Hope for Tomorrow

After breaking a protester's leg, a corporate enforcer tries to save her career by infiltrating a movement her ex-girlfriend is involved in.

Photo by Carson Masterson on Unsplash

My first attempt at writing a story in one day and it’s come in at a ridiculous word length (over 5000), meaning I’ve had next to no time to edit.

---

A little rough and tumble with a protester had landed Mari in trouble. Now that corporate enforcers had similar powers to the police she wouldn’t be prosecuted, but it was a PR disaster.

“He spat in my face.” She gripped the arm of her chair and wished the plastic would crumble under her grasp. “And have you seen the type of people marching around down there recently? For all I know he could have had… Poisonous spit or something.”

“You broke his leg.” Andrew said wearily. Her supervisor closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“He must have had weak bones.” Mari hissed.

Every week protesters had been congregating outside the offices of Willians Coe, often blocking the door for workers to get in and out. Police were supposedly busy with violent groups elsewhere in the city, so Mari and her fellow enforcers had to keep the peace. The atmosphere had shifted in the last month, as a high proportion of the protesters were Extras.

Powers had begun manifesting in a small minority of children two decades ago, and as far as anyone could tell, it was a fluke of nature. You were either born with something extra, or you weren’t. Most of the time they weren’t what had been referred to as superpowers in comic books. They were mundane oddities, like being able to boil an egg in your hands, or dissolving glass with your tongue. Various terms for such people had come and gone, but the one that stuck was Extras. Governments and corporations alike needed to downplay the importance of their powers. Willans Coe did employ Extras when it measurably improved efficiency, but otherwise they were kept out of anything important, their CVs ignored whenever they applied.

In recent weeks Mari had spotted a few Extras among the protesters. One had thrown a can on the pavement so hard it had made a dent. Another had such a loud booming voice it couldn’t have been natural. Mari had heard of much more dangerous sorts elsewhere in the city. There had even been a persistent rumour that Willans Coe had suffered a hack due to an Extra - someone abnormally persuasive had squeezed some of the IT department for login details and stolen records of their radar system sales.

So when a protester rushed into the building through the side entrance Mari was already on high alert. Her brain did register that all he was holding was a can of red paint, but the sheer audacity of it all made her run after him, grab him by the collar and then in the ensuing tussle she had whacked his leg with her baton much harder than she intended.

“Look, we’re doing our best with the press. We’ve already got a hold of his health records that show he is not a happy chappy, we’ve said you didn’t know what else he had on him, yadda-yadda. But you’ll have to stick to desk work for now, and if this becomes a big thing - becomes part of a big long think piece - then you will be out the door. Simple as that.”

Andrew shrugged. Despite ostensibly being in charge of the enforcers he had always struck Mari as quite spineless. He didn’t even have the courage to sack her outright, instead waiting until he was given no choice. She half suspected it was because she was the only woman on the team, and if she was fired there might be a think piece on how Willans Coe only took action against the bad behavior of its female employees. Something that maybe she could use to her advantage.

“Firing me is the messy option, don’t you think? Unpredictable consequences.” She stretched her arms wide and yawned as if she had no concerns in the world. “Tell you what. You’ve got Kieran looking into this new wave of Extras, don’t you? Yeah, he’s not one for keeping things hush-hush. Give me a chance to look into it, make my name nice and shiny again. Alright?”

It had to be a tempting deal, Mari thought. The police and other corporations were no doubt also looking into why so many adults - dangerous protesters specifically - had gained powers.

Andrew’s pained smile wrinkled his whole face, but he accepted her proposal, emailed her all the details known so far and shooed her out of the meeting room.

---

Back at her desk Mari skimmed through the files her colleague had already collated. A police contact had passed on an interview with some lefty troublemaker who referred briefly to “The Poetess”, but gave no details. Another report claimed any of the new Extras were part of a green movement called Hope for Tomorrow. Mari grinned at her luck.

