Inescapable Escapism

I heard footsteps creeping up the stairs, even though I knew my mom was trying to be quiet. She grew up in the house; she should have known which steps to avoid. Still, I was glad. I shook my head, trying to clear some of the lingering dizziness that accompanied me as I returned to reality and stared down at my book. I’d been too absorbed by the new world. I hadn’t even turned a page in…

The light at the corner of my vision started flashing again, and my be right back music began to play from the speakers hidden in my room. I knew that the viewers would be shown a cute little animation of me struggling to pull a jumper over my head as I rushed to strip and drop my pyjamas into the chute in the wall. It wasn’t particularly fancy or interesting, unlike the rest of my room, but that didn’t matter. The audience would never see it. Unless things changed when I got to eighteen. The producers would be prepared, though. They’d fix it before that happened.

But it didn’t really matter. I didn’t plan on being in the flat for that long. If I worked hard, if I kept climbing, I could be top twenty by then, and I’d be moved. That would be great.

“Are you just going to sit around and read all day?” a snide voice asked.

I didn’t bother leaving the fantasy fully. Pulling back just enough to be able to see my mom whilst also rushing to get dressed, I glanced up at her.

“Yep, that’s the plan.”

She looked startled but covered it quickly.

“You’re not going to go for a run or a swim?”

Her tone told me there was a correct answer, but I didn’t care. I barely even felt any anxiety. She would be annoyed at me, I was certain, however it wasn’t really bothering me.

“No, I don’t think so.”

There was a pause and, in the other world, I quickly checked my reflection. The dress fit perfectly, of course, but it was strange to see. I hadn’t really looked at myself properly before; I’d been too distracted by trying to work out to respond to act in the best way for the audience, but now I had the chance to. It was disconcerting.

I looked fairly similar to how I did in reality, but there were a few differences. I was thinner, that was for sure, and older too. Somehow, in that world, I was sixteen, not fifteen. That accounted for some of the difference, I realised as I continued to scan my reflection. My collarbones jutted out a little too sharply, and my face was slightly less round. That wasn’t the only difference to my face, though. My eyes looked different. They were bigger somehow. It might have been makeup, my eyelashes were so long they had to be fake, but they definitely looked bigger.

My lips too. They were just a little more plump. I stretched them up into a smile, feeling uneasy. They were definitely bigger. And my teeth. They were so white and perfectly straight. It was alarming to see, but part of my mind longed to look that way in real life. Why did I look so different?

Flashes of memories crashed into me. Surgery. I’d had surgery, braces too. Ever since I got to the City, the producers had been tweaking my appearance. I had braces to wear at night, invisible ones that I was only allowed to put in at a specific time when the stream looped, and I was hidden from the audience for a little.

The surgery was the worst part, though. The me in the fantasy didn’t care about it, not really. I’d come to terms with it. I didn’t like it though. I had no choice in what they did to my face and body, not really. I was just brought in for a medical appointment, hidden from the audience. My stream would play recaps and clips whilst producers met with doctors and discussed what to do with me. I just had to sit there, nothing more than a doll for them to play with.

The audience had to know, didn’t they? They had to notice every time one of us disappeared for an emergency medical procedure and came back with a slightly different face. There was always an excuse though, and the world was so advanced that the audience never saw any swelling or bruising. Maybe they didn’t know.

My mom sighed heavily, and dizziness washed over me as I looked up at her. She looked irritated, annoyed that I didn’t immediately apologise and agree to do whatever she wanted, but that just aggravated me. There was nothing wrong with sitting in bed all day and reading a book.

I’d been doing so much since we got to Scotland. I’d gone for a run or a swim every day, for hours normally. That was so much more than what she had been doing.

“Fine,” she said, her tone dismissive. “Well, at least sit up straight. You’re going to get a hunchback if you continue like that.”

