The Luminosity Series (Book 1): Luminosity by J.M. Bambenek Page A

identification card and apply for labor duty,”
I told the clerk as I approached, watching her grab a series of papers and a
clipboard with a pen attached. Swallowing back my impatience, I tried not to be
rude as the heavy presence of police guards appeared out of the corner of my
eye.
    “And
you brought two forms of identification, one being your social security card?”
I nodded quickly. “Fill these sheets out from top to bottom. Please include any
prescription drugs you are taking, and any other specialized needs or physical
and mental disabilities you may have,” she instructed in a rehearsed, robotic body
language.
    “Okay,”
I said.
    “The
waiting room is to your left. You will be called in in the order you arrived,”
she said, sliding a card through the window slot.
    “Thanks,”
I winced.
    “Next!”
she yelled. I jumped before pivoting to face her again.
    “Can
you give me an idea of how long the wait is?” She gave me a long stare before pointing
to a sign on her desk that read “Current Wait Time: 90 Minutes.” Without
hesitation, I ducked my head as I walked away in embarrassment.
    The
halls were lit with dim lighting that cast shadows on the walls between doors.
The air was heavy, like too many people had breathed within the building’s confinement.
I swallowed back the nausea as I reachedthe end
of the hallway. Two guards stood beside the rooms, glaring at me, contemplating
whether to confront me for my indecisive manners, or allow me to figure it out
on my own. On both sides of the hallway were separate waiting areas, each
filled with the wailing of children’s cries. Uncertain of which one to choose,
I stopped.
    “Over
here, miss,” said one guard, reaching out his finger to point to my right. I
didn’t even have to look to know how crowded it was, but I turned my head
anyway.
    In
a windowless room sat dozens of people with tired, worried faces. Many were
homeless parents, sitting on the filth-covered floor with their restless
children. Their young eyes observed their surroundings, ignorant to the crisis
at hand. Suddenly, the thick air was more prevalent now.
    “Find
a seat, ma’am. It’ll be awhile,” the guard ordered. I winced, the onrush of queasiness
overtaking me before turning back around. But before I could take a step
forward, he stuck his foot out to stop me. “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow
civilians to wander the halls.”
    “I’m
not feeling well. Is there a restroom?” I groaned, blinking hard with
humiliation, desperate to get out of sight. The guard gave me an urgent wince.
    “This
way. But you’ll need an escort.” I paused as the horror of his words hit me,
but I didn’t have time to react before he marched me down a long hallway to our
left. Shoving the clipboard into my messenger bag, I entered the ladies’ room.
Upon first glance, I detected a female guard standing at the edge of the wash
station. The invasive silence struck me as she stood there, observing my
ill-received glances in hesitation. But I didn’t linger. I rushed into the
nearest stall, covering my mouth before hanging my bag over the hook on the
door, slamming it shut in an urgent heave. After throwing up and catching my
breath again, I leaned against the wall. Since the beginning, it was as if my
body rejected reality.
    “Are
you okay, miss?” Her voice rebounded off the walls. I snapped my eyes back
open, appalled of her motivation to spark a conversation at such a time.
    “Y—yeah.
I’m fine,” I said before flushing the toilet and grabbing my bag. Feeling
examined, I hesitated to approach the sinks. After washing, she offered me a
set of hand towels. Her uniform represented military, her dark hair tucked in a
tight bun under the back of her cap.
    “Are
you running a fever? Do you need a doctor?” she asked. My hands shook as I
dried them, wincing as I backed away from her.
    “I
said I’m fine.”
    “Ma’am,
we can’t have you go in there if you’re endangering other lives