In the morning as I woke up much earlier than I usually did, about forty minutes to

seven, and looked outside the window, the sky was sheathed in a brilliant blue, with

streaks of Savannah sunset scattered about in an abstract montage. The majestic

wooden gazebo atop the fresh, dewy shamrock grass, with the stony fountains circling

the gold of kinabalu Orchid and Juliet roses, emitting a nostalgic and cool breeze all

around, looked and felt even more fantastical than ever. The ordinary (according to

eliteratti standards) really came alive - and why wouldn't it? 'Tis a beautiful life,

when one comes into contact with purpose. And if that purpose leads you to wake up

early, then take it. Everything is more beautiful and magical in the morning.

It was as if the springs of my body were charged with instant electric voltage, as I

bounced out of my bed and towards my little supplies desk in the corner of my tiny

room. I began sifting through my things and took some time determining their

practicalities. For instance, questions like whether a great, big chart paper would be a

more suitable choice for the petition or a small notebook dedicated especially to the

cause being more sufficient occupied my mind. After all, we intended on getting as

many signatures as was humanly possible. Then of course, the realization that it had

to be executed in a coherent legal manner, therefore the exact number of signatures

required to cross the first threshold was something we needed to find out. Jeter could

ask his Aunt Judge Firdous, the chief justice of Silverns Town. The family would

definitely be gathering for the great big carnival that was to happen.

I also turned to my map of the town and started working out which routes we were to

take and which subareas within the district of the miscellaneous we could explore.

There was so much! Having lived away from Silverns, I had so much to understand

and expand upon. Theatres, multiple schools, libraries, restaurants, galore! Naturally,

people born looking like actors, teachers, librarians, waiters, and so on would be

shoehorned into the part known as the Left Arrow. Whatever the case, it certainly

looked a lot more enticing and thriving than the eliteratti – it looked more of a place

where all residents felt the conundrum of life celebrated all kinds of diversity. A town

within a town, of sorts! What made the situation sodded was the futile labelling of

inferiority.

Thinking about how great an adventure it was going to be, the need and absolute

necessity of capturing everything on film struck me. I needed photographs of the

entire journey. Sadly, I didn’t own a camera. Even if I did, it’s not like I could work it

professionally or anything. So it became essential to find a photographer in Left

Arrow and request him. Unfortunately that never came to pass. Funny how those born

looking like photographers – there isn’t much of a clear distinction physically, except

they are born with very specific eyeballs that can magnify at will, giving them a

natural acumen and edge regarding the dynamic of the profession, and a camera strap

around their necks – are deemed as miscellaneous when really, the eliteratti couldn’t

go one day without getting their pictures taken. The eliteratti need the miscellaneous

but will not concede towards equality – confusing.

Speaking of the ‘need’ factor, my supply checks and wandering thoughts made me

pay no heed towards the time – it was nearly nine o clock! I decided to walk into the

mansion and meet with Jeter, and quite possibly wake up the laziest in the group.

There’s a separate entrance that I use in order to get to Jeter’s room and avoid his

family members because each time I run into them, there is an inevitable envelope

effect of icy stares and disdainful indifference. Better to avoid it all. So, I always

show myself in from an obscure door between the powder room and the kitchen that

Jeter had concealed with the mask of a giant bookshelf. Of course, he told me the

trick to sliding past it, without getting noticed.

I am happy with the level of trust we have. It would be impossible to do anything if

Jeter, Harris and Nin were sceptical of me – at a point like this, there is great relief in

knowing how uniquely individualistic these three eliteratti children are. And it is an

immensely comforting feeling knowing that we are working together on a mutually

important cause.

Pushing past these overly sentimental raging thoughts, and employing full use of my

stealth, I began to steal my way up the second less used, and admittedly, more

beautiful staircase. But just my luck! Mrs. Kit, on a never before done occasion, was

coming downstairs; her heels clinked musically against the wooden steps. I

immediately hurried down, as I must have been on my fourth stair, and hid behind the

dark hallway behind. The staircase was also dimly lit, and none of the brilliantly

gargantuan pentagon shaped windows faced this part of the mansion, so all the

sunlight sheathed the alternate halls and plummeted this region into a shadowy abyss

– just the way my adventurer friend prefers it.

