Jacklyn Lockwood
It was 6:22 in the morning when Jacklyn rose to wakefulness. Her gaze drifted over to the clock on her wall and she let out a displeased groan. It wasn't the time she minded, she had always been an early riser and had never needed to set an alarm. No, she was displeased to see the date. Her deepest desire at that moment was simply to take a shower, but the Green Laws regulated even this. Each citizen was allotted a weekly allowance for water usage and any deviance from this would result in her water being shut off for a week and some heavy fines. So, instead she simply reached for her pack of hairpins from her nightstand and pulled her hair up into a lazy bun. She silently thanked her genetics as she ran her fingers through her hair, it had not been washed for days and still was not greasy.
The room Jacklyn had woken up in was her cramped apartment bedroom, located in the Lower City of Paradise Island's capitol, Avalyr. In her room, there was only enough room for her small cot, a nightstand and a chest of drawers with a steamer trunk hazardously stacked on top. There was no closet in her room, or anywhere else in the house, and her only window had a dazzling view of the neighboring building's gray facade. The rest of the apartment wasn't much better; there was a small bathroom with a standing shower, a kitchen that opened out into a small living space, and her Grandmother's room. This isn't to say Jack and her Grandmother had it any worse than her neighbors, The Lower City was so heavily populated and cramped it was often called 'the slums' by those in the wealthier districts. It was where the poor, the disconnected, and the vagrants called home. In truth, Jacklyn could afford a much better apartment in the Market District as her family had always been good with money, but there was value in living here. With so many people, it was much harder for the Collective, Paradise Island's government, to monitor. There was a sick kind of freedom here that Jack cherished above all else.
Jacklyn wandered into her kitchen after a quick perusal of her clothing, choosing a gray cami under a faded, black, hooded cardigan. Her pants were some old dark jeans, faded heavily with some small rips. She pressed the on switch of her coffee pot in passing, allowing it to brew as she made her way to the fridge. She grabbed a few hard boiled eggs, a cold sausage and an apple before pouring herself a cup of black coffee. She ate in silence, reveling in the quiet morning hours, the dim morning light filtering through her kitchen window.
"
Talli, is that you?" Jack's Grandmother asked from the adjacent room, using her favorite pet name for her granddaughter. Talli meant beloved, or at least that was what Grandma Lockwood said. Try as she might, Jack had never found any trace of her family's bizarre language in Avalyr's information centers. Just another eccentricity of the Lockwoods, Jack supposed. "
Of course Gran," Jack called back, brushing the crumbs of her breakfast into her hand and tossing them in the trash. When Gran entered the room, Jack walked to her briskly, stooping down slightly to plant a soft kiss on her wrinkly cheek. "
I can't chat Gran, I've got to get down to the shop to do some inventory." She said, feeling a sharp pang of guilt in her chest.
"
Oh, no that won't do. You know I don't like you running about by yourself. Why not wait for that nice Jeremy next door to head in to work, he goes by your shop you know. He can walk you."
Jack tipped her head back to drain the dregs of her coffee, mostly to hide a roll of her eyes. "
Honestly Gran, I don't have the time. Jeremy is a dog anyways, I've more to worry from him than the locals." She explained, tugging on some sturdy black boots over her wool socks and rolling up the cuffs of her jeans.
"
Fine, fine. You just watch yourself dear, the Dark Time is coming. I feel it in my bones," the elder Lockwood said sadly, a knowing look in her eyes.
"
I hate to break it to you Gran," Jacklyn began as she paused in the doorway. "
The dark times are already here."
***
Jacklyn hated having to lie to her Grandmother but it was a necessary evil. It was the simplest protection she could provide for the older woman, the psychics would know that Gran knew nothing if Jack was ever caught. '
No, I can't think about that. Nothing is going to happen today, I'm just going to the Loft for a few hours and then I'm going to open up the shop.' She thought to herself, chasing away her dark thoughts of dank prison cells and prying psychics. She pressed on with her journey, easily navigating the narrow streets while avoiding the traffic. Even at this early hour, there were many people on the streets, walking and biking to their destinations. Bicycles were one of the few methods of personal transportation available to the citizens of Avalyr. The Collective claimed this was all to better help the environment but Jack suspected it was just easier to chase down people who were on foot.
Once, a long time ago, Jacklyn had known a boy named Thomas with a motorcycle. It had been an ancient thing, found in some old ruins, probably still crawling with radiation from the nuclear fallout. He had loved it though and had affectionately restored it as best he could. I don't think he even got the damn thing running, Jack thought sadly to herself, thinking of the raid three years ago, the last time she had heard from Thomas. She still felt partially responsible, it was one of her books after all that Thomas had used to restore his bike. Paper books were outlawed everywhere and had become a very rare commodity. All books were confiscated a long, long time ago and recycled, turned into items deemed more appropriate by the Collective. This was all done in accordance to the Green Laws but again, Jack suspected a much darker motive. Electronic books were much easier to regulate and censor, all written media was subject to heavy review and was mostly propaganda. However, this didn't stop Jacklyn from having one of the largest libraries on the black market, which accounted for a large portion of her profit. She kept her books beneath the floorboards in her Antique Shop and would be in for a world of trouble should it ever be discovered.
Jacklyn allowed her thoughts to wander the rest of the way to the Loft, mostly thinking of people she used to know and had since lost contact with. When she finally reached her destination, she cleared her mind and glanced about in every direction, cautious of onlookers. She was down a dark alley, standing beside a ladder that was screwed into one of the surrounding buildings. When she felt she was safe, she climbed up and up until she reached the roof. This is what she called 'The Loft', a roof top enclosed on three sides by much taller buildings. There were vent shafts on the roof that protected her from being seen by anyone glancing out their windows and best of all, this spot was gloriously free of any security cameras.
With a contented sigh, Jacklyn settled herself down on the rooftop, nestling amongst the thrumming ventilation shafts. She set her bag down by her side and riffled through it. From the bottom of her bag she pulled out one of her most prized possessions; her journal. It was old and worn, the leather cover half missing and the pages yellowed. She hated that she had to hide something so small as writing in her journal from her Grandmother but books were contraband, and the Collective would not look positively upon such a flagrant violation of the Law. '
No. No more of the Collective. No more missing friends. No more eyes watching. Just start writing Jack, you've only got an hour before you've got to head back.' She chided herself silently, opening her journal and jotting down the first few lines of her entry. To anyone glancing at the book, the would assume her writing was some elegant cursive. However, if they tried to read the words, it was unlikely they would be able to decipher the looping, ornate script. She did not write in the local tongue, or any known language of the land. She wrote in the language of her family, the same words that had been passed down from parent to child for generations of Lockwoods. She had written only one word on the first page of her journal, centered on the page in her graceful script,
Talli.
Beloved.
