Waiting on a Message (From the Archives)

Ele sat staring at her phone, waiting for the text to come in.

Around her, chaos reigned. Her parents, the rulers of their Sector, had been murdered in the night. Somehow, someone had managed to get past the security perimeter. Already, the news was breaking across the Sector, screams rose from the streets as the populace began to fear for their very safety. Who had killed their protectors? Who had killed the very people that were supposed to keep them safe? There were rumours that the Tenth Sector down south had a hand in it, but they were off destroying their own uprisings. Some even suggested that it was Peoe, the Second in Command who would now take executive powers to try and smooth over the power vacuum. There was nothing more dangerous in this world than the lack of power. It was bad enough that there were no resources, no food, and barely any space left on the tiny floating raft which kept them alive.

“It’s so awful,” Ele’s nurse, Jacque said, crying to himself. She let him cry, offering no words of support.

After all, everyone had known what Ele’s parent’s were really like. None had stepped in when the beatings or the verbal abuse had started. Everyone just pretended that it didn’t happen because that was much easier. After all, Ele’s parents were the ones who controlled their entire lives, they couldn’t just ask them to stop.

Ele figured it was the thirst for power that had done them in the end. They had been truly, truly insane, and nothing and no one could convince Ele of otherwise. No fake masks, no matrydom, no matter how much greatness her parents had done for this sector, none of it would ever justify the way they treated her and her siblings.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Jacque didn’t even notice, he was too busy sobbing into his arm. Ele felt pity for him, for his sadness, but she didn’t have the energy to give a fuck about them anymore.

She pressed the screen, which flickered into life. There was a sole message in her inbox.

The money is in your account.

She flicked open the message and tapped a quick message in reply.


She deleted the conversation, before wiping the device entirely. It was an untraceable message, from an untraceable phone, and the people she had been talking were good enough at finding their tracks.

No one would know. No one would even guess.

“It’s so sad,” Jacque wailed from the corner of the room.

I’m free, Ele thought, I am finally free.

First posted in 2017 || Image Credit: Photo by Alice Hampson on Unsplash

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