So, without further ado.
Quote:
Mark was in a hurry, tearing along the crowded pavement towards the Red Crossroads, weaving deftly in and out of the crowd, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the pavement but always pulling back in time to avoid losing his balance. The outside of the pavement, close to the road, was termed 'the fast lane' in the language of the streets where he'd grown up, and it was less crowded than the main body of the pavement, populated with daredevils and those whose errands were of the direst urgency. He wasn't sure quite which category he fell into, but given that the daring dash along the very edge of the kerb gave him no thrill, he presumed it was the latter.
The Red Crossroads was coming up fast now, with the pedestrian lights on green for a change. Important as his journey was, he pulled up short at the edge of the kerb, toes clinging onto the clean concrete, as he resisted the main flow of the human traffic ploughing across the road. Looking sideways, across at the rest of the dimpled pavement, he spotted several other sensible ones, like himself, who waited, not knowing how long the light had been green for and not daring to take a lucky guess. His eyes met those of a girl about his age, her grimy, grey-blond hair pushed back from her face with a greasy headband, and he noticed she was standing a bit further up on the slope than he. A wise idea, he thought, as he shuffled a little way backwards.
The herd continued to move, more and more people ploughing onto the crossing as though it was the road to Paradise. Mark doubted that mythical passage even existed, personally, and even if it did, surely the road to Paradise wouldn't be a Pedestrian walkway, but instead a Vehicle thoroughfare, as was so commonly the case. Sure, the Pedestrians had their strongholds, tiny areas in the very heart of cities and towns, but then the Vehicles had motorways, and dual carriageways, which no man dared to cross.
In the old days, the Red Crossroads would have had a footbridge, or perhaps a subway, to make things easier for Pedestrians. However, the Vehicle owners had scorned them, and as they were many and the Pedestrians so few, the footbridges and subways had been relegated to memory, and then not at all. Mark only knew the mythic words from a book his grandfather had owned. It was known as the Green Cross Code, and the concept was laughable in this age. In that slim volume had been tales of crossing the road where there was no crossing! Unthinkable.
Still people shuffled across, surely with mere seconds before the lights changed, and it became too much for him.
“Fools! Don't start crossing now, you know what'll happen when it changes!” he called, trying to hold some of them back. He was shrugged off, and almost lost his footing on the edge of the kerb, but regained it and climbed to higher ground. He didn't want to be in the road when the inevitable happened.
The green man sign flicked off.
He'd seen Vehicle owners before, once. He'd been working the gateway of an expensive Park up by Toyota Way, a flash district in general, that had only been improved by the addition of the multi-storey wonder, replete with valets and cleaners who sprang out of the woodwork every time a Vehicle came in to rest. He'd been operating the barrier, to keep Pedestrians out of the swanky establishment, a behind-the-scenes role which he was perfectly suited to. Not having the finances for a Vehicle of his own, he bore all the hallmarks of Pedestrian: limp hair tinted with grey, soot-stained clothes, and a somewhat grimy appearance in general that even the uniform he was given couldn't hide. He'd been perfectly happy working the barrier, but one day it had broken.
Mark had been down from his post in a jiffy, the impudence of letting the Vehicle owners see him paling into insignificance compared to what they'd do if their beloved Vehicle wasn't allowed to enter the Park. He'd operated the barrier manually, skinny arms straining to lift the huge iron bar, hollow but nonetheless weighing a lot more than he was used to lifting. Once he'd begun, it was an easy enough task to continue its momentum, and soon he had it proud and upright, out of the way of the shiny wine-red Rolls that was purring in anticipation of the valet service upstairs. He hopped out of the way shortly after, remembering how those old Rolls' tended to have a higher ground clearance than the newer models, leaving more room for adjustments underneath, one of which he did not intend to become.
The Rolls had purred forward, and stopped when the back window was just at a level with him. The black glass rolled down, and he'd had a moment or two to stare in awe at the face of an angel, pale as snow with bright golden hair, untouched by the greys that monoxide tended to impart. He remembered his manners a moment later, and dropped his eyes to the floor. She laughed, a beautiful soft noise, quite unlike the hacking chuckles he heard at home, and a silver coin landed in the dust by his feet. The window rolled up with a gentle hiss, and the Rolls continued on.