I shot her a flat look, not even bothering to reply, before letting the dizziness take me again as she turned and marched out of my room. There was a brief flutter of panic in my stomach. A moment of fear as to how I’d spoken to her and treated her. It didn’t feel normal; it didn’t feel like me. But it was. I just felt stronger, more confident.

That worried me.

I didn’t have long to think about it though. I was already dressed and halfway through tying my hair back into a high ponytail. It was terrible for my hair, and I knew it. Wearing my hair like that every day could lead to hair loss and thinning in certain areas, but I had to. The camera needed to be able to capture my face properly. If I had my hair down, it would be hidden. The drones and cameras would need to work harder, and then the audience might miss things. It was so much better for views to have it pulled back.

Once I left the City, once my contract had been fulfilled, I’d wear my hair down every day, I decided as I reached up in real life to pull the hair tie out of my hair. It probably wouldn’t impact anything, wearing the same hairstyle in another world, but I didn’t want to risk it. I needed to look perfect; I needed to be perfect. It was the only way.

I tugged at my dress, a slight frown forming on my face for a brief second before I forced it aside. Frowning led to wrinkles, and wrinkles meant more surgery. Plus, the audience didn’t like it when I frowned too much. That wasn’t my character. It wasn’t my persona. I was happy and bubbly, entertaining to watch.

That thought made me almost snort. Of all the terms I would have used to describe myself, happy and bubbly would be near the bottom of the list. Especially in my real life. But maybe I was in the other world. Perhaps being removed from my parents and allowed to grow up without them made it easier for me to be happy. Or maybe it was all just an act. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t think the me from the streamee world would have known either.

A drone buzzed closer to me as I glanced up at the mirror again, scrutinising my appearance, and the countdown started to flash at the edge of my vision. Letting out a deep breath, I pushed a smile onto my face. I needed to be smiling when the cameras came back to me, but it had to look natural, not forced. I could do that; I’d been doing it for years already, after all.

By the time the countdown reached two, I was ready. I stared down at my body, fiddling with my skirt as if not sure how much I liked it. I needed to be in motion for when the cameras started filming me again. The audience had to feel like they didn’t miss anything, like I wasn’t waiting for them to come back. It would break the immersion and make it harder to be invested. They might think the stream was too edited, too scripted, and no one liked that.

A red light, no bigger than a dot, flashed twice, warning me that I was back. I didn’t look up. Keeping my eyes fixed on my skirt for a few seconds longer, I let out a sigh before glancing at my reflection in the mirror. Indecision crossed my face, the emotion obvious and clear.

That was one thing I’d learnt over the last four years in the City. I could lack confidence and struggle with things. The audience liked it when I had flaws or fears. It made me seem more human, more real, and that made them more invested. It was a fine line though. No one wanted to watch someone who was too flawed, unless it was entertaining, or too full of fear, unless they were tortured by the producers and constantly thrust into situations that terrified them.

But even so, they were fleeting, and I didn’t want that. A flawed, self-destructive streamee was fun to watch for a time, but people stopped caring. The stakes had to be continuously raised until there was nowhere else to go. It only ended one of two ways for them. Either they couldn’t keep up and fell into obscurity, their contracts being terminated early, or they died. A stunt gone wrong, fuelled by desperation. Sometimes they knew the end was coming. That there was no way they’d be able to survive whatever they and the producers had devised, but it didn’t matter. It was the only way. Who wants to be unknown?

I didn’t. Not even in reality. But in the other world, that desire was so much stronger. It was less of a fleeting thought and more of a desperate need to be known. I had to have people talking about me, watching me. It was my life. It was all I knew. If people stopped caring, if my numbers dropped, what would I do?

I’d been quiet for too long. I’d just been staring at myself since the stream came back, and that wasn’t okay. I needed to…

“Beautiful,” I breathed, my smile growing slightly bigger. “This is such a pretty dress.”

I allowed myself another couple of seconds to smile at my reflection before turning and walking out of my bedroom. The door opened automatically for me, like it did every morning, and the view on the other side took my breath away. My apartment was huge. That was the first thing I realised. There was no way I could miss it. It was open plan, so there were no walls blocking anything from view, just a giant room.

