels and his skin-tight security unit drove away from the brick-red driveway and approached the city limits. Around Third Street, crossing Fifth, past Sixth. By the time they reached Sixteenth Street it seemed as if no time had passed. Looking down at his notebook, Ward was suddenly pulled by the gravity of what was soon to come. Rarely has he had time to think, let alone be stopped on the tracks of progress by the grinding brakes of intimidation.

“Draug, may you please pour me a cup of root?”

Always focusing on the task at hand, looking back at his accomplishments was as foreign as the very ideas he had laboured to implement since his first grasp of the corporate ladder. Images of his parents dashed through his mind, their voices echoing from the memories they emerged from. Voices. A stretching campaign they had embarked, for the promise of light seemed far too enticing to ignore. Eradicated.

One foot followed the other, locked entrances opening merely at the sound of his footsteps, corridors lined with demons and angels alike, steps linking to one another with such exigency that the stage itself hypothesized what could cause such commotion.

Soon it will recognize what it has been far too oblivious of.

“Ladies and gentlemen. I am truly humbled and honored that I have been granted the opportunity to open WWDC in such an amazing venue. We have loads of features and gadgets to uncover for you guys so without further or due, lets get this show started!”

As the curtains slowly peeled to the sides of the stage, the projector screen displayed a video constructed by the marketing team. Every single pixel, reserving hues of green. Each and every strand of light blasted from the dust ridden projector harmoniously wove together, curating images of millennials prancing through fields of perfectly trimmed grass. Running, running, lovers, lovers running. Gold stalks of wheat brushing the face of optimism with every pass of a capering teenager. The video followed the same motif throughout. The viewers stared up at the screen, all with the same expression of amazement. Eyes glistening and locked. Not one so-called human being interrupted their gaze. Every male, female. Young, old. All five hundred thirty two, frozen in time. Comparable to sheep, but a select few found little in the way of a snack.

Scanning across the sea of bodies, Ward took notice of a razor. The suit cut through every mundane, insipid being in the entire auditorium. Accents of juniper illuminating carefully stitched seams split the herd. An unimaginable gradient, formed between the stainless white dress shirt and creaseless pants, accompanied leather shoes so soft yet rugged, that one could only obtain such a medium from the depths of the savannah. Ward took the left exit from the stage and walked up the side aisle. He swiftly sat by the torch that had warmed his appetite for a conversion, looked to his right, and engaged.

“Ramona, how on Earth do you manage to stay so youthful?”
“Why, you think I’m old?”
“Well, the news wouldn’t stop talking about your birthday after the IPO story died”
“You didn’t expect me to depart before seeing the most highly anticipated release of the year, now did you?
“Well it’s only February, so I think others have more than enough time to battle me out”
“All the more reason to be impressed. Only a handful can compete with the future.”
“I must say, you haven’t lost your touch for flattery. Can you be anymor-”

Bending down to reach for a lunch bag, Ramona unintendedly cut the string of words coming from Ward’s mouth.
“Oh, I truly apologize. Age has got the best of me. I have to take this quick shot for my diabetes, so I have to run, or rather walk, to the bathroom. You gave me the best small talk any sixty year old could ask for. TTYL, as the kids say these days.”

Before giving Ward a chance to return an equally dry humoured response, Ramona walked up the auditorium aisle and disappeared. By the time he turned towards the stage, the screen was blank. The introduction video had been over for quite a long time. Ward missed his cue to talk, but his track years had yet to fail him. Sprinting past snickering maestro’s of technology, Ward reached the stage and hurdled over the short flight of steps.

“Well, it looks like rehearsal wasn’t too helpful.”

The crowd’s soft snickering became a roaring release of laughter. After the humoured mass of cotton began to settle down, Ward continued his bit.

“Since I’m obviously not in any position to be presenting anything of importance, I will duly hand it over to my friend and colleague, Matt Newman.”

A spattering of chuckles filled the duration between Ward’s exit off stage and the beginning of Matt’s segment.

“Ward obviously has no intent of speaking for more than ten seconds, but I think…”

Ward walked backstage until the murmurs of Matt and his entertained enthusiasts were morphed into an ensemble for the events that were to unfold. He looked around him and saw black bars lining the ceiling above him and ladders used to place stage lights. He walked down the short hallway and met a towering figure.

“Draug, make sure no one gets past this point.”
“Yes sir.”

After unbuttoning his jacket and dress shirt, Ward went into the bathroom behind the impromptu checkpoint he had set up. He placed his jacket and shirt on the chair by the sink. For ten minutes he stared at himself. Never questioning the immediate response of the mirror. Satisfied, he washed his face. Cleansing it. Watching each impurity pollute the once youthful, crystal water that poured from the crimson marble faucet.

Ward walked out from his green room and took a sharp right turn. Wearing just his white undershirt, loose scarlet pajamas, and olive sleeping slippers, he opened the back door that led to the desolate parking lot. The very second his foot transitioned from the grey carpet to the warm, wet stone, drops of murky moisture suspended in the dense air drenched the tips of every parched thread peeking from his wilted skin. Ward walked past flickering parking lights, whose existence would be nothing short of futile had they not awaited his arrival. Fastened on the virescent ground of a tunneling jungle infused with prosaic concrete, continuous pillars of incandescence erratically paved Ward’s passage. Raiding the atmosphere for each breath, an aura of enmity counteracted every contraction of the lungs by excerpting what little moisture his body had possessed.

Once his car was within his line of sight, Ward approached the trunk. A green sticky note reading, “Thanks. - Lu”, was placed on top of the trunk of his sedan. Ward peeled off the note and unlocked the trunk door. On the floor of his trunk laid a small suitcase guarded by a padlock on the locker combination. Ward cycled through his keychain until he landed on his house keys. He slid the key through the lock, turned it to the left, and pulled it back out. One by one his fingers turned the rolls of the combination lock, each click promising access to his mortgage, food, and gas. But the climactic ticks provided something infinitely more valuable than the very air he slaved for.

Power.

One and a half feet in width, one and a half feet in length, one foot in height, four columns, four rows. All one hundred dollar bills.


“The nation was in shock this morning with the news of Ramona Wallace’s death. The revolutionary entrepreneur passed away just one week after her sixtieth birthday. Investigators have not yet determined the cause of her death but most believe….”