To Perceive an Image

Twenty: Images of Unforeseen Kindness

Maryanland, September 19, 2040, 7:27 AM

After yesterday's fiasco, I suggested to Flynn that going back to the Image World to have a breather would be the best option. The guy will commit arson if he stays here for much longer. But there are some questions that I've been dying to ask him.

How does the Image World affect the whole 'freeze your age' thing'?

Why does the projector hold such importance, and why did it exist in the first place?

Why are his tattoos so damn attractive?

Wait, that doesn't fit this context.

Jokes aside, the first two questions have been nagging me for a while. I don't want to assume, but part of me doesn't think that the age extravaganza ended in that short sentence he told me. There has to be more to it. Say his age did freeze at twenty, wouldn't that mean that he had been born much earlier? You know what, forget it. I will not give myself a headache and will wait for his response.

Although the headache likes to play cat and mouse and continues to chase me. I'm the mouse, and the personified headache comes in the shape of a grown woman named Anna.

I'm at the staff lounge, making Doctor Mohammad the coffee he asked for. I'd never do this for anyone else, but he's the exception. We both share a dislike toward Anna, but he's the one assuming she'll poison his drink if he asks her to make it. His words, not mine. And because of that, we've become each other's coffee assistants.

From the corner of my eye, I see Anna leave the lounge to go who knows where. As I multi-task mixing the sugar in the coffee as I scroll through my phone, I hear a sniffle. Furrowing my eyebrows, I look up from the dim screen and search for the crying culprit. My eyes land on our new coworker, who Doctor Mohammad informed me goes by Jaclyn. She sits in a chair placed away from the door, and people's curious gazes. A rolled-up tissue in her lap, another in her hand, wiping her tears. I run down the list of things that could be the reason for her tears, but all that leads me to do is recall my sad home life. Never mind, forget comforting her, might as well join her sob session.

Sobs rake through her, and genuine concern for her has me say, "I can get you someone to speak with if you want to talk it out."

Fuck asking somebody if they're okay. If you see someone crying, of course, they're not okay.

Sniffling a bit more, she gives me the kindest smile ever given to me by a member of Anna's group. "It's fine, honey. Thank you," she says, nodding her head in appreciation. What a soft voice she has. I return her smile before wiping it away when I hear Anna and two of her bitches come in. They're her bitches, so I'm not wrong. Cue resting face and emotionless eyes.

"My gosh! Jaclyn's crying," Grace shouts, bursting out in a high-pitched laugh. What a fake ass laugh, holy shit. I need to get my ears checked after that. I fear her laugh damaged one of my drums.

At that, the other two burst out laughing as well. I don't know what they're finding so funny about someone crying.

"You're crying about that? What a sensitive wussy you are," Maria wheezes.

My heart clenches when I look at Jaclyn, who looks nothing short of in despair and humiliation. I can't let this continue. Even if I don't know Jaclyn that well, I won't let them humiliate someone like that to satisfy their sick pleasure.

"Leave her alone," I deadpan, giving each of them a glare.

In less than a second, their laughter ceases. Maria must've felt too indulged in the bully's bravery when she spoke up first. "What, miss father killer?" Boo hoo bitch, what are you five years old? Scratch that because children can come up with insults more brutal than hers at that age.