The door to the roof of the building was propped open with a cinder block, so Mari hopped over it and walked out into the cool breeze. From here she could see half the city, at least the parts that didn’t fall in the skyscrapers' shadows. She preferred to wander up to the roof for some alone time rather than get the elevator down, pass through security, then walk ten minutes to the nearest tiny park filled with screaming children. She wasn’t the only one - even though the roof was meant to be off-limits someone had put little flower pots out filled with herbs. Mari rubbed the rosemary between her fingertips and smelled them. It smelled like Sundays with her firends at uni before she had a job or responsibilities.

She scrolled through her old messages with Fran just to check she hadn’t gotten the group mixed up with another. No, there it was: “Sorry, got another Hope for Tomorrow thing…Tomorrow. Hope…fully :D”

Mari rang her. Fran didn’t work Fridays, so there was a good chance she’d pick up.

“Mari! Was just thinking about you, my lovely, darling, good-hearted friend.” Fran emphasised every word. “Ayesha’s been sending me articles and memes about you all day, and I haven’t quite worked out how to tell her you’re my ex, so thanks for that.”

“Yeah, it’s all -”

“And then I got a call from my mother an hour ago asking me if you had ever beat me, so that was great. I said no, to clarify.”

The conversation had already spun out of Mari’s control. She had intended to explain it to her friends in her own words before the press got a hold of the story. Andrew was to blame, she thought, he had said she’d have a little longer before it leaked.

“I messed up, yeah, but in my defence there’s complicated stuff the media haven’t bothered talking about.” She prayed Fran wouldn’t question her further. “But I’m holding onto my job by a thread right now.”

“Boo hoo.”

“And I really need your support.”

There was a pause. She tried not to smile, paranoid Fran would hear the crinkle of her lips down the phone. Her ex had always been incapable of refusing to help someone. Mari waited for a response. She had always been taught that whoever broke silence first was the weakest, but when they had been together she had foolishly told Fran about her opinion on that. Every stretch of silence risked “The Talk” about Mari’s childhood.

She heard Fran give an exaggerated sigh.

“What is it you want, Mari?”

“I heard the guy who I hurt -”

“Leo Romano, an engineer, I read. Two kids.”

“I get it. Christ. I’ve had fucking nightmares about it.”

“Sorry.” Fran’s voice quivered. She sounded genuinely sorry for needling her, which in turn made Mari, for a fleeting moment, feel sorry for the whole conversation. 

This was exactly the type of thing that led to their break-up - Mari tugging on Fran’s heartstrings to get what she wanted. A relationship that should have only lasted a couple of months stretched out to two years because Fran struggled to say no to anything and Mari struggled not to exploit that. It had been Fran who had finally found her voice and ended things, and their friendship since had been so positive, much to everyone’s surprise. The reframing had helped Mari to treat her with respect, and Fran’s new relationship had made her blossom. Sometimes, at 1am, some memory of their relationship would shudder through her, and Mari sobbed with guilt, and with gratitude at Fran’s patience with her.

Now she was going to snap all the trust she had been building with a lie.

“Anyway. So I heard Leo was maybe involved with someone called The Poetess, who might be linked to Hope for Tomorrow. I guess I just want to understand where he was coming from, you know? I’ve started to realise that my brain has been warped by the whole ‘Us and Them’ mentality. I assume The Poetess is a performer, maybe she’s someone who might help me see things clearer. I just thought, you know, maybe you could let me know where she performs?”

Silence. Then -

“Ok. Right. Uh…” Fran trailed off. 

Mari couldn’t work out if she had hit the sweet spot or not. She peered over the edge of the roof - a long, messy drop. She felt a sudden hardness in her throat at the half-processed thought and moved back to the door.

“Look,” Fran began. “I think joining Hope for Tomorrow would really help you. I know your family has instilled certain ideas in your head and you get a bit black and white. And ok, I have heard of The Poetess, and maybe she could help you too, but… Mari, I don’t think you really understand what you’re asking. That’s not quite the same crowd. There’s danger there, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Shoot me, I still care about you.”

“You always said I should be thinking for myself, so shouldn’t I figure out the risks for myself too?”

“Fine. She performs in a couple of different places I think, but one of them is called The Nightshade Den. It might even be tonight she’s performing there. I’ll ping you over the location. They turn away anyone they don’t like the look of though, and quite a few articles have your face on them.”

“I’ll sort something out. Thanks Fran, you’re a star.”

