Chapter 1: Oscar B. Wilden

Morning dew hung limpidly in the air creating a fog outside of a small four bed room home. The home was tan, a neutral color as most would know, with black shingles on its angular roof. There was a single chimney stalk, suggesting a chimney place being in the home, and an air conditioning unit on the side. All in all, the home appeared to be liveable, sizeable enough for at least four people to live in. Yet, in this small, spring, home there existed only two.

The first of this homes inhabitants was a woman, aged around thirty, who still exhibited the springs of youth. She had dark brown hair where streaks of orange could be seen running through like fire in a forest. Here eyebrows were sharp, direct, with a collected presentation. There was an air of maturity that lingered on her lips, sultry, and seductive. Her waist was narrow, skin pristine and tanned, and her eyes mellow. Her eyes sparkled with a honeyed texture, thick with confidence, and an amber color. The second her child.

Yet in this moment, at the peak of dawn, she was working on the computer.

The blue screen illuminated her pupils, then contoured her face, to show a sullen regard. As she worked, diligently, a faint knock could be heard from the door.

“Mom,” a voice called longingly, “may I come in?”

The woman sat back within her chair. Her back arched as she stretched and turned. Her chair swiveled with her movements, then rolled back as she kicked her heels on the floor. Like magic, she glided to the door, facing the knob that once was at her back, and gently opened it.

“Yes hun,” she said smilingly, “what’s wrong? Don’t you know it’s past your bedtime?”

“I know, but I came to get you. You need some rest too.”

The woman looked at her son. He was young, for now, and she knew he needed her the most. Ruminating a bit, she felt that it wouldn’t hurt to put her work aside and sleep for a moment. Following his advice, she took her son in hand and turned him about to go to bed. He followed her urging, briefly shuttling down the hall, and disappearing into a room on the right. The sound of a door closing resonated in the near empty house. After saving her progress, turning off her computer, and locking the door to her office, the woman smiled. She smiled deeply with love and affection for she knew her son would always be her proudest achievement.

After the sun had risen healthily in the air, the smell of coffee permeated in the house. A young boy could be seen walking sluggishly while rubbing his eyes. He paced down the hallway which connected his room. His room was at the far end of the hall, which when facing from the entrance of the house, it was on the right. Across from his room was his mother's room. Halfway down the hallway was the kitchen, an open area that was down a step that was used as a recreation room, and more hallway to the left. The left side of the house from the entrance was the office and the exercise room.

The coffee smell was coming from the kitchen, obviously. The boy perked up when he caught wind of it. He had this kind of addiction to coffee, ever since he snuck and drank it when he was eight. Seven years past, and even his mom knew of his erroneous actions. By the time she found out, though, he’d be thoroughly addicted.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asked, musingly.

“Nothing much, for you.”

“Wu’zzat supposed to mean?” He said with a little more shock in his voice than he intended.

“It means you should’ve been up minutes ago. Now go brush your teeth and wash up, Mr. Grouch.”

“Mom,” he lamented, “you know I don’t like that nickname.”

“Well, if Mr. Oscar B. Wilden wasn’t so interested in putting mommy dearest behind her work last night, he’d have had more rest to fix himself some breakfast.” She chided.

“I was only looking out for your health.”

“I’m only looking out for yours,” she retorted coldly. “You’re turning fifteen this year, that you are. I can’t look after you when you go to The Schools, you know.”

“I know,” he resigned. “I just wish… I just wish That didn’t happen.”

An awkward silence filled the air. The smell of ham, bacon, eggs, and spring vegetables filled the air. Oscar had already made it to the table in the kitchen. It was small, square, and large enough for two people to eat off of. On the table was the source of the smells. In addition to those, there were peeled orange slices, sliced banana, and two smoothies. Oscars eyes were alight with glee when he saw the smoothies.

“Mom,” he asked jokingly, “you must drug these smoothies. They’re too good.”

She chuckled, hardly responding to his joke, then sighed for a moment.

“You don’t even know the half of it.”

Her words fell on deaf ears. Oscar, having been consumed by greed and hunger, had sat down and begun eating. She turned around with just enough time to see him sticking his third piece of bacon in his mouth. Before she could yell, he tucked tail, and ran while swallowing the savory meat into his gullet.

The shower room for the house was oddly placed. After entering the exercise room, there was a small closet space. Well, that’s what it’d look like for most people. In actuality, this closet space was a walk in shower. The architects for this house thought it’d be a great idea to increase living space by cutting down on some of the leisure aspects of housing. So, in each bedroom, including the office, there is a small walk in closet toilet and sink set up. Both the toilet and sink came together, by the way. The sink, or what it was, was really the flushing mechanism for the toilet. If you’ve ever watched Tiny House, you’d know what I mean. So, when washing in the morning, a little care was needed. To brush one’s teeth, use the toilet sink. To wash one’s ass, use the shower room and don’t forget to bring a change of clothes.

