A While Ago, I Was About to Take a Shower

Empty Shell

A while ago, I was about to take a shower.

I wanted to take it off.

I really did.

I had done it before. I had peeled back the hand, created a white line at the wrist that’s now covered in a thin strip of clear duct tape. My skin was a deep, rich brown, but my palm was lighter. Then my mother came into the room and I had snapped it back on. That was years ago, before I learned how dangerous it was to remove it. Someone had gotten executed for taking it off.

Nobody ever takes it off, even if it can be uncomfortable and incredibly hot at times.

The skin is plastic. It has joints. On some of us, the particularly old ones, the makeshift metal joints creaked for no end. Eventually, the creaking ceases as the elderly became froze in time by the government, and made into new children, like we all will someday. Some are scared, and some don’t mind.

Anyway, back to my shower.

The day was hot and the fake skin was sticky. It stuck to me like syrup. It drove me crazy. I knew the cool water would loosen the pale fake skin’s grasp on me, but today, then, I just wanted to take it off. To get rid of it and be myself.

Everyone gets the skin. As soon as we’ve been Regenerated, they call it, we get fitted for the skin. They snap it on you. It’s like a shell, really, but perfectly tailored for each and every one of us. There are two halves, one for your front, one for your back, and they grow with you. It covers everything but your face. It cuts off right where the neck meets the head. They stick together with these high-tech snaps that are easy to remove but hold fast. It’s fancy, really, but annoying.

The government got the idea of Regenerating after the influenza epidemic a few decades ago. A ton of people were dying, so they decided to bring back Regenerating. Our ancestors had done it, so why not us? They pulled out the good old Book of Mankind and figured out how to take us, the healthy ones, and turn us into healthy new people with no memories of our previous life.

They got the idea of the skin when the Regenerated people started getting angry at their rejuvenation. As soon as they had changed, they became so angry at themselves, the government, the world. Just because the government had made them new again. The skin calms people. If you get to infuriated, it can even release a chemical to knock you out.

“Born again” isn’t a saying anymore.

Our government is referred to as the Masters. When our president rose to power, he insisted that his government be called the Masters.

Our president’s last name is Vegas. President Vegas.

The skin covers even our faces. We don’t know what people look like. True people. We are just dolls of the Masters, and although their rules are harsh, they are a good government.

President Vegas wears the skin, too. We all do.

The only way we recognize people is by their name. It is stuck to their fake skin.

Our names are not real names.

Mine is K-7RQ. My sister’s is K-7RT. My mother’s is K-7RO. My father’s is K-7RZ.

Anyone who’s first three digits match yours would be your immediate family. Sister, brother, father, mother.

Anyone who’s first two digits match yours would be your relatives. Aunt, cousin, grandmother, nephew.

Anyone who’s first digit matches yours would be nothing to you. Maybe a friend.

They number us by our personalities. They want mixed families.

Everyone’s name starts with a letter, then a dash, then a number, then two more letters. You say every letter. My name is pronounced Kay Seven Are Queue.

My sister’s is Kay Seven Are Tee.

My mother’s is Kay Seven Are Oh.

My father’s is Kay Seven Are Zee.

I have many friends, but my closest is H-4GM. He lives a few houses down from me.

It is dinner time. We are all eating spaghetti.

“I can’t wait,” says my sister, K-7RT.

“For what?” I ask.

“Queue, please, sit down. Then Tee can tell you,” says my mother, K-7RO.

I take a seat then look at K-7RT. “For what?” I repeat.

“The Build-Some-Stuff contest!” replies K-7RT.

“What?” I ask, stuffing my face with spaghetti.

“You know, that techy people contest? Where you have to make some computer-programmed robot from scratch?”

“Oh,” I say. K-7RT is very techy. “When is it?”

“Monday afternoon,” says K-7RT.

“Oh,” I say again.

Silence, as we all eat. Then K-7RT says, “M-9PO failed his test again.” M-9PO is the dumb person at her smart school for techy people.

“What a shame,” says Mom.

“Why doesn’t he get kicked out!?” says my father, K-7RZ.

“Zee!” Mom says. She likes to call us all by our last letters.

“Dad’s right, Mom. He’s so dim. Someone ought to notice soon enough, even though it’s been two years already!” K-7RT is 16, and in her third year at SATHS, which stands for Strengthened Abilities Technology High School. “But I heard somewhere that he’s rich and his parents are paying SATHS a ton of money to keep him in it.”

“That’s not fair!” I say. I am 12, and in my second year at SATMS, which stands for Strengthened Abilities Technology Middle School.

“No, not at all,” says K-7RT. “M-9PO is—Oh, I got sauce under the joint!” She looks at her right elbow and bends it back and forth.

“Go run it under cold water,” says Mom. This kind of thing happens a lot with this fake, faulty skin.

