More Than Imagined

Prologue

In the beginning, there was death. It entered through the nose and exited through rupturing pustules. Waxed to the size of an average orange, the bloated boils took all manner of blood and bowels along with them. The cruel captor plagued the land for several years, dragging thousands upon thousands of unlucky souls to a festering demise—until suddenly death stopped. It stopped happening to everyone at once, becoming such an unnatural occurrence that they repackaged it as Departure.

At least, that was the history everyone consumed.

Winfrey thought there had to be more to the story, but he wasn't in a position to question it. Biologically, he guessed the tale held some merit. No one around him concerned themselves with leaving this world anymore because they were genetically predisposed to stay in it forever—if allowed.

Sunset spilled through the glinting glass walls with an amber hue, much like the expensive champagne that regularly appeared in his mother's drinking glass. The artificial light warmed every inch of land beneath the impenetrable, translucent dome that surrounded their society. Winfrey sat with spread legs in the living room of a penthouse in one of the largest high-rise complexes in Site 7. He frowned with unwavering determination as he studied his parents.

His mother, the more insufferable of the two, was cross-legged and straight-backed—the only posture deemed suitable for people of their caliber—as she sipped from a glass of uncommonly red wine. She closed her eyes, humming around the tart-tasting liquid and drowning out the incessant tapping of his father's fingers on the tablet in his hand. They lounged separately, as usual, with a love seat as empty as their marriage wedged between them. The familiar sight annoyed Winfrey more than it should.

Winfrey stared into the void for a moment before he pulled out the envelope he'd been warming beneath his butt cheek. The crinkling of low-quality paper brought a twitch to his mother's eye. She looked up from the rim of her glass and fixed her perfect, collagen-enhanced face into the best scowl she could muster.

"Where did you get that?" The agitation in her voice was impossible for Winfrey to miss.

"There's only one place I could have gotten it, Mother," Winfrey retorted, throwing his head back onto the soft velvet of the chair. "And I've already decided to go through with it."

His mother shoved the half-filled glass toward Leah—the Two that worked as their maid. The wine almost stained the pristine white of his mother's dress, but it dripped wildly onto the floor instead. Leah clambered to her knees, pulling a spare cloth from the belt of her dress and sprayed it with a cleanser that she kept near the foot of the chair. It was not uncommon for his mother to get excitable when she drank, so the knee-straining labor was second nature to Leah.

"You're not going through with anything. It's way too soon," his mother demanded, crossing an arm over her generously enhanced chest.

"It's my duty," Winfrey tried to reason.

Scoffing, she reluctantly turned her gaze to her husband for his input, her leg bouncing in irritation at his apparent lack of interest in their son's predicament. She made a scene of clearing her throat and waited for her husband's indifferent eyes to shift in her direction.

"Your father can arrange for you to postpone your Departure. Can't you, dear?"

His father nodded, instantly looking back down at the news article about another missing person. "I'm sure the Collection Agency will take a Departure deferment into consideration if I slide a couple thousand duro their way."

"See, you have nothing to worry about, sweetie," his mother assured.

"Who said it worried me? Have you ever considered that I might want to Depart?" Winfrey said, eyes never leaving the speck on the nearly spotless ceiling he's taken a sudden interest in.