Mari had to hang before she started hyperventilating. She clapped a hand over her mouth. She was an arsehole. A lying, manipulative arsehole. She could tolerate breaking someone’s leg - stupid things happen in the spur of the moment, and the man was nobody to her. But squeezing information out of Fran to save her career felt monstrous.

She tried to self-soothe by telling herself it was necessary. The alternative was losing her job, and with her name all over the internet she’d struggle to even get a job as a security guard. Who would respect her then? Even criminals wouldn’t want her at their side after years of working at Willans Coe. She had done her obligatory stint in retail and wasn’t willing to stoop back down to that level. She didn’t have much in savings, so when she ran out of rent money she’d have to move back in with her parents. Or be homeless. Homelessness seemed preferable.

---

In the evening she researched The Nightshade Den. Stupid name, she thought, stupid place too. It wasn’t listed on Google Maps, but Fran messaged to say it was in the basement of a second hand bookshop. All she could see on Streetview was the little outside stairwell downwards. Basement meant there might only be one entrance, so no sneaking in. She found some messages on local forums with things like “the performances there are out of this world!!” but no actual mention of The Poetess. Some people had mentioned having their bags checked or being patted down, which made Mari pause.

Fran was probably just being a worrier when she said it wasn’t safe there, but Mari knew she would feel a whole lot better if she had a weapon on her, especially if she got recognised. She changed into some new knickers, then put boxer shorts over them, and manoeuvred a stun gun into them. It was horrifically uncomfortable, and made it obvious she was packing, one way or another. She rooted around in her cupboards for a thigh strap, then tried strapped the stun gun to the inside of her leg. Still unpleasant, but tolerable enough for a short while. There was the risk it would shift about, or anyone patting her down might feel the strap, but so be it.

She picked out a dark green dress that was flowy enough to not make her thigh strap obvious. Next up was her disguise.

The photo of her that had been passed around the internet was from a year ago, a sombre looking photo of her with short black hair and no makeup. It was taken at her grandmother’s funeral, but clever journalists had cropped it to take out the coffin procession to the side, making her just look thuggish. Mari wasn’t used to wearing makeup, but diligently followed an online tutorial for contouring her face. When she looked in the mirror she didn’t seem to be all that different, but she assumed it was just because she knew her face too well.

Fran had loads of wigs from when she used to cosplay, and somehow she had left one when she moved out. It was a honey blond one, with ringlets that drifted down past the shoulders. Fran had never noticed it missing from her collection, and Mari never told her. She liked having it around, it reminded her of one of the conventions they went to together, when Fran had first said I love you in the tiny, poorly-lit hotel room that same night. Mari felt another twinge of guilt as she tried it on, feeling like she was roping Fran further into her lies.

Blonde hair looked ridiculous on her, but it did at least make her look different. The weight and texture of it was uncomfortable even with the hair net, but Mari had a high tolerance for discomfort.

All in all, it was an adequate disguise, she thought. She had nothing to lose - if she got turned away, so be it. Passing on the scant information she had lured out of Fran might be enough to persuade Andrew to keep her on.

---

The night air was cool, and the walk down to the bookshop helped relax her. She kept her stun gun in her bag until she was on the same street, then she dipped into a pub toilet to strap it to her thigh. She tried to walk as normally as she could, feeling it brush against her other thigh with every stride. No pain, no gain, as her mother always said.

There was a small queue on the metal stairs to the bookshop basement, and Mari kept her breath steady as she listened to the faint electro swing music she could hear from The Nightshade Den. As she neared the front of the queue, a sudden panic hit her: her name was on her ID. She rarely got ID’d any more, but it could be the type of place that ID’d everyone.

When she got to the front, the bouncer looked at her and frowned. Then he turned around to another guy with a walkie-talkie just inside and gave him a smile and a thumbs up. A signal, Mari thought. Or maybe he was just checking in with his colleague. The bouncer blocked the door so she couldn’t see what his colleague was doing.

“ID?”

“Oh wow, seriously?” Mari laughed. “I mean yeah, I’ve got my driving licence somewhere, but I’m twenty-nine, you know.”

