imaginari

  (Originally drafted and first published in June 2014) Ever was slowly becoming one of the nightfolk, her compulsion to escape driving her out of the safety of the Comfort Zone, a sterile, monitored expanse where every breath was accounted for, every thought potentially logged. The wind, however, paid no mind to the omnipresent gaze of the public-viewing algorithms. It played with her thick black coat, billowing it out behind her, a rogue gust intent on causing havoc in the sleeping city. Ever dashed down dark alleyways, her Doc Martens plowing through the bio-waste left behind by day dwellers with little regard for the automated cleaning drones that would soon sweep through. From 8 AM to 7 PM, 360 days a year, citizens toiled in the Market Zone, their every movement optimized for maximum output. Sundays had long ceased being sacred in an era where data, not divinity, dictated all. The city clean-up usually commenced in the small hours of the morning; Ever reckoned the sch...