Late

Jerald was late again. The woman who worked at the bakery had decided to talk to him today. A gentle toss of her curly blonde hair and a small pull at the corner of her lip left him entranced. After an hour of discussing the trivialities of working among a multitude of temptations, he heard the town clock strike 7:00p.m.

Darkness consumed the cobblestone sidewalk. Once out of range of the very few street lamps in the city, his feet disappeared into darkness. He didn’t worry however, the slap of his oxfords against stone reassured him of his existence.

The dark orange hues of the street lamps encompassed enough space to brighten two adjacent buildings, a small section of the sidewalk, and part of the road – also made of cobblestone. No cars were out at this time of night. The curfew had restricted all vehicular transportation after five and pedestrians were given until 5:30 to return home from work. It was well past 7:00; he would be lucky not to get caught.

Jerald’s walk home after work rarely changed. At 4:00 he snuck out early; working at a sales company was so dull, his boss left at noon; there was no incentive to stay longer, other than the faint possibility of a promotion. After work he would hurry to the bakery and order a freshly brewed cup of hot chocolate, and a croissant. The croissants at the bakery were fluffy enough on the inside to soak up every sweet ounce of the hot chocolate, and baked enough on the outside to produce hazel-colored flakes which elicited a nostalgic feeling in Jerald. Even if the luscious Lucille – the name of the Jerald’s crush – wouldn’t approach him, the food and drink were enough to bring light to the darkest of his days. And working in sales, you were forced to interact with loads of infuriating morons.

After an hour of building up courage to talk to Lucille, and instead filling his head with doubt and self-loathing, Jerald would walk home and arrive at exactly 5:30p.m. He was never late and never early. He arrived to his cramped apartment at the same time every day.

Today, Jerald was both excited,  and panicking. The nightwatchers had driven by only two times so far, but Jerald had been fortunate enough that both times he was next to an alley. Crouched behind a trash can he watched as the black car slowly crept by. The nightwatchers were the equivalent of the daywalkers, men dressed in blue who upheld the law, but Jerald had never seen a nightwalker. In fact, he knew not one person who had seen a nightwatcher. Greg from accounting had once boasted that he had been stopped one night for breaking curfew. According to Greg they had thought he was really cool and offered to bring him around the city and even offered him a beer; Jerald hated Greg. He spat on the sidewalk and pretended it was Greg.

He was about 10 minutes from home when he heard the screech of tires behind him. Jerald whipped his body around, ready to see a car as black as the night behind him. Instead, a cherry red sports car hurtled towards him. The bright lights blinded him and he shielded himself with his arms. The roar of the car grew louder. Any second and they would pass by. Who would dare to drive so late at night? It was rumored that the penalty for breaking curfew was severe. Whoever is speeding down the bumpy road so late at night was probably lazy and deserved to get caught, Jerald thought. People who believe they are above the law should be punished and taught a lesson. How else will society run smoothly and efficiently?

As the car flew by, Jerald was struck in the leg by a round object. He winced and grabbed his leg. Pulling up the sleeve of his pant leg, he checked for any serious injuries. There was neither a bruise nor a cut anywhere on his leg, although Jerald assured himself the attack would result in a nasty bruise the following morning.

With his body intact, Jerald combed the sidewalk for the object the driver had thrown at him. No street lamps were close by, making it almost impossible to see the ground. A nagging curiosity and anger pushed Jerald to search for the object. Perhaps the discovery would result in an interesting find he could show Lucille the next day? With the thought of impressing Lucille, he slowly pushed around with his feet until they struck what he thought must be the object. He bent down and picked it up. Soft velvet caressed his hands. Cold metal burnt his wrist as he pulled it up, causing him to almost drop the object. It wasn’t very heavy, weighing almost as much as his flip phone. As light finally struck the object, he noticed its round figure. It took him a minute to realize what it was: a purse.

Jerald felt a small lump inside. He released the metal clasp and dug his hand inside. From the purse he drew a rectangular, metallic flash drive, but not just any metal, the flash drive was layered in gold. Never before had Jerald seen such a thing. He held it towards the light and twisted and turned the rectangle in his hand. He marveled at how secure and strong it felt. Reliability and security oozed from the flash drive.

The light hit a dent in the flash drive. Jerald pulled it in front of his eyes and examined it. Could such a sturdy product really be dented? He worried. But the dent was not deep, in fact it wasn’t a dent. It was a symbol which had been embossed on the flash drive. One circle inside of a rectangle inside of a triangle, the symbol of the government. This begged many questions, questions he felt he needed to answer immediately. With a heightened sense of urgency Jerald sprinted home, nearly tripping several times on the uneven sidewalk.

Jerald whipped a copper key out of his pocket and plunged it inside the decrepit door to his apartment building. Up three stairs he flew. The flickering light caused him to slip on the stairs and bash his knee against the stair, but he ignored the pain and surged upwards. With the copper key still in his hand, he plunged it once more into a similarly aged door. The creak of the door hinges echoed through the stairwell, soon accompanied by the crash of the door being slammed shut.

