Sci-Fi | Alternate Reality | Dark Fiction

Mixed Emotions

Will Marron cross the line, break the law, to save a life?

Marron hurried along the dusty walkway, hugging the wall as much for shade as for anonymity. It was not yet ten in the morning, but the heat of the city dampened her hair at the nape of her neck. Her nose was assaulted with smells as trade awoke, roasting coffee from restaurants and cafes, earthy and sharp aromas of the fruit and vegetables in the covered market layered with the cloying, yeasty smell that cloaked the breweries. The streets were not yet bustling with the smart people, but for the minions who oiled the wheels of this world, the working day was well underway.

She turned down a side street, burrowing deeper into the poorer district, where odors from bad drains and burnt tyres provided the top notes, so Marron tried breathing through her mouth. To reassure herself she patted the breast pocket of her coveralls, the shape of the small vials she carried lent her comfort, alongside a stab of anxiety, which she tried to quell.

The people she saw in this district did not move with purpose. Instead, the adults, mostly men, loitered with expressionless faces, their body language suggesting hopelessness and despair. Time hung heavy on their hands, without work to give them purpose and self-respect. The children here were scrawny and dirty, but they scraped together games to play. Marron watched a handful of them crouched in the gutter, watching beetles race, their small faces avid with concentration. As she turned down another grim alley, she heard a small girl’s whoop of triumph and smiled; her beetle must’ve won.

She saw the doorway up ahead, perhaps originally blue, but now its paint was peeled and faded to almost the same shade of grey as the weathered wood it once protected. When she pushed at the door, the bell sounded as exhausted as the man it summoned.

“Collection or deposit?” He asked, ready to scribe it.

“Collection,” she responded tightly, fingering the credits in her pocket.

He handed her a perspex sheet, inscribed with a list of options for her to peruse, but Marron had done her research and already knew what she wanted. The question was, did she have enough credits?

She scanned the list, unsurprised to see emotions that any person, rich or poor, might experience required few credits. In this insalubrious place, she couldn’t even give away common emotions such as uncertainty, embarrassment, or anxiety. Likewise, many negative emotions, sadness, frustration, despair, resentment, and disgust were not sought after. It was a matter of supply and demand, especially on the black market.

She chinked the credits in her pocket, knew they were not enough for ‘invigorated’, and ‘optimism’ was out of her league. Marron’s shoulders drooped with disappointment, but the carefully wrapped packet of vials waited in her pocket — if she only had the confidence to offer them.

The man behind the counter flicked an irritated glance her way. He didn’t have all day, it was written loud and clear on his gaunt face.

Marron shuffled her feet and cleared her throat, uneasy about breaking the law. She knew it had to be here. She couldn’t make this transaction at an emotion dispensing clinic controlled by the Government. And it had to be now, Fleek didn’t have long to live on the current trajectory of his illness.

“Before I collect, I have a deposit.” Marron’s words came out in a rush.

She stood, pricking with sweat following her announcement, but it was just another routine for the man. He muttered under his breath, but placed two sterilized vials and stoppers on the counter.

He passed her another perspex tariff, which showed lower rates than if she was purchasing. She pushed the tariff back at him.

“This is new,” she said, her soft voice lacking confidence.

“I’ve found a way to mix emotions and create a spin-off.”

The man said nothing, but Marron had his full attention. She dipped her hand into her pocket and produced two pipettes with clear fluid in each.

“This is crush,” she indicated the one with a green band around it. “It’s aimed at businessmen making deals, students taking exams, people going for interviews, or wanting to make a stellar first impression. I’ve blended the emotions: focused, ambitious and tenacious.”

The merchant had ‘poker face’ down to a fine art.

“Do you want to try it?” Marron held her breath,

He beckoned her to join him on the other side of the counter, then ushered her into a pokey, room lined with numbered cubby holes. The filing system, she presumed, for their bottled stock of emotions. He pressed a buzzer and waited.

Soon they were joined by a stick-thin youth in his early twenties. His face was bland and slack, a sure sign he’d been selling his emotions. He’d never get them back, or the memories associated with them, but he could possibly experience them again if he didn’t drain his well too deep.

“I need you to try an emotion,” his employer told him gruffly.

The youth nodded and opened his mouth, putting out his tongue. Marron let one drop of crush fall on the flat pink of his tongue.

The effect was instant, his body language altered, he stood tall with shoulders back and his expression sharpened with intent.

“How’d you feel?” The merchant asked suspiciously.

“I feel great — sharp as a tack, really motivated. I have an idea I’ve been meaning to share, a new place to seek donations and …”

The merchant cut him off with a raised hand. “Later Efrin, go back to your work. We’ll talk after I serve this gal.”

“I’d like to stay and watch Kruup, I reckon I could learn to take donations, and today’s as good as any to start.”

The merchant gave him a withering stare, but turned to Marron with more interest than previously.

“How much’ve you got of crush?” he asked.

“10 mil,” she replied.

“What’s in that other pipette?” Kruup asked.

“I call that flare,” she explained.

“What does that do?” Efrin stepped closer.

The fluid looked the same as the other vial, but had a yellow band around it.

