Chapter Six

Arline swiped her fingers over the bar code, in order to ruin the scan of the flower bag. She was hoping to avoid having to pay for the whole shopping trip, only having to pay for the Ramen. University student on a budget, you'll do anything to save a buck. However the company policy changed, and she could only buy the bag of ramen. You couldn't get the broken item for free, and you had to replace it with an item you could pay for. So she just bought the ramen and left.

Exiting, she got herself a cigarillo, and smoked it until it was gone. Up, up, and up the hill to the studio apartments after crossing, crossing, and crossing the city street under the rainy slights. She thought about the practicality of using a proxy route. She wondered how effective it really was. In the non abstract world, encrypting the real world would be difficult. She hoped it wasn't impossible.

She wanted it as fragile as pocky.

Shrimp flavor midnight blues.

Arlina, on February 12th. 7:17 P.M. Dirty and grainy. Wet and salty. Rocky and cold. Somewhere up North loud noises blare. White and chilly. Betrayed cultural values, ancient culture. Development versus tradition. Yet now all is quiet along the Kele River in the Sakha Republic. Russia again, she visited the lake of the previous town she visited. She knew that in the US, there was conflict between Native Americans and Industrial workers, and wondered whether there was an equivalent to this within Russia. Although she cannot see the whole vividly, she wonders why this region keeps showing up in her mind. Certainly there was frequent talk about the current issue with Russian interference, yet in her mind she senses something more sinister.

She tries to feel the texture of the helicopter, and tries to get a taste of what the pilot must be thinking. In a land where fear is dominant, and the current president has become the second dictator after the fall of the Soviet Union, she wonders whether they might strike Aruba and Uzbekistan. She began to worry about the boy she met, thinking he has already had it hard enough having his entire family murdered in front of his eyes. Yet tries to imagine the interior of the helicopter, she senses a disconnect from the world of the zone. Magnetic pulses ruin the radio signal of the chopper, the vehicle of the sky comes crashing down.

Here lies the helicopter, once of metal and rest.

Yet here it lies, in the lake. The pilot gasping for air.

The metal turns to rust.

Arline, Monday February 13th. She returns to Uzbekistan. She senses a dark history, yet there is a void in knowing what is current. Rough texture, tastes like salt. Dry season. Horizon is near, blue surrounds. Tall wooden object. Great conflicts, social upheaval. Long abandoned, surreal. She wonders what the buildings are for, before going off line to repeat the process. Locations seem to be repeating themselves, in predictable pattern. Cycling in a kind of loop that never ends. Yet she senses no Anakarah, she wonders where he is.

She scans the area with her finger tips, and notices a magnetic field. She wonders if there was some kind of blown apart metal near by. Coasting there, she finds parts of old guns laying around from previous wars. Yet still now Anakarah.

She disconnects.

She dreams again. She feels a rough sensation, and humidity. It tastes wet on her lips, there is no artificial sounds. There are small hills, green and gray. Tall wooden thin objects. A tourist region, now undergoing modernization. Yet it still maintains some semblance of the rural life. It is a conservative, what we may call a Red State.

Butnan District, Libya.

She wonders why she sensed Libya.





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