PROSE
WHAT ON XXX IS A CROWD DISEASE? by point zero
Sesani, Adithi
Instead of the identical, prison-like jumpsuits you’d probably expect when first learning about XXX’s existence, everyone here is dressed in casual sweatpants and a long sleeved T-shirt, each person’s outfit in a single, near blindingly bright shade of the rainbow to match their hair—which is not a style choice, of course. The distribution of each color is prearranged, lines of violet, yellow, and red snaking through groups of color, and something tells me that if I were to look at this from an aerial standpoint, the outfits would form some kind of written message. The entire planet would. As we make our way to the night section, each person stepping mechanically into the footprints molded into the sludge in front of them, I stop short, and so does everyone else, when I spot an aberrance only a few paces away. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask quietly, emphasizing each syllable. My words are directed at the person with the audacity to try to secure four prints at once, emphasizing each syllable.
They slowly turn around, indigo curls swaying in front of their wide, childish eyeballs. I should really start enforcing those mandatory hair length requirements I drafted earlier, because that is really pissing me off. “I was feeling a little stifled, y’ know?” they squeak, looking as though they actually think I know what they’re whining about. “I kinda just wanted a little more—” Ugh. I thought we rooted these out months ago, but there’s a day section to everything. Before they can say more, I pull an xxz out of a hidden pocket in my lime colored pants. In a flash, they and a few others unfortunate enough to have been near them are *poof* gone. Like magic, others are beamed in from the other side to take their place, stepping in what they think is achromic sludge, but is actually all that remains of Aberrant & Company. Talk about the circle of life. “So,” I say, still quietly, but now towards the entire mass of people, “we’ve almost made it. We’re almost there!” I know they heard me, because something in XXX’s
atmosphere carries sound waves like nothing else can. That’s probably the reason why there’s no verbal response. Still, you can tell that they’re happy about it, just from the way their eyebrows rise and their mouths twitch. Honestly, I am such an intellectual. All you have to do is give the right people goals and they’ll try to achieve them, with no questions or even so much as a disturbance. “Hey!” yet another indigo nearby—probably also on their twelfth or thirteenth passage by the looks of them—shouts, tripping over a red when they somehow accidentally skip a set of prints. Full disclosure, by the right people, I meant not the young ones. I decide not to zxx them, and instead opt for a stern talking to. “Hey, yourself,” I growl, channeling my inner polar bear. And that’s all that’s needed from me to make the kid literally cower in terror—no, really—and step carefully back in place. I know what you’re thinking. Just another case of “Look at the poor, poor people in this poor, poor militaristic dystopian society. I think JAN 2021||The penchant|14