Soft background music played over the speakers as I padded across the wooden floors, trying to keep the look of pure wonder from my face. I couldn’t manage it though, and I knew that. The City just looked so… incredible. That was the only word that accurately captured it. The floor to ceiling windows gave me a panoramic view of the world, and I drank it in.

The City was huge. Three tall glass skyscrapers reached up towards the perfectly blue ceiling around mine. My flat was near the top, a perk that I had gained from my ranking. Top fifty got to live in giant, fully automated apartments, but that wasn’t enough for me. Top ten was my goal. That would be perfect. Then, not only would I get an even bigger flat, but I’d also have a house out in the Country. A huge sprawling mansion, perfectly designed for pool parties, festivals and more.

I could stay there forever, if I wanted. I’d never have to set foot in the City again; people would come to me. That would be wonderful. But then I’d miss out on too much. There were things I could only do in the City, I assumed. The Country was too spaced out, too sparse. People would get bored of watching me there.

I assumed. I’d never actually been to the Country, not properly. I’d ridden through it on a hover car I’d stolen a couple of years back. That stunt was enough to bump me up four ranks, and, even though I’d been terrified the whole time, it was worth it. But I couldn’t exactly do it again. I needed more. There had to be something that would work, something that would bump me up just enough to be noticed.

Pushing the thought aside, I focused on the City again. The smart windows made it easy. They zoomed in on the street below, reacting to my thought. I smiled softly as I watched people milling around, pointedly ignoring the maintenance workers who rushed past. That was weird. They weren’t usually seen on the surface. Normally, they used the service corridors beneath the City to ensure the audience never had to see them. The producers liked to project an image of perfection for the City. It made it easier for them to recruit new talent.

Despite the wonder outside my window, I longed to turn away from it. I was bored, and my stomach was rumbling, demanding food. I forced myself to stay still though. I knew that the audience were being treated to a wide pan of the City; I could see the drone hovering outside my window to get a good shot. The audience would like that. They didn’t get to see such a lingering view of the enclosed world I lived in often.

By the time most people started watching us, we’d become used to the incredible sights and instead were fixated on being entertaining, doing something eye-catching. I could do both. I could give the audience what they wanted, a balance of excitement and relaxation. It would be soothing for them. Either that or it would make them jealous of me, and they’d grow bored. Vindictive.

I’d seen the comments online. People hated that some of us were chosen to live in the isolated paradise of the City, but they weren’t. That’s what it always came down to. They couldn’t get recruited, no matter how hard they tried. Countless auditions, countless applications, with nothing to show for it. But then, there we were. The perfect embodiment of everything they wanted but couldn’t have.

A light flashed in my vision. The producers wanted me to talk, they wanted me to interact with the viewers.

“Oh,” I said, but it was more of a sigh. “What a beautiful day.”

I raised one hand to the window, touching the glass lightly as a wistful look crossed my face. Perfect. That would work. My viewers would sigh too, as the camera cut to another shot of the City, and they’d imagine they were living here too. Hopefully, I sounded grateful enough for them not to hate me for it.

“The dress was definitely a good idea,” I said, subtly praising my audience in the hopes that it made them like me more. It usually did. “It looks so hot out there today!”

It did. The producers had made the sky spotless, and the artificial sun beamed down on the City. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too hot though. That happened occasionally, and I wasn’t sure why. A conscious decision sometimes, but not always. The world outside the City had inconsistent temperatures too, I remembered that. There were… heatwaves. Weeks, months even, with no rain and no break in the merciless sunlight. It might have changed though. Maybe they’d managed to get it back under control, like it used to be.

I wasn’t sure, but there was no way for me to find out. We weren’t allowed to hear news of the outside world. The producers said it would make us distracted or depressed, and that would interfere with our purpose. We had been hired, chosen, to be entertainment. We were there to distract others, and we couldn’t do that if we were miserable and obsessed with whatever else was going on.

