(short fiction #7)
My second city
It’s not my “home”, even though I was born there. A city where the creatures are both aloof and cultured. Very typical for a big ass city. This one in particular is notorious for the volatile relationship between humans and non-humans.
The humans are too eager to demolish old buildings. You know, the places where non-humans live! They love old buildings because of the aura and their good taste. It’s worsen that they are legally second-class citizens. Obviously, they rebel. Their bad deeds are similar to the ones in my hometown. Except, theirs are notoriously worse. A few times in the past, the city literally shut down for days. But, it’s not all sectarian.
Many are also model citizens. But, they are more visible. More recognition (it could have been higher, though). In fact, they belong to the elites, mingling with equally-snooty Homo Sapiens. Hate interacting with them, humans or not.
They are borderline narcissistic. They build sky-high monoliths in their backyards. Once a day, they climb to the top using the lift. They want to emphasise how others are beneath them. Worse, their arrogance is seen as confidence. I vomit every time I think about them. Even my vomit vomits; it shares my revulsion. But, I’m glad the old lady also shares it.
She, wearing Betawi kabaya this time, will levitate to the monoliths’ tops and slap those snooters. If only they install guard rails (safety regulations exist for a reason!).
Every fall is physically damaging. “Peasant” workshops repair the robots. The sludges need medicinal turds. The sorcerers are treated by their ghetto counterparts. The ghosts need resurrection. The recover may take weeks, months or even years. But, nothing is more painful the humiliation.
It’s rarely reported by the elites-owned media. The elites try really hard to protect each other…for selfish reasons obviously. But, everyone knows about their comeuppances. The elites may either ignore the public shaming or dismiss it as social jealousy. But, the shaming’s still exists and will always be.
Aaah, my schadenfreude.
The Stammering Dunce 