“Do you want to try it?” Marron asked Kruup. “It’s too soon for Efrin to absorb another emotion,” she cautioned.

Efrin looked as if he could take on the world, but that was part of the blended emotion’s effect. The merchant gave her an assessing look and pressed the buzzer again. An old woman soon shuffled into the room.

“I need you to try an emotion, Zorelle,” Kruup shouted, so Marron guessed Zorelle was a little deaf.

Zorelle opened her mouth, as Efrin had done, and Marron released one drop, to splash onto the woman’s tongue. The transformation happened in moments. A smile split Zorelle’s lined face and she appeared younger and more carefree. She looked around at her companions as if waking from a pleasant dream.

“What was that dear?” She asked Marron. “I feel boosted, like I could fly or dance; I want to do something fun!”

“I’ve blended joy with a small portion of agitation. Unlike the synthetic joy the government sells, but only to those who fit their criteria, a person experiences bliss minus any lethargy.”

Taking flare makes you feel euphoric but still motivated.”

Marron said the last part loudly, for the old woman to hear.

“Exactly,” trilled Zorelle, flouncing about like a girl with dreams of being a ballerina.

“How much of that have you brought?”

Efrin prepared to calculate how much profit could be made, when Marron supplied her answer. His fingers flew over the keys of the addition device, Kruup looking over his shoulder with keen interest.

“We could offer you –”

But Marron held up her hand to Kruup, halting the negotiations.

“I don’t want credits, I want a vial of ‘optimism’ and one of ‘invigorated’.

That stopped the merchant in his tracks. Optimism was a gold-tier emotion, but both were rare and costly. He sucked his teeth while he considered, then Efrin pulled him into a huddle and they spoke in murmurs.

“How long does this last?” Zorelle asked Marron, ignoring the men’s deliberations.

“About two hours,” Marron held up two fingers, to be sure Zorelle understood.

“I’m off to have a good time,” Zorelle announced to no one in particular, before she left the shop.

“Can you make more?” Efrin asked.

“Maybe,” Marron had planned this as a one-time deal, but of course they were greedy for more.

Kruup clasped Marron’s hand, sealing the deal, then she passed over the precious pipettes. She watched him store each carefully, in a dark, padded box, and wrote their names on each. Then he reached down two similar boxes, from which he dispensed just a droplet of each emotion into travel vials for Marron.

When she moved to take the rare liquid, he noticed the bar code tattooed on her wrist and paused, his face became shuttered.

“You work for the authorities?”

Efrin looked nervous.

“The children’s hospital,” she explained, and they relaxed again.

“Come back soon,” Kruup told her.

Marron left the shop and the bell rang dully.

She hurried along the weed-infested pavements, passing other broken men with the same vacant expressions she had observed earlier. In them, she recognized the look of people who’d sold too many emotions and hollowed themselves out.

On the street corner she saw the children again. They were playing some kind of tag game and Zorelle had joined them. Her face was transformed by the simple pleasure of relaxed human interaction, and Marron felt true joy to see it.

In a few more twists and turns Marron was back on the main drag where the city had come to life. The sky trains shuttled overhead and people went about their daily business. Marron took the familiar route to the hospital, where she stowed her coverall in a locker.

She showered and put on fresh scrubs; routines which kept the transference of germs to a minimum. Then she walked to the oncology ward.

Marron had a smile or a kind word for all her patients, but Fleek was special, he’d managed to touch her heart. He looked tiny and frail in the clinical surroundings, his bed crowded with medical equipment.

Today she was bringing him hope, literally. She had it in liquid form in her pocket.

Marron drew the curtains around his bed, then slipped one of the two vials from her pocket. She’d picked up a mini cupcake from the nurse’s station, and with sleight of hand, she put a drop of the precious essence onto the cake’s icing.

“Dig in little man, it’s your birthday treat.”

Marron watched with trepidation as the sickly boy bit into the cake. He didn’t usually have much appetite and it hurt to think he was eating to please her. As Fleek chewed slowly, her heart went into her mouth: Would the emotions work? Was Kruup a good source? had she left it too late?

Fleek’s face began to change, initially with a grin through the chocolate frosting smeared over his lips.

“This is good cake Nurse Marron!” he affirmed, in his soft voice.

“Have some more,” she smiled.

“I think I will,” he declared.

Taking another bite he pushed himself up to sitting. “Is the sun shining today Nurse Marron?”

“It is, Fleek,” she was encouraged by the colour in his cheeks.

“Could we go for a walk? I’d like to see the birds on the lake.”

“Sure,” she smiled, blinking, “I’ll wrap you up, and push you outside. Let me fetch a wheelchair,” and she ducked out of his cubicle.

She hurried to the locker rooms. After ensuring she was alone, Marron located a clean vial, then pressed it to her eye to catch her precious tears of joy.

Written for this prompt : Your protagonist lives in a world where you can purchase bottled emotions. Local authorities try to regulate the trade but illegal dealers and black markets run rampant. Some emotions are worth much more than others. Bottle ’Em Up Can I tempt any friends to write something? Celia McKinley Simone Francis Raine Lore Lori Lamothe May More Matthew Donnellon joan rowell

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