Sometimes, although I’d never admit it, I hated it. It made me feel isolated and trapped, even though there were thousands of others in the City with me. I couldn’t talk to them about it, the producers would cut our feed if I even tried, and then I’d lose viewers. Whoever I’d been speaking to would hate me because they would too. It wasn’t worth the risk.

I swallowed and glanced at the ceiling of the City again as claustrophobia started to build within me. There was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t leave the City, no matter what. I wouldn’t be allowed out until my contract finished in four more years. Unless my parents agree to extend my contract again. Maybe that would happen. I’d find out at some point.

Finally content that I’d let the audience stare at the City for long enough, I turned away from the window.

“I’m so hungry,” I said as I started to walk towards my fridge, moving slowly to give the producers enough time to throw up a poll.

I stopped in front of the glass-fronted machine I called a fridge. It wasn’t one, not really. It was little more than a vending machine that dispensed whatever the viewers decided I should eat at any given moment and ignored me the rest of the time. I’d made that mistake before, when I first moved. I was starving one night when the cameras looped and gave me some privacy. My viewers had voted for me to have just a small salad for dinner, and I was so hungry I couldn’t sleep. I tried to open the fridge, to order something to stop my stomach from aching, but it didn’t respond.

Later, the producers told me they would have let it if I had gone more than a few days without hitting my minimum caloric intake, but it made me uneasy. I didn’t trust them. But then, it was good, in a way. It gave the audience more control, and they always liked that.

Some of that was down to my latest production team, I grudgingly admitted. I’d been allocated a new one when I became solidly in the top fifties, and they knew how to work the audience better. The constant polls were a little hard to get used to at first, though. They meant I had less control over what I did, but also, polls got clicks. The audience were more engaged when they were voting more, and each vote cost credits meaning there would be more money waiting for me when I left the City. My parents got some of it, of course, but I still got some.

The dark fridge door brightened, and an image appeared.

“Oh,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Fruit salad! Delicious.”

I forced as much enthusiasm as I could into my voice, but it was hard. The audience voted for me to have a boring option for breakfast most days. There were better ones in the poll, I knew that. Before, when I had control, I could choose pancakes, chocolate chip waffles, a fried breakfast and more. But not any more.

My stomach let out a loud grumble, lamenting the inability to eat those dishes, and I giggled.

“I really am hungry!”

I took the wooden bowl from the dispenser along with my drink and hopped onto one of the bar stools. My feet kicked back and forth as I took a sip of the orange-coloured water, pretending to savour the non-existent taste. The audience had clearly ordered orange juice for me, but I couldn’t have it.

There was something about the juice they served us in the City. My body didn’t agree with it. The doctors thought it might have been triggered by my medication because it happened just after the dose was upped. I felt fine at first, but the reaction had been so bad that the producers had to interfere. They actually sent a doctor to my flat to treat me because the audience were scared. A hideous rash had started to overtake my face. I couldn’t feel it, thankfully, but I almost screamed when I saw my reflection.

It had a weird impact on my views. Some people turned off immediately, not wanting to see the unsightly state of my face, but they checked in often. I’d have spikes. People would click onto my channel to see how I was doing, to make sure I was still alive, but they couldn’t look at my swollen oozing face for long. The spike in views after that was good though. Once I was recovered enough to look normal, the audience tuned in religiously. Viewers love a good medical emergency. I should have another one at some point. It might bump me into the top forty.

I mulled the idea over briefly before pushing it aside. No. I couldn’t stage one. That would make it feel flat, I decided as I took another sip of the water before hesitating and glancing at it. I’d completely glossed over the realisation that there was medication in my drink. It felt so normal, so mundane, but it made me uncomfortable. What medication was I on? I didn’t take any in real life, but… should I have been? Pushing the thought aside, I took another sip and stared thoughtfully into space.

“I wonder what today holds.”