The brightness of in his room shocked Jerald; he had grown accustomed to the darkness outside. Upon his recovery, he bolted to his cubed computer and turned it on. The empty screen jumped to life. A cartoon man in a blue jumpsuit popped onto the screen. He held out a thumbs up and stretched a wide smile on his face. Below in dark red colors sat the letter WAIT. After a minute the man was replaced by an empty screen. In the top right corner there was a magnifying glass. This could be used to search information on the weather or events nearby; other than that it was useless. In fact, Jerald never used his computer. His computer was the greatest waste of his time. If he wished to be entertained he would either turn on the tele or go out to a sports game. Since Jerald never was quite skilled at sports, he always chose to watch one of the three channels provided with his tele. It was rumored governing officials received more but he had never heard what they contained.

Jerald grabbed at his pocket and retrieved the purse. Once again he unearthed the flash drive and plugged it into the side of the computer. Immediately the screen turned grey, and then, the video began.

The camera was pointed at three men in front of a smashed building. Jerald recognized it just as easily as he recognized the three men. The building he had seen for most of his childhood. It was his elementary school. A statue of a turtle sporting a backpack gave it away immediately. Terrorists had destroyed it last year and had caused his country to declare war. The three men frequently appeared on the news. The man with the round spectacles was Herald Archer, second in command under Fred Dunce. Fred Dunce was the leader of the nation. Jerald had always admired the leader for his courage in the wake of the new terror threat.

Next to the two officials stood a third man, more burly than either of them, and with considerably more facial hair. A long beard covered the bottom half of his face. Both Fred and Herald had small mustaches that barely reached the edges of their lips. The burly man had appeared on the news more frequently in the past months. He was known as the Colonel – Jerald never remembered his name.

The camera was close enough to hear their voices as they spoke.

“Well it should be enough to startle the country,” said Fred.

“Supreme Chancellor, are you sure this was necessary? What if people don’t believe this was caused by the terrorists?” asked Herald.

“That’s why we have the Colonel here.” He turned to the colonel as he said this. “Will you be able to extract evidence from one of the prisoners you have locked up?”

The colonel’s beard ruffled as a grin stretched across the big man’s face “After my men are through with him, he’ll say whatever we tell him to.”

“And you’re sure there’s no way this can get linked back to us?” Worry lines rippled across the spectacled man’s forehead.

“Will you relax, Herald? The entire country will be too enraged with what happened here to dig too deep and do any real fact checking.”

Fred patted Herald on the back, causing the man’s spectacles to fly off his nose. The video stopped abruptly and turned to black. Jerald sat at the computer. His bottom lip hung open. A flash of white exploded on the screen and millions of files labeled confidential streamed on the screen. The words dropped down the screen too quickly for Jerald to read it all, but he managed to catch a few words here and there. Words such as necessary, imminent, suppression, riot, and control stuck in his mind. He was about to turn off his computer when the flow of words stopped and the picture of a small laced shoe lathered with blood appeared on the screen. The shoe was black and white, except for the spurts of blood covering most of the shoe. Rubble and battered blocks of concrete, also spotted with blood, surrounded the shoe. There was no foot attached, and Jerald was both relieved and horrified that the owner was no longer wearing it.

The pointer finger on his hand jumped for the power button and the image was replaced with a wall of darkness. Jerald sat back in his chair and didn’t move.

Light emerged from his only window, signaling the start of another workday. He couldn’t find the energy to move. All he could see was the smug face on the colonel, and the satisfied grin of the chancellor. He looked at the golden flash drive still embedded in the side of his computer. Jerald jumped up and snatched the flash drive. He rushed over to the corner of his apartment with his kitchen and grabbed a small hammer. With one swift motion he dropped the flash drive and smashed it. Shards of gold erupted from underneath the metal hammer. Inside, the jumbled up pieces of machinery jutted out at odd angles. Jerald scooped up the remains with one hand and carried them to the open trash can. With a grunt he threw in the rest of the flash drive. The crash of metal of junk reverberated throughout the apartment. He stooped down, picked up the bag, and tied the top into a knot. The white trash bag hung from his hand, but he didn’t know what to do with it now. Trash had been thrown out two days ago. The next trash day wasn’t for another five days. The possibility of leaving it outside was enticing, but he didn’t want to seem too suspicious. He also didn’t want the bag in his room. To have that kind of evidence here was far too dangerous. He scanned the room, looking for a hiding place. There were very few cupboards in his room. And even fewer closets or doors. His eyes rested on his bed.

The light grey bed rested a couple inches off of the ground, thanks to a rectangular board he had constructed out of a shelve he had found no more use for. Jerald rushed to the bed and lifted it with both hands. The weight was immense and Jerald had trouble holding it long enough to push the trash bag underneath. Once out of sight, he dropped the bed and plummeted to the floor himself. Gasping for air, he lay on the floor. The cracked spider web of his ceiling stared back at him. He had always hated spiders.

The seven chimes of the town bell rang loud and clear, signaling the end of curfew and the beginning of the workday. Jerald hopped off the ground and rushed out the front door. The decaying wood and ancient hinges screamed shut behind him.

As he shuffled down the stairs, the memory of last night sunk deep into his brain and drifted away from thought. Whatever had been on that flash drive was gone now; it no longer existed. Today he would return to work and put his head down until three, and then he would rush to see Lucille. The thought of homemade hot chocolate brought saliva to his lips. Jerald shuddered with anticipation and dashed out of his apartment. Above reigned a blood red sky from the east beating down the light blue remnants of the night. School bus yellow, construction cone orange, and stop sign red overwhelmed the morning sky. Soon there would be no blue left to gaze at, and then the heat of the sun would rush at the citizens of the city. Night was gone; today was a new day.