these bountiful silences

i. hazard

Then again, it's quiet everywhere. Everyone is constantly saving their words for something bigger, better, and more important for later on in the twenty-four hours. It's quite nerve-wracking, the seconds before someone decides to say something, there's always this merciless mantra of questions that evades Harry's mind before he says something that can be accurately summarized in one inquisition: is this word worth it?

He had swallowed over the nerves that were forming in his throat and walked over to the third cube, a tight smile sitting stiffly on his lips, almost like he was trying to silently get across that he's not trying to cause any harm, and to please disregard him. He feels like there's a red target always sitting between his shoulder blades; warning everyone else that he was the brother of an Unconformist, and shouldn't be trusted. A door he didn't notice slid open as he neared the cube, and a petite woman with her hair pulled out of her face smiled at him tightly. Everything is so tight, cold, and cryptic, Harry noted as he stepped into the cube.

"Hello," she said, her pleasant smile vanished as she unfolded her hands so that they could hover over a sleek, new scribe; a model of the tech that he'd never even seen before. "Your name?"

He cleared his throat and she readied her fingers over the keyboard. "Styles," he said.

The woman blinked at him, but didn't press down on the keys like Harry expected she would. Instead, she just folded her hands back over the desk and smiled, less coldly now. He heard the door whoosh behind him as it shut. He shivered.

"Mr. Styles," she said. One of her fingers were clicking against the desk in a sporadic beat. "I've been expecting you."

Me? He wanted to ask. He didn't, though. His bracelet already read 03, and it made him anxious.

"You already have an occupation assigned to your name," she asserted.

But I haven't even been screened... How do you know what fits me best? He felt like crying. This isn't what he was told would happen.

"You should be very grateful, Mr. Styles," she said. The glass door opened behind him once again, and he could feel the air leaking in from the lobby brushing the nape of his neck. He felt like the air purifier was mocking him with its steady humming.

He nodded, because who was he to fight anything that someone in white told him?

"Your Superior will explain everything," she stood up briskly and held out her gloved hand. He shook it slowly. His mind was racing because nothing was making sense; she had only asked him one question. "Have a good day."

His only thought as he had left the cube and walked to where his Superior was standing beside the exit was the low voice of the television announcer's voice declaring, "This is our lives now.'"

;;

"Mister Harry, do you know what my favorite color is?" Lux asks. A stray piece of her blonde hair is falling in her eyes. She doesn't pay it any mind, though, so he doesn't either.

Harry leans forward, elbows resting on his desk, shaking his head slowly. He lets a smile take over his face, and the small girl stands on her toes so that she can look properly over the white surface.

"It's grey," she whispers, eyes blown with excitement, almost as if she's buzzing with excitement because she's just shared a life changing secret.

He raises one eyebrow, nodding for her to go on.

"My mum say it's undeshined," she tells him, "that it doesn't fit in anywhere, but it's weird without it."

"Undefined," Harry corrects. His bracelet number is '02' now. There are still a few hours before sunset and he can be sent home from work.