Why would Mrs. Kit take a crazy detour from her and her husband’s personal, and

the mansion’s main grander staircase? Waiting patiently for her to leave, I adjusted

myself in the narrow hallway. It was an almost abandoned, forbidden part of the

mansion due to its unkempt style. There were thick layers of dust everywhere. Even

in all the darkness, I could vaguely discern an old bookshelf with loads of

ornamentally placed books; judging by their condition, they had not been read, yet

alone opened for a decade. There was a planked up window to the side that radiated a

little sunlight, magnifying the billions of dust particles circulating in the air.

As I peered closer, a book that really grasped my attention was a thin, shattered one

with the cover of a symbol – the one my kind is stamped with at birth - the same red

circular honeycomb shape. Burning with curiosity, I opened it and could discern it

was a general book on the biology of our types, when I found an empty plastic bag

inside. I held it up against the faint sunlight and could read ‘gene suppressor’ – looked

like it had been used too, but a long time ago, judging by the condition.

Moving away from the bookcase that was the literal definition of unused, I opened

the drawers of the little table beside it. Strangely the table did not have the same

layers of dust and age that its neighbour embodied. It was relatively clean – or as

clean as the usual tables in the ‘working’ and non-abandoned parts of the home. It felt

as if someone had been accessing the drawers.

I opened one of them and discovered the most bizarre things. They were like the

props of some actor. Chest pads, leg wears, make up, special “skin” sprays, and all

sorts of synonymous things. It was quite the eccentric find.

But before I could explore any further, I heard Mrs. Kit’s voice penetrate the still air,

with a husky ‘Where are you!’ raising the hair on my arms. I tiptoed back to my

original position by the staircase, closing the tiny door behind me as I left it slightly

ajar and was just about to escape up, when I was once more arrested by her loud tone,

‘Catarina!’ and the subsequently louder, ‘CATARINAAA, where ARE you?’

A stout, plump woman in the skin of a house maid scurried in from one of the East

ward kitchens. Her skin was like a black knee length dress, with a white coloured

apron on top; she also had an additional flap where the apron ended, like the pouch of

a kangaroo. Her hair was messily tied in a rough bun, and had a matching white piece

to complement her apron-skin in her hair – though the former was not skin.

Giving a little bob like courtesy, she went, ‘Yaaas Ledy Missus Kit Madam?’

That was the first time I heard language quite like that. Edging a bit closer to the

wall, to whose back this communication unfolded, I began to listen more heedfully.

‘You realise the family portrait has caught dust? A thin microscopic film of dust. I

have business associates coming in the evening. You realise that?’ she spoke in a

biting manner, exuding all her airs of supremacy.

‘Pardon to beg for th’ uncare!’ she reproachfully sighed.

‘You left your dusting cloth over there, too! By heaven I was so perturbed by the

dust shenanigans on your part, I was almost compelled to pick it up myself and wipe

those particles clean,’ she spoke while facing the ceiling.

Then why didn’t you? I thought, whilst supressing the need to sneeze. I wonder why

all that talk of dust tickled my nose so much.

‘Naturally, I did not do something so blasphemous. I thought to myself, no Arantza.

Get it together. This is not what you were born to do. It isn’t your domain,’ she

replied suddenly almost as if she had heard me.

You have got to be kidding me – this is basic housekeeping, of you OWN house!

‘So Catarina, what does this tell you. What were we born to do? I am a business

woman,’ she pointed to her bosom.

‘N I wes born to cleanin’ yer home ‘n dustin’ portrits,’ she replied, with a tinge of

pride, like she was happy to recite the abc of life so correctly, to an unappreciative

teacher.

‘Hmm, yesss,’ her madam replied, elongating her s’s a bit more.

She then took out her tablet where she had a hologram like board appear in the air. It

was big and green, and quite perceptible as I could tell from the distance it was an

organiser that had everyone’s tasks laid out. And of course, the current subject for the

organiser was Catarina. She had 100 tasks laid out for her that ranged from ridiculous

to very ridiculous, like cleaning the dust off of the tips of Mrs. Kit’s nail polishes to

rearranging the decoration pieces on one of the four tables in the main lounge’s sofa

area only, about 45 times to see which one looked the best. And it was only ten o

clock in the morning!

