by Naomi Nevill

Created on: June 06, 2008

The same eerie yellow/green light came from the capsules as it did day or night, throughout the seasons.
Through thick plates of reinforced glass set with thick metal and tubes, loved ones viewed parents, children, friends, siblings, in what was described as "mint condition, fresh as the day they were frozen!" by the morbidly chirpy doctor Ocra himself, through the screen next to the guarded entrance to the Criogenatorium, his wild hair and wilder eyes gave away his highly rated mad scientist' status.

On the side of the razed platforms that encased people in an icy preserved death, were plaque, NAME-SAM NORCET BIRTH-22/9/3060 DEATH-4/10/3036 CIROS VIRUS, EMMELY MORTIN OVER EXPOSURE, ZARA WOOD BONE CANCER, by this plaque a woman shouted, "no you can't she was my daughter", tears streaming down her face, a man showed his neck tag at the gates, he thought about the woman and how doctor Ocra had probably exhausted the last of her funds keeping her daughter in suspended animation until they find a cure for her illness, most of the time they didn't, but he lived in hope.
The man walked passed the screaming woman with guards trying to dislodge her from the glass case, he was about 39 and had long dreadlocks woven with thin wire giving his hair a metallic sheen, he wore a black work jacket that showed his status at the Vox factory, he was a working man, it was all in the hands, you could tell he was.
It was approximately 12 O'clock and darkness had dropped its dark knit blanket over the town. He looked across at what he could see of the far away city that was still illuminated from the light pollution, the luminescent greens and deep reds from the many cyber adverts that plagued the cities walls, the whites from the information pods that the upper class worked in, he looked at it all for a minuet more before the smog descended, as if dropped from a great height, and he could not see further than a step in front of him, it didn't matter, he could find her in his sleep.
A camera flew by, watching every moment and leaving tendrils of smog in its wake.
He walked through the smog made from the Vox factory were he worked, light reflecting off of the small damp particles, making the air humid and sticky, he didn't agree with what the factory did but, well, a man has to eat.
FARA NORTH TUMER. The mist had gathered on the glass, being only a level three cryogenics coffin, he wiped it off with his sleeve and there she was, they really did stay looking alive, her being a pail white since she was born, all except from the frost that gathered on her eyelashes, and her lips weren't quite the ruby red they were before. He still imagined her awaking from her glass prison, if only he could touch her.
The man stood up, ran the card chained to his neck across the machine, "please voice your amount and currency" said an inappropriately perky voice, "five thousand morkes" he said and the tumor set it's self for another two months, a weight off of his mind.
He was glad that she didn't have to have wires or pumps to make sure she stayed healthy, apart from the death that is.
He sat there for a while watching her, the black hair had grown longer since she had died, he thought it suited her, his thoughts were broken as, through the smog, the horn sounded for him to get back to work, deep and long, another day at work, it was year 3067, a strange year to be on earth.

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