“I’m hot,” I say. “It’s sticking to me.” Nobody listens because they’re helping K-7RT clean off her fake joint without getting it rusty and moldy and creaky before her time. Mom gets her hair drier and dries off K-7RT’s arm while Dad mops up the floor with a kitchen towel. This is what it’s like every time one of us gets something underneath the skin or in a joint. I finish my dinner then go to play with my chinchilla, Warren. The pets are the only ones who get normal names with no dashes and numbers. Warren jumps out of her cage and leaps onto my shoulder when I open the door. Her name is Warren because I used to think that it was a girl’s name, and by the time I had realized that it wasn’t, the name had stuck. She’s an ebony chinchilla, she’s black, but shiny. She’s adorable but loves to eat, so she’s pretty fat. She’s healthy enough, though.

K-7RT comes over with her squeaky clean arm. “Hey, Warren,” she says. Warren chirps a hello and bounds into K-7RT’s arms. “Hey, Warren,” she says again, petting Warren’s velvet-soft ears. Although she’s chubby, Warren is as agile as any other chin.

“Warren, come back!” I say. Warren rolls onto the floor and waddles over to me. K-7RT kneels down, taking the extra-large hamster ball out from under Warren’s cage.

K-7RT plucks Warren from my hands and plops her in the hamster ball. It’s a good source of exercise, and it’s also entertaining. Warren runs around and flips and hits the wall and tries to go up the stairs, and all the while, makes herself look like a fool.

K-7RT twists the top on the ball, trapping Warren inside. There are little slots so she can breathe, of course, but she can’t get out. K-7RT starts the ball off rolling, and Warren begins to run. The first thing she does is go crash into a chair leg. My sister picks her up and puts her in the empty space in the middle of our kitchen. Warren runs around for a while, then K-7RT takes her out and puts her back in her two story cage. Warren jumps around, glad to be back home. K-7RT leaves, sighing. I stay and watch Warren play with her wooden toys.

After playing with Warren, I leave K-7RQ to watch her. My younger brother is nice, but he can be a distraction. We don’t fight like her siblings, my mother says. My father says his brothers would tackle each other in the grass on warm summer nights after eating dinner outside with the rest of the family.

With this family, just about everything is a stab in the dark, you could say. Pick a path, any path. Mum says not to worry, but I can’t help it. Dad doesn’t say anything. K-7RQ knows what I mean, about a stab in the dark. He understands how strange this life is.

My joint, the one that got the sauce underneath it, it’s dry now. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Like everything else in my universe, our house is plain and uniform.

P-56MO is my best girlfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. I couldn’t care less, really.

I take out my cellphone, aiming to text P-56MO, although, as soon as I turn it on, a message flashes across the screen.

Hello, citizens of PrayAnna! Because of unfortunate events, evacuation is required. Please, if you see others, inform them of this message. All PrayAnnian citizens should be evacuated in five days. Evacuation of PrayAnna is mandatory to your survival. Thank you.

I jump up as soon as the message leaves my screen. I tear downstairs. “Mum! Dad!” I yell. “Evacuation!”

“Calm down, K-7RT. What is it?” Dad askes. He, Mum, and K-7RQ are sitting at the table eating desert.

I take a deep breath. “I was just about to go on my phone, then there was a government message to evacuate!”

“Oh,” says Dad. “Calm down,” he tells me again.

I look at everyone else. Mum seems worried and trying to hide it, but isn’t doing a very good job. Dad is calm but curious.

Queue’s face is buried in his ice cream bowl. His shoulders are shaking. Is he crying? Whatever.

I take another deep breath. In, out… “Okay. So, I was going on my phone to text P-Mo— “

“Wait. Who is P-Mo?” Mum asks.

“It’s… It’s P-56MO. It’s my nickname for her,” I tell Mum. She nods. “Anyway,” I say. “So I was going to text P-Mo and then my phone flashed with this message, it said that we need to evacuate PrayAnna in five days! Like we should all be gone by then!”

“Did it say why?” Dad is still calm, though I don’t know how.

“No!” I say. I’m starting to panic.

K-7RQ gets up, dumps his ice cream in the sink, and dashes up the stairs.

“It’s okay,” Dad says, and I can hear Queue’s door slam. “Let’s just pack everything up and we can be ready to go. How about I go outside and see if anyone else got this message?”

“Okay,” I say, still panicking.

“Mum will help you pack.”

“Okay.”

Mum eats her last spoonful and gets up, places her bowl in the sink, and grabs my shoulder. She leads me upstairs, where she gets out our suitcases. “Come on, honey, let’s get started.”

I sigh heavily as I stand up from the table, my bowl in my hand. K-7RT said there was supposed to be an evacuation, but I’m not sure.