He'd allowed the barrier to drop, and ran back to hit the button for a mechanic, who had been able to sort it out in the space of about three seconds, and the day had continued as normal. But he'd never been able to forget the face that had laughed and flicked him a bright, untarnished coin. It had tarnished by now, of course, indistinguishable from all of the others he'd earned over the years, but he still hadn't spent it, and was hoarding it in a box upstairs, along with a silver jaguar figurine that his grandfather swore he'd broken off the front of a blue Jag as he'd dived across the Lotus Pass Crossing. Mark severely doubted it. Lotus Pass Crossing was a no-go zone for even the speediest of Pedestrians. The lights flicked to green just long enough to give one hope, then to red and all hope was lost forever. His grandfather would have had to be a champion sprinter to make it across. All the same, he'd wanted to believe the old man, but as he'd grown older, and the monoxide had begun to grey his hair and grip his lungs, the desire to believe had been overridden by sheer pragmatism and the thought of making it across Lotus Pass became nothing more than a flimsy dream.
Just like the dream of not having to keep a mental tally of the length of every crossing light from here to the suburbs. The northern exit of the Red Crossroads was a minute and forty seconds, adequate for such a narrow road, but always a tricky one to approach unawares. He preferred the comfort of Ford Road, and its three-minute stroll to the other side.
Time had run out at the northern exit, at least for those still in the road. It suddenly seemed to Mark that he was far too close to the kerb, but that thought only had a millisecond to take root, inbetween the green light flicking out and the red coming on. The signal of death.
The Vehicles that had been impatiently growling as the green light had shone now shot forward, released from their bonds. The people still in the road shrieked, most of them only once, as engines revved and deadly wheels rolled towards them. Most of them were knocked down by the first wave, grinding wheels and low ground clearance pulverising them into the already red asphalt. Mark looked away, his stomach churning, as the screams from the road died away, replaced by the noises of traffic and the soft whoosh of the Vehicles passing at speed.
The girl he'd spotted earlier was noisily retching, at the front of the herd that was even now straining to be the first to cross. The crowd bulged, but no-one dared to set a foot off the kerb, and no-one wanted to be the one to push a fellow Pedestrian to his death. Nothing was that urgent.
The revving faded away as the light flicked back to green, and Mark briskly crossed. He didn't particularly care to be reminded of the mess that coated the road beneath his feet, and held his breath, his eyes raised to the grey, polluted sky.
The Red Crossroads was coming up fast now, with the pedestrian lights on green for a change. Important as his journey was, he pulled up short at the edge of the kerb, toes clinging onto the clean concrete, as he resisted the main flow of the human traffic ploughing across the road. Looking sideways, across at the rest of the dimpled pavement, he spotted several other sensible ones, like himself, who waited, not knowing how long the light had been green for and not daring to take a lucky guess. His eyes met those of a girl about his age, her grimy, grey-blond hair pushed back from her face with a greasy headband, and he noticed she was standing a bit further up on the slope than he. A wise idea, he thought, as he shuffled a little way backwards.
The herd continued to move, more and more people ploughing onto the crossing as though it was the road to Paradise. Mark doubted that mythical passage even existed, personally, and even if it did, surely the road to Paradise wouldn't be a Pedestrian walkway, but instead a Vehicle thoroughfare, as was so commonly the case. Sure, the Pedestrians had their strongholds, tiny areas in the very heart of cities and towns, but then the Vehicles had motorways, and dual carriageways, which no man dared to cross.
In the old days, the Red Crossroads would have had a footbridge, or perhaps a subway, to make things easier for Pedestrians. However, the Vehicle owners had scorned them, and as they were many and the Pedestrians so few, the footbridges and subways had been relegated to memory, and then not at all. Mark only knew the mythic words from a book his grandfather had owned. It was known as the Green Cross Code, and the concept was laughable in this age. In that slim volume had been tales of crossing the road where there was no crossing! Unthinkable.
Still people shuffled across, surely with mere seconds before the lights changed, and it became too much for him.
“Fools! Don't start crossing now, you know what'll happen when it changes!” he called, trying to hold some of them back. He was shrugged off, and almost lost his footing on the edge of the kerb, but regained it and climbed to higher ground. He didn't want to be in the road when the inevitable happened.