With this kind of rigorous schedule, it was really NOT a big deal if Mrs. Kit wiped

off that tiny smudge off of her portrait. If she thought it was justified not to execute

such a tiny action because she was not born to do it is needless to say, mightily

ridiculous. I suggest a full course on job fluidity is in order. And if Mrs. Kit thought

she was too busy to participate in such an action because she was born for much

greater and much more important tasks that occupy her to no end then Catarina was

born with a job that occupied her to no end too. The eliteratti really needed a crash

course on respect, too.

After this little lapse of concentration in Catarina’s otherwise untainted career, pun

intended, and after Mrs. Kit added 16 more tasks to be completed by 11:46 to her

personal organiser, both of them disappeared in a flash. I could hear the clinking of

Mrs. Kit’s heels going towards the far end of the mansion, till my ears could fathom

no more, and after the broken humming of the suppressed Catarina could also no

longer be discernible, I rocketed upwards. Jeter had been asleep for far too long.

Entering his room, my eyes were met by this brilliant mountain tree green light that

paradoxically cast an intergalactic vibe across his bed. He had no windows, and the

three walls that guarded the space between them were full of posters. Rock n’ roll

posters of some of the biggest names in the music industry, all born with musical

instrument tattoos on their arms that instantly meant they were destined for this fame,

then there were glow in the dark star stickers on his ceiling accompanied by pictures

of his uncle Kenny who was the most fiercest astronauts in all of Silverns town…

well, at least in all of Silverns eliteratti town.

Trying to avoid stepping on the many books he had scattered all over his floor, along

with his backpack, torch and his scattered card game – really, to think this chap has

his own private sitting room the size of an average miscellaneous cottage and he still

can’t organise his belongings – I stood beside his snoring, drool dribbling down his

cheek, arm dangling, completely lost, clueless self. And then I proceeded to tap his

head as repeatedly and as annoyingly as possible, chanting, ‘WAAAKEEE UPPPP’ as

musically as possible.

Jeter snorted. He was given quite the jolt from heaven knows what dreams he was

having. But they seemed important, because he gave the most two dimensional

confused look I had ever seen; he was so disconnected from reality.

‘Did we get the sixty ninth signature from Henry the baker then?’ he half spoke, half

yawned.

‘Sweety, you worked hard for those signatures didn’t you?’ I cooed, my hands

tingling to shake up his pillow.

‘Mm..hmm,’ he mumbled with a smile on his face and eyes that were glued shut.

‘That is great!’ I said patting his head, and while he smiled again and gave out a

little stretch, the rest of the sentence followed, ‘is what I would have said if you

actually got up first!’ and yanked the pillow from under him.

That is when he woke up and sat upright on his bed. ‘Hey!’

‘Come on! Get ready. I have so much to show you about our trip to Left Arrow,’

there was a lot to be done, and it was clear how persistence and excitement were

entwined together.

‘What time is it?’ Jeter drowsily inquired, ‘have class at twelve.’

‘You honestly think your mother, queen of organisation, would allow you to miss

your class?’ I definitely spoke with an air of indignation at the absurdity of his

question, and my overreaction helped hide the sarcasm in my voice. But I was

probably provoked unnecessarily over a rather innocent inquiry.

‘OK yeah great,’ he said while fishing for his slippers.

His hand brushed against his bedside table as he tried to pull out one of the slippers

from under the bed.

‘Eww, Catarina really needs to dust this, or better yet I’ll just do it,’ he added

consciously at the end.

‘Yeah but what amazes me more is how Catarina missed dusting in that little

abandoned room behind your staircase!’ I added.

‘Which one?’ Jeter asked while yawning, ‘oh you mean the one behind the

staircase?’

I raised my eyebrows.

‘Yes Jeter that is the one.’

‘Nobody can enter that. Not even Catarina because that’s father’s business room and

it is always locked.’

‘Well, it wasn’t locked just now, I was there!’

‘That is weird,’ he said while sluggishly making his way to the bathroom.

‘Anyway, what’s the 4-1-1 on our trip?’ he asked interestedly, ‘I tell you, I’ve

thought of nothing else but this trip.’

‘Yeah, won’t it be something if we can prove something to our fathers. You could

finally openly pursue literature, this town would see another deviant in the form of my

father…first clown lawyer, it’ll be something!’ I said in a hyper activated, highly

optimistic and hopeful manner.

