The Rejected - Episode 1 of 9 (Urban Fantasy Dystopian Serial)

  Chapter 6

  “Stop right there!” He’s chasing me. I run as fast as my legs can carry me down the street. Its dark outside but I can still recognize that he wears a sector guard uniform. I can only see the lips and nose of my pursuer because he’s wearing a hat that makes a dark shadow over his eyes. His baton is in one hand and he clutches a grenade in the other. They do nothing to slow him down though. The officer is clearly shetani and he is enjoying himself as I flee in fright. I pause to catch my breath and he smiles because he is gaining on me.

  “Please, I’m innocent.” I plead. I try to explain, hoping for mercy but he swings his baton in my direction. I increase my speed. There is no reasoning with this one. Why doesn’t he throw the grenade at me?

  I can’t keep running indefinitely, I need somewhere to hide. I approach the sumudral and breathe a sigh of relief. No one would dare to violate a sumudral. At least I am safe here. I started in its direction.

  My last hope.

  I hear a shuffling sound and turn around to see the officer pulling the pin of the grenade.

  “No wait!” I yell.

  He moves quickly hurling the grenade to exactly where I was headed. A few seconds later, a deafening “boom” invades my ears and a burst of bright color capture my eyes. I am jerked backward by the powerful blast of the explosion. The sumudral is engulfed in furious flames.

  I wake up grabbing my sheets and shielding myself. This is strange. I hardly ever remember my dreams. They are becoming more and more vivid with the progression of time. This one is particularly jarring. I remember my therapist saying that my anxiety affects my thoughts and therefore my dreams. So they may be due to these recent emotional disturbances in my life.

  It has been a week and I still can’t shake the Rafferty incident.

  Nanny didn’t ask any questions when I came home early that day. She just came up to my room with a cup of chamomile tea. There is no way she could have known what I went through but she still comforted me as if she was aware of my problem. Grandmother’s intuition I guess.

  Natasha wanted to wring his neck when I told her what happened. I had no doubt that she would, if I hadn’t talked her out of it. I didn’t need any more trouble. Fortunately the psycho took some time off because I wasn’t sure I could face him without an emotional outburst. I guess he is still embarrassed because of how Adrian roughed him up and foiled his plans to get me fired.

  Adrian, my very own bipolar super-hero. When he’s not badgering me at conferences, he’s protecting me from Rafferty and treating me graciously. I never saw him again after that day. Did he just suddenly lose interest in my software because of what happened? Why did he believe me and then decide to stand up for me? Natasha is so much better at this stuff than I am. I get a lot of information about the opposite sex from her as I’ve never been in a relationship myself.

  Sure men would holler at me from time to time, but none of them ever caught my attention. Probably for the best, I doubt I’d be able to look them in the eye and talk to them without stuttering like an idiot in any case. It wasn’t that way with Adrian though. When I spoke to him the last time it felt as if he knew more about me than I did myself. Like I didn’t have a lot of explaining to do. He sees and understands.

  I cringe thinking about how he saw me with my shirt unbuttoned. I am scheduled to have a meeting with him soon. I don’t want to be that fragile, timid girl anymore. I need to show Claudette and everyone else that I am capable. And I will.

  I will practice more of the exercises, Esther outlined. I’ve also been researching my condition and some of the ways they are treated. Cognitive behavioral therapy seemed like the most logical one. I could recognize a few traits of its model in Esther exercises. Basically I need to challenge my beliefs about myself and others. As well as gradually give myself exposure to the situations that cause my fear.

  I’m tired of living like this, I have to try something.

  Today members of the Sumu faith fellowship at sumudrals all over our country. It’s the most popular religion of Kuzimu. The Amani religion was outlawed about a decade ago when the rebel attacks started. Loving everyone, including our enemies, as well as always being meek and obeying authority are some of the main tenets of the sumu faith.

  My grandmother attends services three times per week. I only make an appearance on Sunday. I think the service today will do me good, based on the recent upsetting events in my life. I enjoy speaking to Father Lamont because he is full of wisdom and I value his advice. The music of the choir would always make me feel better. I usually take a few pills before attending sumudral to calm my nerves and socialize better but I decide against it. So far I have been doing fine without the pills. In fact I find myself assessing situations more clearly. I’m able to focus more.

  I get up, and make up my bed. I select my favorite sapphire blue dress with the capped sleep, V-neckline and a ruched waist. My sliver accessories would go nicely with it.

  I take a bath, get dressed and head downstairs. Nanny must be still in her room; this is a first. Usually my grandmother is up before the first thread of sunlight. I check her room and she is not there but there is a note on the mirror with my name as the heading.

  Sapphire

  I left for the sumudral early today. No need to come this Sunday. Get some rest.

  Nanny

  Since when is Nanny encouraging me to rest. She’s usually bickering about my lack of enthusiasm as a housekeeper. I would much rather do coding and surf the Internet than bake pies and scrub floors.

  ‘How you expect to get husband if you can’t keep house? This generation of women today!’ She would say in rebuke. She would give me a long list of weekend chores including polishing her wooden furniture and dusting her wide selection of cat ornaments. Protesting was entirely out of the question so I made my peace with it years ago. I actually came to enjoy these tasks and did them without her having to ask most of the time. Nanny never believed in those frozen dinners everyone else ate so she would not let me rest until she was sure I learnt how to cook.

  A shout interrupts my thoughts. I grew accustomed to these particular cries. I could recognize my mother’s crazed and tortured screams anywhere. She came in drunk last night according to her normal routine. Thankfully she managed to reach the bed on her own. Maybe she isn’t as drunk as she usually is.

  “Oh Lord no!” she groaned. “Why you chasing me?” It seems this dream of being chased is more popular than I thought.

  “No wait!” She shrieks.

  “Wait no, it’s a sumudral. No!” This got my attention, I run to my mother’s bedroom.

  “Fire… Fire!”

  I shake her. “Ma? Ma? Wake up, you were having a nightmare.”

  It was eight thirty so more like a day-mare but who’s counting. I shake her some more. She opens her eyes but it takes her a while to identify where she is and who I am. She looks around the messy bedroom. She’s disoriented and tired but she lifts her hands and points to her bottle of rum. It hurt me to see my mother so troubled. I know she wants the dreams to stop. I think maybe I should tell her about my dreams. Perhaps it could help her and she wouldn’t be so troubled by them.

  “What was your dream about?” She is immediately distant. I could never get answers from her when she is this sober. “What do I have to do to get some answers around here?” I am really tired of the secrets.

  “I knew we should never have named you Sapphire,” she is staring blankly at the window. She turns away to hold my gaze. “You’re more of a rebel than she is.”

  “You’re not making sense mo-”

  “Give it time. You’ll see.”