She made a show of rooting around in her bag, then gave a pained smile at the couple waiting behind her. She was torn between trying to bluff her way in versus sharing her ID. She hoped he might take pity on her considering how long she was drawing the whole thing out, but glancing again at his face she knew she wouldn’t be so lucky. She fished out her ID and handed it over. He peered at it briefly, then asked for her bag. She could feel the shape of the stun gun against her leg. She had double and triple checked the lock was on before she strapped it, but she imagine that right at that moment it would zap herself for her hubris.

After a brief look in the bag the bouncer handed it back and waved her through.

Mari gave a long exhale as she entered. She was in. Of course the meathead wouldn’t be paying attention to the news. Of course a place like this wouldn’t pat her down. She could relax. 

The room was large and colourful - abstract murals painted on the walls and big strange plants dotted about along the edges and behind the bar. At the far end was a small stage, its curtains a blood red. In front of that was a dance floor, but most people were congregating in the booths dotted around.

She had expected the other customers to be youths riddled with piercings and tattoos, and while there certainly were a few like that they mostly seemed to be ordinary people that wouldn’t have looked out of place at Willans Coe. Quite a few were middle aged, and even the young ones weren’t dressed up like a night on the town. She felt overdressed, if anything, and was thankfully she had opted for flat shoes instead of heels.

She bought a gin and tonic just to have something to focus on. There were no posters talking about what performances happened there, so she wandered across the room and leaned against a booth. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but she tried to pick up the conversation of the animated group nearby.

“Oh mate, you are in for a treat!”

“She is pretty Extra.”

“The whole volunteer on stage thing is obviously fake, Mo, I can’t believe people fall for it.”

“Nah, I got a friend who went up…”

The last man’s voice suddenly dropped as he continued his story. Mari edged sideways. When she still couldn’t hear, she glanced in their direction, hoping the dim lighting might shield her obvious intrusion.

The young man clocked her instantly.

“Um, can I help you?”

“Oh, hey Mo! I thought that was you. How’s it going?”

“Hey, you.” The man was clearly trying to hide his embarrassment at not recognising her. A woman at the table giggled.

“I should have known you come here.” Mari said, hoping the over-familiarity would shame him into keeping up the charade. “I’ve never actually come before, do you know when it starts?”

One of the other men budged up along the booth and gestured for her to sit down, flashing her a slimy smile. Mari lowered herself slowly, not wanting to shift her stun gun. She half-hoped the man would give her a reason to use it.

“Nine on the dot. It’s The Poetess tonight, if you didn’t know. Sorry, Mo didn’t give your name?” The man had turned his whole body towards her making sure she knew she had his whole attention. Presumably it came off as charming to some people. She glanced at the woman across from her, who gave a little chuckle and shook her head.

“Don’t mind Paul, just kick him in the balls if he gets too much.”

Taking the hint, Paul gave a dismissive wave and focused on his drink.

With twenty minutes to spare, Mari managed to quickly ingratiate herself into the group. Mo never questioned the idea they had met before, and everyone seemed to be tipsy enough that they forgot to even ask how they knew each other. Mari managed to ascertain that The Poetess had a half hour slot each week where she would ask an audience member to come up on stage and be read a poem. The whole audience would hear the poem, but there was something Extra about her that made it special for the one person chosen.

It sounded a little ridiculous to Mari. Spoken word poetry evenings were tedious at the best of times, poets couldn’t help but talk about their feelings and their identity and it made Mari nauseous. She couldn’t see how an Extra power could make it more entertaining, unless she The Poetess could brainwash everyone into thinking her poetry was actually good.

At night a loud gong rang out behind the curtains. A hush fell over the audience and some of those without a booth simply sat on the dance floor. The curtains pulled open and on the stage a woman was standing, her hands stretched out in greeting. The Poetess.

Mari found the woman to be unsettlingly beautiful. She was bald with not even a hint of stubble on her head, and her face and head were covered with shimmering powder. Her eyes were a little too big, her lips a little too pale. The dress she wore was identical to the one Mari was wearing. The cream cloak that covered it gave her appearance an oddly religious look and when Mari glanced at the audience she saw that some of those on the floor were kneeling as if they were in church.