‘…and I’ll finally choose what I wanna be,’ I added, rather quietly, seriously,

reflectively.

Jeter began to sluggishly make his way beyond the tornado ridden, scattered lost and

found collection on his floor and towards the lounge. Once there, he pulled out his

back pack from under the couch and exhibited it in front of me. It contained all his

essentials from the cave escapade, with a few more fresher additions.

‘I downloaded and printed the map for Left Arrow,’ he said in a toned down version

of his drone voice, ‘made copies for Nin and Harris. I know you have one already but

there’s an extra for you, too.’

‘I’m glad there’s a map for everyone. Nin’ll probably have the lanes and check

points memorised…cuz she said so,’ I added after Jeter gave me that it-is-a-bit-tooorganised-to-be-true kind of look.

‘Anyway, we should check on her and Harr so we can tally up and go! The ‘rents

will be busy with the carnival thing anyway, I suppose we won’t be bumping into one

another, the thing’s a huge deal for the family,’ he kept speaking while taking out his

skin ‘equipment’ which acted as clothes in the world of Silverns. This was like one

would normally wash or dry clean clothes and subject the body to a shower or bath…

because here the situation got a lot trickier when it came to the two entities fusing into

a single force.

He had a shiner, a toner, a paint box, a moisturiser and an assortment of brushes to

help him polish up his look. Jeter was feeling sporty so he decided to have his,

normally black suit skin, turned bright red, like a Ferrari shade. But to manually paint

his entire body that intense colour would require way too much effort, and this is the

eliteratti we’re talking about, so of course he would have a giant body hugging mould

that would do his bidding. Bleeping button sounds, a cloud of non-toxic smoke, and a

large-freezer-being-closed like transaction later, a sporty red suit, or rather skin clad

Jeter emerged before my very eyes.

‘Nice tan, brother,’ I said with an undeniable look of wonderment. This town was

just insane.

Jeter closed his eyes, pursed his lips and nodded. Then he went into his bathroom

and began to use the equipment from earlier on himself. I could not resist watching

him because really, when did I ever see this? I had never even met my father until

recently, and that too, for only a few moments as my purpose was to serve as subject

matter for Nin’s novel.

After washing his face and brushing his teeth, I saw him slick back his hair with

clay, and polish the shiny golden pin that was somewhere inside that coffee coiffeur

with an ear bud. Then, taking a medium sized brush, Jeter gave that white shirt like

skin a light sweep, leaving it looking perfectly ironed. He then took another brush,

dipped it inside one of the colours from his paint palette and delicately glazed his red

suit and gave it a suede finish. He took out another box that had tiny accompaniments

for his suit pocket and laid them out on the glass table that was quite randomly set in

front of his Jacuzzi – or perhaps fittingly so since there were lots of dog eared vintage

comic books along with half empty soda cans everywhere. He set out a napkin, a

brooch and a tiny daffodil.

‘Which one? I feel like they’re all formal but mother likes it when I put on one of

these,’ he asked me, ‘says I look fresh.’

‘They seem formal but since your entire existence is formal, I’d say go for the

daffodil. It’s fresh like the day,’ I returned my sentiments after picking it up and

looking it over.

‘Daff it is,’ Jeter casually took it from my hand and placed it snugly inside his

pocket, or rather skin flap. Honestly, it becomes hard sometimes to remember these

are people with skin for clothes. Like aliens. Silverns is just one big, alien filled racist

town. Just like life everywhere.

‘OK, so I’m gonna go down and configure my plans in the daily organiser in the

kitchen. I’ll make something up for Nin and Harris too – meanwhile, let’s just give

them a xuxx,’ and after uttering that entirely unheard of name, he went over to his

closet door and opened it. I thought he may have wanted to change his shoes or

something, but behind his skin equipment there was a pipe.

‘We’ll go through this and it’ll take us to Nin’s room,’ he said casually, ‘though I’m

ninety nine point eight per cent sure she’ll be ready by now.’

He got inside the pipe that immediately glowed the number one.

‘You get in right after me and repeat what I say,’ he said before adding, ‘Xuxx

awaaaaay!’ and got sucked into the pipe and disappeared completely. Presumably

being swished to Nin’s room.

