‘Don’t Look Up’ by Jamilla Smith-Joseph
You don’t need to see the sky to know it’s red.
Why should we doubt what we’ve been told all our lives? By the people who keep us safe? Fed. Watered. Happy. Don’t forget happy. We don’t need to find out these things for ourselves. We’re happy living our lives. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, everything is right with it.
What right do we have to question it? We keep our heads down, accept the truth, and live our lives. We are protected from lies and danger. There’s nothing wrong with that.
I walk down the street, head down, counting my steps. My black shoes - and then I notice the myriad others around me - reflect some of the light from the sky.
See? There is no need to check. The evidence is there. The truth is abundantly clear.
I focus on the path ahead of me, even though I know it like the back of my hand. I walk it every day, and it is the thing I look forward to most. Fresh air, feeling the warmth and light on my back. Sensing the others around me. Sometimes I take that slight chance of lifting my head to eye level, to look at the others walking with me. Mostly they’re all just looking down as well; though very occasionally someone will be doing the same, and for a split second you’ll briefly catch their eye and notice the light reflected in it. But my head is back down again before things get carried away. There’s a reason we look down. Me and the people walking around, along, against me; they are all in their own world. As it should be.
We’re told it’s safer this way. No craning necks, blinding eyes, reaching arms. Healthier for our bodies and our minds.
We’re told it would burn into our soul.
I have only ever wondered once what might be up there. If we can see anything. What kind of red is it? Is it more than one? Is there other life, “aliens”? I’ve always ignored this idle chatter at work. I’m not going to find out. We should never be allowed to find out. I don’t see why they even let us discuss it.
You hear rumours sometimes: they’re hiding something from us. We’re missing out. As if they would be keeping something from us? They are protecting us, they’re helping us. That’s what they are there for.
Of course; maybe there’s nothing to see. Why should we waste our energy trying then? Clever for them to have thought of that. There is always a reason. They’re protecting us.
Why else would we be told to look down?
At work I have to lift my head up, but there are dark covered ceilings there to protect us. I rarely move my neck at this angle so it often feels sore afterwards. Imagine if we did this all the time!
“Another one this morning,” the woman next to me chimes in as we both look to the ceiling. It’s natural to think about it as we look up now at work, although I admit it rarely crosses my mind. “Just in front of me. I almost walked into them, but they were dealt with just in time to clear the path.”
I say nothing, just nod in reply, hoping to move on and back to work.
“Happening more and more these days,” and she tuts quietly as she shakes her head, before looking down to write on her her clipboard.
She’s not wrong, though. I’ve heard about it happening, more and more recently: the people who choose to. And then nothing. No one knows what happens to them then. I’ve never checked. Why should I? They deserve whatever they get, for breaking the rules and choosing to look up. It’s not my business what happens to them afterwards, but they certainly deserve it.
“We’ll lose too many workers if we’re not careful! They just keep taking and taking. Where does it end? I’d love to know what all the fuss is about but I wouldn’t dare. Mouths to feed and all.”
“Mmm.” It’s all I can muster in response, though she carried on muttering about it all for some time. Perhaps to herself more than anyone else.
It must be important if that many people are being dealt with. Of course.
They’re keeping us safe. Safe and happy.
I don’t know what brought it on.
I haven’t thought about it in a long time.
The glimpse I almost caught.
Walking home from work, it had been a long, drawn-out day. Maybe it was her droning on about her sighting all day that kicked the switch in my brain.
My head shot up halfway just from the shock of remembering.
Seeing the head raise up next to me.
The push into my body.
I fall on my back.
On the cusp of seeing-
Then a hand covers my eyes and I’m carried indoors, my injuries seen to.
But what I almost saw…could it really be?
I don’t understand. I just accepted these things at the time. Thank goodness I was saved from seeing. I was seen to. I was protected from what was up there.
But now the memory has resurfaced it’s like an itch I can’t scratch.
I can’t imagine how it could harm us. Why would those who have sworn to protect us seek to harm us?
I need to see it. I need to know for myself. That I didn’t just make it all up. I don’t care what happens to me: knowing is more important.
So slowly, carefully, taking it in, I move my neck; I look up.
I know it will be a brief moment, but the light and heat is like nothing I have felt before. It isn’t red after all-
A hard bash on my head. And then all I see is black. But at least I’ve seen it. The truth.
Jamilla Smith-Joseph wrote this story in response to the prompt Look Up, as part of June’s Just Write! short story competition.