“Friends.” The Poetess proclaimed. Then silence, one far more masterful than Mari could craft. “It has been a curious week, has it not? So much violence, paired with so much inaction.” 

Her voice was deep and plummy. It felt as if her eyes flickered towards Mari as she spoke, and Mari felt the same hardness in her throat as when she peered over the edge of the office roof. A coincidence, she told herself. A performance. The woman was just looking all around so no one felt left out.

“I am honoured that so many of you would flock to my readings. But I am afraid only one of you can be chosen to join me on the stage and receive my poem personally.”

She drifted down the wooden steps at the front of the stage and let her gaze drift across the room. Some of those standing reached out to touch her cloak as she passed, saying nothing.

Her gaze fell to Mari, and she smiled. It was the same smile Fran had given when she had said “I love you” so long ago. A genuine smile felt far more terrifying to Mari than a false one. The thought of stunning her right then and there flickered across her mind. Then the thought of explaining it to Fran: “She smiled and I couldn’t take it.”

“It looks like we’re wearing the same dress!” The Poetess exclaimed, and gestured for Mari to stand up and show everyone. Mari got up gingerly, her stun gun shifting slightly as she did so.

“Kismet. Come on up.”

Mari wasn’t ready to have so many eyes on her. Under the light on the stage someone in the audience was bound to recognise her. This night was supposed to be about regaining control of her life.

“I’m good, thanks.”

The Poetess acted as though she hadn’t heard, and walked back up onto the stage, standing in front of the two padded leather chairs that had been placed there.

“Go on!” hissed the other people in her booth. Paul gave her a little push in the small of her back and she curled her hand into a fist to stop herself from whirling around and telling him to fuck off.

There was no reason to think anyone would recognise her, and no reason to think The Poetess had any other reason to pick her other than they happened to be wearing the same dress. If anything, leaving now and making a scene might mean people would end up recognising her, she thought, and her plans would be screwed. Chumming up to The Poetess was something she should embrace, she told herself, it was the only way she might be able to work out what had been happening with all the new Extras and keep her job.

She subtly adjusted her wig, then strode up onto the stage.

“And what is your name?”

“Mae.”

“Mae, welcome to my stage. If you take a seat opposite I will begin my rendition.”

Mari took her seat and gave a quick smile to the audience. The stage lights made it hard to see faces properly, but someone at her booth gave her a little wave.

The gong sounded again. It felt as if it was right next to her, but there was nothing else on stage but the woman and the two chairs.

Mari clenched her jaw as The Poetess stood just behind her. A power move, she thought, done on stage in the hope that Mari would feel too embarrassed to shift about. She wouldn’t play that game. Mari twisted round to face The Poetess with a smile and narrowed eyes.

The woman crouched next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“I know who you are.” It was barely even a whisper.

The bare shoulder The Poetess had touched suddenly felt like ice. The feeling flooded across her chest, up her neck, and down her arms just as Mari’s nerves flicked to fight or flight mode. Instead she froze. She was trapped in her own body, unable to lash out. Freezing wasn’t what she did, she thought, freezing was what other people did. She was furious at her body for betraying her. She couldn’t even shout or clench her fist or grab her stun gun and down the manipulative Extra who had paralysed her.

The Poetess stood back up, and trailed her finger along Mari’s cheek, turning her face back to the audience. Everyone was still sitting in their chairs enraptured, unaware of Mari’s paralysis. The Poetess sat in the chair opposite her, then nudged it forward until their legs were touching each other, the green folds of their dresses merging with one another. She produced a long thin pipe from the inside pocket of her cloak, tipped some red dust into it, and lit it with a lighter.

“It truly is a pleasure to have you up on stage, Mari.” She had used her real name, though no one else in the room seemed to notice. Mari tried to move her jaw, hoping that if she spoke it would be picked up on The Poetess’s mic. But the more she tried to twitch her muscles, the colder they felt. 

The Poetess sucked on the pipe, breathing in for what felt like well over a minute. Her brown eyes began to flare red. Fran had tried to warn her, she remembered. Fran didn’t want her to get hurt but she had ignored her, as always.

The woman leaned forward until her face was an inch away from Mari’s. Her breath smelled fruity and pleasant, which angered Mari even more. The monster should smell like a monster, she thought.

