Hayun had just arrived and was already late. The train station was beginning to fill with the first hurried crowds of the evening rush hour. Their footsteps and telephone conversations mixed with the PA system to create a cacophony rising up to the arched, glass ceilings that looked out onto a stormy sky. People jostled him unapologetically as he stumbled dazedly down the platform and out of the gate to the main waiting area filled with cafes, shops, information desks and even more people. He craned his neck to examine the digital screens hanging from the ceiling that pointed out exits, entrances, bathrooms, and other platforms. It was chaotic and chic and dangerous. It felt like a dream compared to his small town with their modest, single platform station that did not even have a covered waiting area.
Nerves held him in a chokehold, the kind that hurt but everyone said was good. Shouldering his backpack, Hayun found the first exit and took off at a run. Entering the cobbled streets of the city he swallowed in a mirage of grays, reds, oranges, and browns that tumbled in the evening wind.
Head spinning and heart racing Hayun tried his best to take in the dizzyingly tall buildings with their glinting windows and vertical, hydroponic gardens. Warmth gushed invitingly from cafe storefronts whose roofs were lush with naturally insulating greenery. And there were so many shops. Shops for things he hadn’t known you could buy; from greeting cards and stationery to children's toys, and grocery’s with packaged foods, to things he had only read about in history books. It was all a bit much and made him wonder where people got the money to buy such things. His aunt had made all his clothes, cooked fresh bread every week, and made dolls from corn husks and straw. Whatever pennies they managed to save after rent were used for new shoes or cookware.
Looking back at the holographic map on his own antique cell phone Hayun arrived at the River Sage which lapped gently against the walkway bank, damp leaves floating on the shoulders of its blue black waves. Down by the water, people were enjoying the last of the summer sun having picnics with lovers and reading the news off their smart glasses. For the first time in his life, he felt self conscious of his hand stitched trousers and linen shirt. Here, people wore microbial clothes of silks and lace and walked with an urgency he had never seen in the countryside. Everyone, even the children in private school uniforms, wore smart glasses and ear pieces, each item marked with the Carwyn Tech logo, three interlocking circles in the shape of a triangle. These people walked with a determination that made it clear they had places to be and people to meet, that they were going places.
Despite the heaviness of the last few months and the uncertain prospect of his future, Hayun could not help a grin from spreading across his face as he trailed his fingers against the stone walls and sucked in deep breaths of damp garbage and cigarette scented air. He was in Bardo and the world felt infinite.
As the bank path led back to the mainstreet, he was met with rows of rickety tables ladened with real, hardcover books, delicate watercolor paintings, and jewelry that sparkled in the dappled shade of the fruit trees. Market Square was visible through the wide streets where stands of goods crowded shoulder to shoulder, their vendors shouting to be heard over the rumble of customers and the hum of electric self-driving cars and the famous sky trolley floating overhead emblazoned with the Carwyn Tech logo.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
It was a little further down on this street that Hayun stopped at a handsome apartment. He looked up at the tall oak wood doors and then back at a worn piece of paper clutched tightly in his fingers and then back to the doors. Before his courage left him he sucked in a quick breath and ran up the few short steps to the door and knocked once with the brass lion knocker.
A tall man dressed in a black suit and sporting a neat mustache opened the door. Hayun stumbled over mumbled words of greeting, unfamiliar as he was with butlers and how to address them. The butler’s thick brows drew together as he scrutinized the boy at his door.
“I’m here to see Carwyn,” Hayun finally managed.
The butler nodded and told him to wait there. Hayun did not miss the glint of confusion and distaste in his sharp coal-black eyes as he closed the door.
Worrying the thin scrap of paper between his fingers, Hayun waited. Looking up he saw that the clouds were linking arms to block out the sun. As the minutes ticked by his stomach began to twist in pangs, his legs were sore and cramped and the cold was settling into his bones. Just as he was beginning to think that the butler was never coming back he noticed a sallow faced, high-school aged boy watching him from the sitting room window. As soon as their eyes met the boy brushed the curtain closed. Something in his chest leapt a little at the sight of the boy in this apartment.
Before he could think any further on the matter the door swung open revealing not only the butler, but an even taller, significantly more robust man, dressed in an expensive looking gold suit that matched his eyes. The same eyes that Hayun was always said to have. Carwyn looked down at him and smiled good humouredly. The smile instantly dispelled some of the nerves that were rattling in Hayun’s chest.
Then Hayun said the words he had only ever spoken in his dreams.
A stillness spread across Carwyn’s face as though he had been turned to stone. Hayun wondered if perhaps he hadn’t heard him, but then Carwyn roared with laughter and clutched his stomach. The sound took hold of Hayun’s shoulders and shook him violently.
“Oh you are a funny boy, aren’t you?” Carwyn chuckled as his laughter finally died down.
“This is a note my mother wrote before she died and this is you in the photograph, isn’t it?” Hayun replied, handing Carwyn the crumpled note and pulling a weathered photograph from the inside pocket of his coat.
When Carwyn took the two pieces of paper Hayun felt that his hands were warm and soft like butter left out in the sun. He waited while Carwyn squinted at them. His face went rigid, his brow furrowing and his eyes narrowing. He swallowed and Hayun recognized the look of someone remembering something they had tried to forget. The nerves came back and were ten times worse than before.
Carwyn gave the photograph and the note back to Hayun.
“I think there has been some kind of mistake. This is not me.” he said, his voice calm and his face empty.
“But it is,” Hayun began, daring to take a step closer.
“No, it is not!”
The shout stopped Hayun cold.
“I don’t know you and you are not permitted in my house. Am I understood?”
Hayun’s face crumpled under the contact of Carwyn’s words. Then strong hands pushed him hard in the chest and he fell back down those few, short steps.