Vision in Red by Sajjad Rasool - HTML preview

Children of Olive

"Just breathe," Amal said. "We have the permits. We are valid. We are Is."

They reached the turnstile. The man in front of them—an old laborer with a face like a dried fig— swiped his magnetic card.

BEEP. Green light.

He was about to push through, but he hesitated. He looked at the scanner.

"It didn't beep," he muttered.

"It beeped," the person behind him shouted. "Go! Move!"

"No," the old man said, fear in his eyes. "It beeped inside me."

He was shoved forward by the crowd. He went through the turnstile, stumbling. As he emerged on the other side, Amal watched him. He looked... thinner. Grayer. As if the machine had taken a small layer of his soul as a toll.

Yasmin went next. She swiped. Her hand was shaking.

BEEP. Green light.

She pushed through, holding her breath.

Amal stepped up. She held her permit card against the glass reader.

BEEP. Green light.

She exhaled. She stepped into the metal teeth of the turnstile and pushed.

It moved. CLACK...

And then, it stopped.

The bars locked around her waist. The mechanism seized with a grinding sound of metal on metal.

Above her, the red LED counter flickered.

It didn't show a number. It showed a word.

VOID.

The light on the turnstile turned from green to red. A buzzer sounded —loud and harsh, cutting through the murmur of the crowd.

"Check!" the loudspeaker blared. "Lane 3. Blockage."

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