I did the same and uttered that nonsensical word, ‘xuxx’ with an ‘away’. In almost

an instant I was inside Nin’s bedroom. It was the strangest feeling ever…it was like I

only had to blink and step into another room, and the entire scenario was changed.

There was no physical tiredness, just my own feelings of discomfort that produced

stomach somersaults.

Nin’s bedroom was everything I was expecting. There was one brightly painted

tangerine wall, with leather curtains falling in a fringe like manner over a lunar

shaped window. She had huge bookshelf that harboured more decoration pieces than

books; she had her hand written manuscripts scattered all over the place: one was on

her bedside table, one was on her bed, the other was on the couch and another was on

her dressing table. Yet, within the discord and chaos, she knew exactly where her

things were and what was needed. I later realised she played along the settings of her

room and belongings purposefully because monotony made her ‘creativity rust’.

‘I’ve got all the equipment I need,’ she stated, ‘for school and most importantly our

excursion.’ She cheekily grinned at me.

‘Right on,’ I added.

‘Well then,’ Jeter said after looking around, ‘knew you’d be ready, so now off we

go to Harris Sahab’s.’

He went to Nin’s bookshelf and moved it a little, and revealed fully what I thought

was one of the many decoration pieces: that dastardly pipe.

Sure enough, when Nin placed herself into it, the number two glowed, and with

another ‘xuxx away!’ she was transported. Jeter did the same. And now it was my

turn. But the thought that plagued me more than the connection between all their

pipes, was why it was so smooth, and why did it not occur with any physical feeling?

The only difference between the 1 and 2 pipes was that Nin’s came with a perfume

scent. The kind of scent that comes from your favourite fragrance that you splash all

over yourself, but simmers down and nearly disappears with time except for those

traces that you simply cannot detect and let drive you completely insane. I was indeed

being driven insane.

Harris, meanwhile, was all ready, in his immaculately tidy bedroom, but instead of

meeting us at Jeter’s or Nin’s, he was sitting quietly at his study table and was reading

his biology out loud.

‘Knock it off Harr, it’s so early in the morning!’ Jeter exclaimed lazily.

‘Early? It’s 11:45! In fact, I’m twenty minutes behind schedule,’ he replied

agitatedly. ‘I think everyone forgets I have my MCAT to prepare for too!’ he spoke

with a highly intonated voice.

‘It’s that late already? Oh we better hurry back to my kitchen! Or else mom’ll send

me ANOTHER note to the principal’s office and we all know how the vigilant owls

will react to that.’ Jeter moved towards Harris’s tapestry by his organ player.

Naturally, I assumed pipe number three was going to be hidden there somewhere.

Probably inside the piano, for all I know.

‘Yeah, yeah, I got it,’ Harris picked up his satchel and moved some books from

beneath his study table and revealed, sound the drum please, a key.

He took the key and unlocked a tiny drawer from where he took out a sensory

looking plant like thing that glowed a tiny three. But before I could get further into

deciphering and understanding what he was about to do, he said ‘Xuxx away’ and we

were ‘xuxx-ed’ away.

We landed in Jeter’s kitchen, where he ran to fill in the necessary details for the day,

but I had not noticed that right away. I was either too frozen or paralysed with anxiety

over this teleportation business that Harris decided to kick up a notch.

‘How could we have just come here without any pipes?’ I asked with my hands

suspended in mid air, like I was being held at gun point by own consciousness.

‘It’s this physical realm thing Harris designed with Aamer uncle, Silverns’ best

scientist,’ Nin answered putting my hands to normalcy, ‘but of course, only Harr can

bore you with the details.’

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s just something we had to invent to make communicating with each

other better within the mansions, ‘cuz you know there’s so much distance and just too

much walking,’ Harris hurriedly explained while munching on some granola, ‘also

our parents think we’re just playing around with these when we actually…uh, play,’

he added suddenly.

Then it hit me. This was the inside of the Kits’ home after all – they would definitely

have some video cameras recording their every move and every word.

‘All right guys, let’s xuxx our way to school,’ Jeter said after completing his little

check in.

‘You ready to see an eliteratti school?’ he asked me.

‘Of course, let’s go,’ I replied.