On Cloud Nine

by Laura Mackenzie
(London, England)

“Cloud-Nine Amusement Centre” was the largest and most developed shopping mall in the whole of London. Located in the centre of the city, it stood one quarter of a mile wide and half a mile tall. The large sign that hung above the entrance read in white cursive script – “Cloud-Nine Amusement Centre- open 24/7 so that the fun never has to stop”
Besides the slogan lounged a grinning, over- fed cherub, holding in his right hand a burger, and in the left a games console. At night, both the cherub and the slogan light up, the brightness was adjusted so that any one within a 3- mile radius could read the sign.

When the consumer entered the centre, they would be approached by the minimum of six advertisers, the common word being “heralds”. The consumer must walk down a narrow corridor before entering the main area. This corridor was lined with heralds and with screens displaying photographic slideshows of products to be bought within the centre. Before the consumer is allowed through security, and into the Centre, they must watch a 15-mineut motion picture, in the small cinema at the end of the corridor. This motion picture is made up entirely of short clips, “testimonies”, the previously used word, commercial.

The Could Nine amusement centre contains, 453 shops, 2 ice rinks, 1 small theme park, 2 games arcades, 5 simulators, 4 cinemas, 1 swimming pool, and 120 “Fun-Food Restaurants”.

And it is in one of these restaurants that a group of 5 adolescent female consumers, decided to visit to “Re-energise”. Their particular choice being “Sunshine- Services”, a popular choice amongst adolescents, known to serve the food with the best “buzz”, for the lowest prices.
The employers are also especially chirpy.

The consumers ordered, their “Fun-Food”. Milkshakes. Three Strawberry, two Banana. Burgers. Three chicken, two mince.
Five fun-fries, with extra Buzz.
Of course every, meal came with the consumers’ daily dosage of medication.

The girls talked excitably amongst them selves as they wait for their meals. The tallest girl has turned 18 that day, and she is reciting a list of items she has received that morning. Her friends responded appropriately to each item.

They received their food within a matter of minutes. The Servicer behind the counter, handed them the tray, and delivered the Slogan, along with a perfect, white smile. The Servicer, was a picture of health, with glowing bronze skin, shining hair and bright eyes. She was immaculately dressed in the Sunshine uniform, with a plastic band running round her neck. The band has text on it. It reads “Servicer: Nema”.

Coincidently it is also Nema’s 18th birthday. But she did not receive any items. She received no cards or from her family or friends. Because Nema is not a consumer. She is a surplus.

Since the year 2030, England’s population had increased by 600%.
There was overcrowding in every public place, there was an extreme lack of housing and food prices had rocketed. In reaction, the government came up with the “One Child Law”, the rule that couples may only have one child, if they have more, the parents must serve 20 years in prison and the child becomes Government property, it becomes a Surplus.

Bracing herself against the chill air, Nema pulled a small bottle of anti-septic lotion out of her apron pocket, and let its contents soak into the yellow cleaning rag she held. She held the rag against the deep + -shaped wound on her upper arm and winced. She had been Branded for two months now, but the wound refused to heal.

A muscular, dark-haired woman, in her early thirties, stepped out the back door of the restaurant into the narrow alleyway were Nema was standing. She held a lit cigarette in one hand and her hair was scraped back into a tight bun. She wore the senior manager’s uniform. Her name was Mrs Simpson, an Nema despised her.

Seeing Nema immediately, Mrs Simpson pulled back her teeth to reveal a threatening snarl
“Come here rat”
Nema obeyed, keeping her head bowed, to make eye-contact with consumers was seen as insolent.
“Just what do you think you think you’re doing loitering about in alleyways, cockroach?”
“my lunch break starts at 12:00….”
“And what is the time now?”
“11:58”
“Exactly”
“But Mrs Simpson..”
“ Listen closely, you piece of filth. You don’t deserve the luxury of time, you shouldn’t even have been allowed to live. In my opinion, they should have drowned you and all the other half-breeds, the moment you were born. The fact that I have to walk on the same ground as you, breath the same air as you, makes me sick to my core…what’s this?”
Mrs Simpson pulled out the bottle of antiseptic lotion from Nema’s apron
“It’s for my arm, it was hurting”
Mrs Simpson looked at Nema for a long moment, her eyes hard. The seconds marched by, enormous. Then with one slow deliberate movement, she took her cigarette, and pressed it, hard into Nema’s cut.
Nema screamed out and tried to pull away , but Mrs Simpson held her arm firmly and pushed the cigarette in further. There was a hissing noise and the sound of burning flesh.
Mrs Simpson released Nema, and she fell to the ground, clutching her arm and moaning”.
“Now child, what are you?”
Nema looked up, her arm was oozing blood, tears ran down her gaunt face. Her voice was a whisper
“I am nothing”