Not An Ally

It's 3022, a time when the Veil had ceased to exist. The living and dead now intersect, our worlds colliding and mingling in the aftermath of the Collapse.

On that memorable day, the sky lost its clear blue colour and the distinction between day and night vanished. The difference between the sun and moon is the strength of their lights.

The skies now shimmer like cracked glass, letting in strange energies. The scientists call them extradimensional particles, which I think it's ridiculous because these energies don't look like literal particles. They are fully formed like human figures but translucent and their features are funny and sometimes scary.

A global group supported and funded by the UNO (Unity of Nations) calls them ghost currents which is just semantics. But my Nana calls them spirits from the world beyond. I call them anomalies.

The sun is barely up in the sky when I pull on my coat and slip out of our apartment, Nana's voice faintly calling that I must eat something. Foods don't taste as they used to when I was little; the taste is bland, our teeth and brain reminding us they are essential for our survival and nothing more.

Something else has my attention this morning and it's in the concrete tower that once housed my father's science lab.

There are ruins all over the city with very few houses standing firm and intact. My father's tower leans like it could collapse at any moment yet some invisible force keeps it upright. My footsteps echo as I take the stairs to the top floor.

Just then, Cha-hac, my mechanical raven pet who used to be my father's, lands on my shoulder. I stop to look as its titanium head clicks and rolls around in a circle, scanning the area.

“No anomalies,” it reports, chirping between words. “Probability of hostile encounter: seven percent.” I roll my eyes and stroke its head. “You say that every day,” I whisper and grimace as my voice bounces around the tower in rippling echoes.

“Status remains unchanged, Noora,” it replies.

When I reach the top floor, I rush into Father's office adjoining his lab and drop to my knees. Cha-hac flutters from my shoulder to the floor beside me, watching as I crawl on all fours beneath the polished oak desk into an undulating, interdimensional pocket space.

It's tiny, like a swirling vortex. Not anyone can see it unless you're looking closely. I had found it a few days ago and realised that Father hid stuff there. I push a finger into the opening and it shudders, widening to accommodate my petite frame.

Inside this pocket space looks like a storage unit with shelves on both sides. I stretch my hands and grab a glowing relic that looks like a glass jar with a gold lid. A mass of something pulses every three seconds inside like a beating heart.

A folded thick paper slips from the shelf into my hand. Opening it, I read the words written in Father's handwriting - Quantum Archive For Human Consciousness.

I gasp, turning the jar around in my hands. Is my father's consciousness inside?

I hold the relic to my chest and quickly scramble out of the space still on fours into the office when Cha-hac’s shrill screech draws my attention to the fact that I'm not alone.

“Not an ally! Not an ally.”

From under the oak table, all I can see are twelve legs: four belonging to anomalies and eight to humans, and swear. One of the anomalies is holding Cha-hac upside down by its wings while the raven struggles furiously.

“Hand over the Archive or your bird dies,” the other anomaly says, its voice sending goosebumps across my skin as the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end.

I glance at the pocket space as it contracts into a tiny dot, push a finger through it to widen it again and smirk at the strangers. “Catch me if you can,” I say and dive into the pocket space.

In a blink, it closes up behind me.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "not an ally".

Thank you for visiting my blog.

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