Exiting the shower was easier. Someone in the design team realized the complexity of having an exercise room modeled after a dojo while having a shower. To exercise restraint, get it, they decided to use a sliding door to hide the door to the shower. So, to get to the shower closet, you have to enter the sliding door closet.

Oscar quickly got dried and dressed. His shower had taken him no more than ten minutes, as he liked to scrub himself, and the food wasn’t too cold when he resumed eating.

His mother, Ariel as she was called by others, had finished half her plate. Slightly peeved that she didn’t wait, Oscar decided to whine. She simply laughed his antagonistic antics off and scoffed at him saying she’d be late for work waiting on him.

For who knows what reason, she was usually right.

Having washed and eaten, Oscar was ready for school. He fanned his naturally multi-colored hair with his hands. The black, gold, brown, and red strands bounced through his fingers before knotting. The curls he had were always worse when his hair was wet. Thinking about that, he’d need to pick his hair out if he didn’t want the frizz to make his hair into a lopsided mess. The more he thought about it, the more he had the intense desire to comb his hair. It was like an OCD person having a fit. Oscar, himself, didn’t have OCD, but that didn’t stop him from acting like he did. He was a firm believer in resisting the urges that came to him. He once read in a book about ancient china there was the practices of Feng Shui and Wu Wei. Feng Shui was the movement of the winds, passing of the days, and the unblocking of vital qi. Wu wei was the release of tension, the relaxation of the mind, and the embracing of zen. Zen is another way of saying, fuck it.

So, as the thoughts of how ugly his hairs were came to mind, Oscar said fuck it. Unfortunately his mom heard him, and like any mother would, she lectured him for centuries. They walked, and they talked, eventually making it out of their front door and down the street.

The residential area where they lived was fairly affluent. It was three blocks away from the outer rims of the northern section. Star city was a city “fairly” divided. Excluding the intricate division of the internal, governmental, section, there were eight sections of living. The North, where the wealthy lived. The South where the poor lived. The East, where the rabble played. And the West, where the rabble worked. In order from most wealthy to least wealthy, including the areas in between, the sections can be listed as: North, North-East, North-West, East, West, South. The East and West sections were in competition with one another, though, entertainment always out-earned work. A single day of luxury and play could drive a man to bankruptcy. Assiduously working could take many lifetimes to earn a legacy. It was a difference in morality. Ariel had bought her house on the North East. Though the children in this area “grew faster”, she felt that it was better to have a wild child than a wilted one.

Public transportation in Star City was like clockwork, literally. Most people didn’t own transportation. Ariel could afford transportation, and so she took a car to work. When Oscar was old enough to know his own, she allowed him to use public transportation. The busses were never late and seldom early. If the busses said they’d be three yards out by five-fifteen, they’d be two yards out by five-fourteen and a half. It was like clockwork. So, when Oscar’s mom flew off in her hover-car, he was stepping on a bus.

Every bus in Star city had a conductor. The conductors were like the train-conductors on the monorails of the past. Hell, there were even modern monorail conductors on these busses. When the world began expanding due to The Occurrence, flat land technology was lost. Hover-technology on the other hand was rushed into light years distant means. A new energy propulsion system with clean water vapor ejection, and everyone is using these “cars”. The drivers only have to press a button and you’re off on a track through the sky. The only downside of hover technology was the shakiness. A simple breeze caused the entire cheap structure to rattle.

“Ticket please.”

The Conductor was looking dead at Oscar with eyes like a cat looking at a fish out of water. Oscar smiled, having dealt with this situation time and again, and produced a small leather wallet from his pocket. He extended his hand, wallet tightly in his grip, and allowed the man to scan the surface of it using a boxed in machine. The machine was the latest advancement in privacy technology. The wallet was the oldest. Both would block the signals of incoming infrared tracing, but the box would block out only outward infrared tracing while scanning any blocked material inside.

“Oscar it is,” The Conductor’s eyes glinted strangely, “you sure that’s you?”

Chuckling, Oscar replied, “And who else am I supposed to be Frank?”

The strange look on Franks face grew even more pronounced, “I don’t know, a handsome bastard?”

The bus was primarily empty, but the ones who could hear the banter began to giggle. Oscar took that as a sign to take his seat. He ascended two more steps, looking at the flight liner interior of the vehicle, and chose a seat near the back. There was a man with a bowler hat sitting behind him snoring. He was on the last row, which was also the longest row. They both were seated at the window side. No one was seated next to either. Oscars attention was glued outside the window. He liked to see the clouds as they wound their way into the Governmental section. The rumbling didn’t even phase him. He enjoyed the slight, numbing, vibration. He felt it helped him focus on nothing and attaining his 'wu'.