Tara Clarke is a nimble streetfighter and stealthy thief. Her agile moves get her over any fence and outwit any stud. Tara is a fierce hustler trading weird shit in Nyan Garden markets. That’s who she is now. Well, her background on Terra differed. It differed a lot. To tell you the truth, Tara fled just to escape… To escape the fade, her slow exiting, the persistent will to non-existence.
The Escape — when you fail at failing at livin’
Back in Terra, that is, back at her stagnant and subconsciously despised European life, Tara Clarke was one of the million faces. She was that shadow you run across every day but fails to stay. In fact, there are countless millions of Tara Clarke’s roaming aimlessly around your neighborhood. You see them all around without ever acknowledging their presence.
She is that faceless girl you met holding the door for in the local café. She is that young lady you almost hit with your car while trying your luck at the red light. She is that ghost you met waiting for her turn right in front of you in the row at the grocery store. It’s her whom you mindlessly told what’s the time at the bus stop. She’s everyone you fail to remember.
And she hated it.
Tara Clarke was flowing through life without being noticed, without being acknowledged, without ever being respected. Just like every invisible shell of a human being, Tara flew through her teenage years, never leaving a mark on high school. It was she who chose to pursue senseless studies of cultural sciences at a local college when she graduated, void of honors or friendships to accompany her through her lonely life.
She got the job. It sucked, yet still, we could call it a success, given her educational background. No one cared. No one noticed. No one seemed to regard her beyond an indifferent nod when she handed them their purchase over the counter. They left, Tara stayed.
One unbelievably miserable day, she felt like staying no longer. It was sunny outside. You know, one of those cheerful moments in the spring, foretelling bloom and warm embrace of summer rays. How sweet.
She doubled up. Puked. Failed.
Tell me, how incompetent you must be to fuck up the overdosage? Apparently, pills followed suit with everyone in Tara’s life, leaving her alone in the pool of vomit splattered all around the john — the only thing she’s been left to hug with.
Limping, she made her way back to the couch. She splayed herself helplessly and pulled out her smartphone. An ad popped up. Last tickets on sale, promising the unseen wonders of Ether Islands — the land built for misfits. A place to escape the misery of the regulatory global government. Well, people like Tara had a thing for blaming it on the government.
Wasting her last money, she bought the ticket. Boarded the ship. Landed. The welcoming arms of the faraway island suddenly stretched wide like the legs of a desperate hooker.
Transcending oblivion — a rebirth of a ghost
Tara had no money left. Yet still, Outerlands was no place to stay right at first glance. With a little heart, she sneaked onto the train, leaving to… somewhere. Tara had absolutely no clue what she was up to nor what horror this foul place conceals. The train moved, and the trajectory of her life got permanently redefined. For better or worse, her ghost-like existence will never be the same.
The rattling of the rails rang in her ears like a portent of doom. The crippling sense of irreversible imminence consumed her whole as the train passed across another station. This place was foul. Everything screamed with unease. The dim skies were bloated with a dark shroud. Thick clouds or factory fumes? Who could tell. Might be both. A flickering hologram by the railway yelled, “South Moon”. People commenced clutching onto their face masks, anxiously tightening them up around their noses.
They moved on. No drama. Yet.
It took a few days. Thanks to her lack of visibility, Tara could always find some spot to sleep in without ever being noticed. Without even having a ticket. Sometimes she stole someone’s bed, other times, she just curled on the filthy floor, every hiccup of the train against the rails resonating throughout her whole body. At last, they finally arrived at the final station. Nyan Garden stood tall in its uncanny magnificence. It swallowed her whole. Enchanted her. Somehow, Nyan Garden consumed all of her being.
All of a sudden, Tara experience something so alien she simply couldn’t put her finger on it. As she took her first insecure steps toward the busy streets, she physically felt the pointed views arrowing her through. Slowly it dawned on her with a stomach-wrenching unease - she is invisible no more. For some reason, the people of Nyan Garden were acknowledging her like no one ever before.
Tara Clarke wanted to hide. The sudden surge of attention was suffocating her, making her legs shaky. She started to run. Careless to catch her breath, she missed a few crossroads, with skyscrapers towering over her, illuminating the shiny neon lights. Finally, she halted. This place was not like the others. Everything around was a hasty mess interlacing the open-air market stalls. Her eyes lay on the goods, and intuitively she got it. Here you can sell anything literally. Bearing that in mind, her fingers started to get itchy. Needless to say, this itch brought Tara Clarke lots of money.
Ether Islands - a place to thrive. Really?
Tara was breathing tightly. The fences weren’t too high here. Nyan Gardens, in fact, are nowhere near the vision of a perfect futuristic metropolis of high-rise buildings and glowing lights. Not that far from the center, there are outskirts. The neighborhood of poverty tightly clutched upon the glorious downtown. Tara has been giving these unprivileged parts of Nyan Garden frequent visits lately. Like today.
The dog, she has taken proper care of. She chuckled as she crossed the headless bunch of cooling fur. The family seemed not to be at home. The door, on the other hand, seemed to give way home. The old rusty padlock allowed for barely any safety from lock pickers, let alone Tara’s nimble fingers. The adrenaline was taking her over. Here it’s easy to rob the families, yet hard to get out alive when neighbors decide to interfere.
The whispers of the evening wind ruffled her hair. She tensed up. The distant sounds of people. The barking of dogs from the opposite street. A restless bustling from the neighbors’ yards. So many pitfalls could cost her life. Tara would give fortunes for being invisible again.
Fuck!
A swift sound swished behind her back. Tara turned.
Blackout.
Tara came back to life. Her sight was still blurry, and her head ached as if clutched in the vice grip. The bumps were making her nauseous. It took a while until the realization dawned on her. She’s being driven away in the back of some beaten-up van. Her hands and legs are tied. But why? Why even bother? Ok, someone caught her stealing. This moment was bound to come, she knew it. In fact, she’s been rolling the dice with the devil for quite a long time now. But kidnapping her? Too much hassle.
“A little vixen woke up, it seems,” a voice resounding from afar pierced her ears.
”Still looks kinda grumpy, man,” another voice. Despite the pain racing through her neck, she managed to take a quick look around. Two men were right next to her, sipping beer from cheap tins. Tara eyed them furtively. Shivers ran down her spine. If not killing her immediately, there must be a good reason. And sometimes, death can be an act of mercy.
She knew about that well.
“Hope you trust your friends,” said one of the rough-looking thugs sitting by.
“What are you…,” Tara broke off,” what are you trying to imply?”
“You know, our leader expects a helping hand from Lutra,” one of them said.
Tara Clarke froze awake.
“And given she’s about to decline, we were instructed to be more persuasive.”
“Maybe a few pics of your mutilated body will grant Nick Grey a slightly better foothold in negotiation.”
The silence that followed screamed volumes. Even the persistent rev of the old engine seemed to subside. Tara felt that she’d been fucked. She had been fucked big time…