The woman gently touched Mari’s bottom lip, and pulled down until Mari’s mouth opened. 

“Tonight I shall tell you a tale.” 

As the woman spoke, balls of red smoke floated from her mouth to Mari’s. Mari could still control her breathing, but she inhaled instinctively. The smoke felt purer than air in her throat and lungs. It felt as if she had spent the rest of her life breathing poison. Frozen as she was, she seized upon this one pleasure, gratefully sucking up the smoke The Poetess was letting pass into her mouth. 

It took her a few moments to realise The Poetess was speaking. Reciting. The words were rhythmical, the pauses coming at regular intervals. Mari could hear the sounds she was making and could see her lips move, but she couldn’t process a single word. Everything felt familiar, every syllable just out of reach. She didn’t want to be frozen, but nor did she want to fight the woman any more. She wanted to piece together what she was actually saying. It felt revelatory. It felt as if she had spent a lifetime trying to cram some part of herself in a box and now that part was trying to burst forth. 

Then there was silence. It wasn’t the silence Mari was used to - the warring silence between headstrong people too stubborn to break it. It was a silence of wonder. A silence that stretched out and connected people without words.

She breathed in the last wisps of The Poetess’ smoky mouth, then the woman moved her face away and stood up to bow.

Applause thundered through the room. Mari closed her mouth, then realised her control was returning to her. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, she twisted her head to the audience. Those who had been sat on the floor now rose to their feet to clap and her own companions poured out of the booth and neared the stage, their faces beaming with delight. 

Mari shifted in her chair, checking the capability of all her muscles. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she no longer felt angry at the stranger on stage beside her. Something had been unlocked in her.

She staggered to her feet and made her way to the people she had spoken to before.

“How was it? Do you feel different?” Paul asked.

She turned back to the stage - the woman raised an eyebrow at her and smiled, then the curtains closed on their connection.

“Different.” Although she had only been frozen for perhaps ten minutes, the act of speaking felt unfamiliar. “Yeah. Different.”

She sat back down at the booth, then while everyone was seating themselves around her she pulled her bag under her legs as subtle as she could and slipped her stun gun into it. She was so sick of having it pressing against her thigh. There was no one there she wanted to fight.

“What did it feel like, though? You were so still, I would've coughed like hell if all of that smoke got in my mouth.”

“Well it looked like the two of you connected, for sure.” Paul chuckled, and batted her bare arm playfully.

The skin against skin ignited something in her. The unlocked box in her head burst open, filling her mind with memories.

He went through voice training after the other boys at school had made fun of his high-pitched voice.

His first girlfriend had made a beautiful photo collage for his eighteenth birthday.

He came out as bi and his dad rolled his eyes and changed the subject.

Mari flinched and jumped up.

“I have to go. Uh, lovely seeing you all.”

She gestured for the others to make room, and shuffled along, careful not to touch anyone’s bare skin.

“Lovely to see you too!” One of the women moved to hug her. Mari darted out of the way, but a hand brushed against her shoulder.

Her name was Frances. She had helped her brother recover from coke addiction and flourish at uni.

She was still in love with a man she met on holiday two years ago.

Her mammogram result was due in a few days.

Mari didn’t want to know. She hurried out, ignoring all the other patrons who wanted to question her about her experience.

She gasped in the cold night air. She had the answer she had been looking for: the new wave of Extras had somehow been created by The Poetess. Who or what she was was still unclear, but if Mari worked on a report over the weekend she could hand it in to her supervisor on Monday and maybe secure her job.

The only issue was that her life had now turned upside down. The Poetess had cursed her with an Extra power, and worst still, she seemed to do it out of love. She had weakened her. 

She leaned up against a brick wall and closed her eyes. She could still remember Fran’s touch. What would that feel like now, she wondered. What memories would she see in Fran of their own relationship? The arguments, the manipulations, the overt lies? For the man whose leg she had broken, would her action be a stand out memory in his life?

It was only a weakness if she let it be one, she decided. She imagined a future where she could stroke a lover and be flooded with memories of them flourishing together. Strengthening one another. Being honest with one another.

She walked home in silence - a silence of possibilities.

---