The green man sign flicked off.
He'd seen Vehicle owners before, once. He'd been working the gateway of an expensive Park up by Toyota Way, a flash district in general, that had only been improved by the addition of the multi-storey wonder, replete with valets and cleaners who sprang out of the woodwork every time a Vehicle came in to rest. He'd been operating the barrier, to keep Pedestrians out of the swanky establishment, a behind-the-scenes role which he was perfectly suited to. Not having the finances for a Vehicle of his own, he bore all the hallmarks of Pedestrian: limp hair tinted with grey, soot-stained clothes, and a somewhat grimy appearance in general that even the uniform he was given couldn't hide. He'd been perfectly happy working the barrier, but one day it had broken.
Mark had been down from his post in a jiffy, the impudence of letting the Vehicle owners see him paling into insignificance compared to what they'd do if their beloved Vehicle wasn't allowed to enter the Park. He'd operated the barrier manually, skinny arms straining to lift the huge iron bar, hollow but nonetheless weighing a lot more than he was used to lifting. Once he'd begun, it was an easy enough task to continue its momentum, and soon he had it proud and upright, out of the way of the shiny wine-red Rolls that was purring in anticipation of the valet service upstairs. He hopped out of the way shortly after, remembering how those old Rolls' tended to have a higher ground clearance than the newer models, leaving more room for adjustments underneath, one of which he did not intend to become.
The Rolls had purred forward, and stopped when the back window was just at a level with him. The black glass rolled down, and he'd had a moment or two to stare in awe at the face of an angel, pale as snow with bright golden hair, untouched by the greys that monoxide tended to impart. He remembered his manners a moment later, and dropped his eyes to the floor. She laughed, a beautiful soft noise, quite unlike the hacking chuckles he heard at home, and a silver coin landed in the dust by his feet. The window rolled up with a gentle hiss, and the Rolls continued on.
He'd allowed the barrier to drop, and ran back to hit the button for a mechanic, who had been able to sort it out in the space of about three seconds, and the day had continued as normal. But he'd never been able to forget the face that had laughed and flicked him a bright, untarnished coin. It had tarnished by now, of course, indistinguishable from all of the others he'd earned over the years, but he still hadn't spent it, and was hoarding it in a box upstairs, along with a silver jaguar figurine that his grandfather swore he'd broken off the front of a blue Jag as he'd dived across the Lotus Pass Crossing. Mark severely doubted it. Lotus Pass Crossing was a no-go zone for even the speediest of Pedestrians. The lights flicked to green just long enough to give one hope, then to red and all hope was lost forever. His grandfather would have had to be a champion sprinter to make it across. All the same, he'd wanted to believe the old man, but as he'd grown older, and the monoxide had begun to grey his hair and grip his lungs, the desire to believe had been overridden by sheer pragmatism and the thought of making it across Lotus Pass became nothing more than a flimsy dream.
Just like the dream of not having to keep a mental tally of the length of every crossing light from here to the suburbs. The northern exit of the Red Crossroads was a minute and forty seconds, adequate for such a narrow road, but always a tricky one to approach unawares. He preferred the comfort of Ford Road, and its three-minute stroll to the other side.
Time had run out at the northern exit, at least for those still in the road. It suddenly seemed to Mark that he was far too close to the kerb, but that thought only had a millisecond to take root, inbetween the green light flicking out and the red coming on. The signal of death.
The Vehicles that had been impatiently growling as the green light had shone now shot forward, released from their bonds. The people still in the road shrieked, most of them only once, as engines revved and deadly wheels rolled towards them. Most of them were knocked down by the first wave, grinding wheels and low ground clearance pulverising them into the already red asphalt. Mark looked away, his stomach churning, as the screams from the road died away, replaced by the noises of traffic and the soft whoosh of the Vehicles passing at speed.
The girl he'd spotted earlier was noisily retching, at the front of the herd that was even now straining to be the first to cross. The crowd bulged, but no-one dared to set a foot off the kerb, and no-one wanted to be the one to push a fellow Pedestrian to his death. Nothing was that urgent.
The revving faded away as the light flicked back to green, and Mark briskly crossed. He didn't particularly care to be reminded of the mess that coated the road beneath his feet, and held his breath, his eyes raised to the grey, polluted sky.
