creative notes: This week we continue with a flashback that provides insight into Angie's family and a glimpse at the role the tribunal plays in the daily life of the city's inhabitants.
Midwife, aborted Page 23
Dystopia: Chapter 2 – Midwife, Aborted, Page 23
A flashback sequence - In a humble kitchen humming with quiet tension, a pot of transparent broth simmers on the stove. A mother's hand pours soup into a bowl — a simple, human gesture trying to mask the weight of what’s being discussed. “It’s an honor! Absolutely an honor!” the father insists.
Angie, calm and sharp eyed sits at a dining room table across from her modestly dressed father. “We knew this when they first started watching her,” the father proudly exclaims, “She’s not just part of the effort. She’ll be one of its leaders. It’s what we’re all striving for.” As the mother delivers the bowls of broth to the dining table they hesitate. “Is it?” she murmurs. “It feels safer being part of the plan, but I’m not sure I want her to be... manipulated like that. We may never see her again. And meanwhile, they’re always seeing us—” Before she can finish, he snaps upright, eyes darting around the room. “Ssshhh! You can’t say things like that!” The fear in his voice cuts sharper than any reprimand.
The perspective shifts to Angie. Her face is blank, her gaze unreadable. She can feel them — the officers — always near, pressing in with their cold, emotionless presence. “They were right outside,” her inner voice admits. “I could always feel them. It was the emotional... void of the officers from the Center.” Her eyes fill the final frame, blue and empty, reflecting a hollowness that swallows everything. The caption whispers the truth she cannot escape: There was nothing to latch onto. Everything was empty.