CHRISTMAS - DIVYA GAITONDE

Christmas

By Divya Gaitonde

Rhea woke up to a day like any other. The sun was rising above the clouds, gradually enveloping the high grounds in a yellow glow. The morning light made everything bright and warm and the clouds look almost pretty. Ochre and steel merged and rippled with the wind making the clouds sparkle. They caught on the bulbs and domes of the colony forming patterns like shattered glass. The clouds didn’t bother her anymore. She was above them, and life under the fog was like a hazy memory long forgotten.
Under the fog lay the old city. She had called that her home when she hadn’t known better.
The institution ran the show now. The older way of life had brought the clouds, and the deadly clouds had brought out the worst in humans. That was when the institution had stepped in. It aspired to build a new world.
‘We can rise above this together’, it had said, and it kept its promise with the formation of the colony above the clouds. The new world was to start with everyone as equals. They would start as equals but have a chance to get promoted based on their conduct. To do so, the institution needed to cleanse everyone’s brain and bring it to the same level. Everything extra that they knew was removed and put in a bank. There was a small casualty; these bits of brain usually came with memories attached. ‘Was that too much to ask for?’ they had implored. It was a small price for what they had to offer: a chance to live.
Many had refused. ‘Let other twiddle with our brains, never!’ they had cried. But they eventually came around. The ones, who had remained stubborn, perished under. Rhea couldn’t remember when she had joined the colony or what she had done down under. She knew the answers were out there somewhere, but she no longer had any claim to them. Maybe one day, one Christmas day.
If the citizen has been good, he or she would get back parts of the brain they had given up. When such a day occurred, it was referred to as Christmas. The brain part came in a gift wrapped globe and was delivered by a bot fondly referred to as Santa. She didn’t actually know anyone who had received one yet, but she knew they would all just have to be patient; patient and good.
Ping
A hovering package pulled her out of her musing. Rhea stared with curiosity. It was an odd shape for post. Shafts of sunlight creeping through the circular windows fell on it, highlighting the closer planes and eclipsing the ones away into shadow. A bot hummed in space, within arm’s reach, waiting for her to relieve it of its duty.
“Open” read a sign taped to the top of the box.
‘Open’, Rhea repeated. The box lay still in her hands. She waited for a few minutes to see if the mechanism had been activated. No whirrs, no clicks, nothing. How did one open this thing? Maybe it hadn’t heard her. ‘Open!’ she cried a little louder.
‘Please?’
Nothing
She was being polite to a package. It felt a little stupid. How dare it make her feel stupid?
’OPEN you silly thing, OPEN UP RIGHT NOW!’
She felt a stab of irritation. It wasn’t cowering into submission.
‘Coaxing, maybe I could coax it open, build its trust in me.’
The contents were, after all marked as important.
Would a song help it relax? ‘Dum Dum De Dum Dumdum De Dum Dum’
She gave it a tentative hug.
No response.
It probably didn’t understand these human things.
‘Tap Tap’, her fingers made a hollow sound against the surface. Maybe this was the answer. Her fingers ran along the pointed edges onto each facet. They flew rhythmically; tap tapping with great concentration in a secret language unknown to her. The drum beats soon gave way to a frustrated haphazard clatter. Can you hear me in there?! ‘Wham’
She took a step backward. The book she had hammered it with had created a dent on one plane. Slowly, she brought her hands down from where they were, up in the air, ready for another attack. The sign that read fragile stared back at her accusingly.
‘Sorry, let’s start over.’
How about dismantling it? If each side was pulled outwards, surely no harm could come to its contents. Gripping gloves would do the trick.

Gripping gloves were, as their name stated, gloves with a very fast grip. They were used by bikers in the air, as one of the safety precautions from falling off. The gloves were in place. She reached out to the package, flexing her fingers in anticipation. Holding two opposite planes firmly, she pulled outwards. The ripping sound that ensued was unexpected.
It sounded as though it was in pain. This was definitely not the right way to do it.
A sigh of resignation escaped her. The curtains on the window rustled in reply. The cool evening breeze did little to soothe her. When had opening it become more important than what it held? She would simply have to wait for it to open, she decided. It would hatch by itself and reveal itself to her when the time was ripe. She got up to find something else to do, anything to distract her from this puzzle.

Outside, the colony was going about its daily business. She watched them for a while, citizen zooming about on the airways with a sense of purpose. She loved the way traffic converged and diverged, fluid yet very orderly. Everything was round and smooth, unlike her post. Her post! She had to do something about it. Rhea was back with a purpose, she would crack this thing open.
She sat herself down and peeled the message off. ‘Open’ came off with one firm tug. Underneath it was something to make her believe that she was on the right track. A line ran over the top of the package. It was a silver lining in her grey clouds, something to let her force her way in with. She cautiously peeled off the sticky tape from over it. Flaps bounced open, unfolding impatiently. She peered in gleefully, like a pirate inspecting her chest box; exhausted yet triumphant.

The sun was on its way back under the fog and the light was dimming. In the fast fading light she could make out a jar. A glass jar labelled: Citizen 313,398 |Rhea | Brain portion | Contains information on how to open a box.
(end)