A sight to be sold, p.1
A Sight To Be Sold, page 1
A SIGHT
TO BE
SOLD
N. T. Lazer
Copyright © 2023 N. T. Lazer
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
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Chapter 01
Richard Wright enjoyed walking through the higher class districts of the city of Goge—but mostly because it upset the residents. His mere presence boiled their blood, as he constantly noticed their sidelong stares and eyerolls. But Richard liked being in their spaces—it served as an ugly reminder that people like him lived in the same society they coveted. To Richard, their disdain for him was invigorating.
On this particular day through the districts, Richard’s stomach growled, reminding him of his original intentions in this part of town.
He did his best to ignore the signs of eateries surrounding him, each of them covered in fuzzy gray blurs hovering ethereally in front of the signage. In strong, bold font flew the text associated with the Graywall: “See it now!” or “Get a glimpse!” often followed by additional, tantalizing subtext to purchase the sight-rights to the sign. It was a clear, yet almost subtle reminder of the gap between Richard and those living in the neighborhood. If you couldn’t afford to see the signs, you couldn’t afford what was available inside. If you deliberately refused to purchase the rights, you weren’t welcome at all. Richard picked up his pace and lowered his head as the tempting aromas wafted his way.
While patrolling down the street, an officer eyed Richard with curious interest. Richard avoided his gaze, hoping to get through his trip without an interrogation. Luckily, by turning the street toward a corner store, Richard checked to see the officer had not followed him. He breathed a sigh of relief.
As Richard continued toward the corner store, he noticed a car pass him with gray mesh hovering over its exterior, inviting him to either buy the rights to view it, or advertising the brand of the vehicle—it changed based on the angle at which Richard was standing. He wasn’t sure that the car advertised on the Graywall was the same as the car beneath the mesh, as these companies would occasionally outbid one another to advertise their products atop competitors’ wares.
Richard made his way within the corner store, accosted by gray items on shelves all the way to the back of the building. When Richard walked in, the lone cashier greeted him, but Richard paid no attention. Instead, he looked up and down the shelf of gray cylinders containing dried noodle soups. He refused to purchase any Soup Premiums and would be left to guess which flavor he was selecting. He picked one up, weighed it in hand as if it helped him determine the flavor within, and shrugged, grabbing another and making his way to the cash register. He picked up a gray orb from the display of fruits, hoping he’d selected a ripe apple.
The cashier smiled at him warmly as he set his meager meal down. She looked at his meager pickings, her smile waning a smidge.
“Can I interest you in anything behind the counter?” she asked, scanning his selections.
Richard hardly looked at the monochrome display behind her, either littered with “Get a glimpse!” messaging or simply ads for cigarettes. He scoffed, thinking how uninviting it would be to want to bring more gray into this world.
“No,” he grunted plainly.
“All right, please stand still to process payment,” she said, raising a scanner to his eyes. The smooth, black device with a glass pane on one end emitted an invisible scanner both identifying Richard and extracting money from his account. He widened one eye slightly, followed by a beep from the device, which indicated a successful payment. As soon as his purchase had gone through, the gray meshes previously covering the items blinked away. A bruised, soft apple, and two packages of dry, vegetarian noodle soup. Richard frowned at the sight. He had intended on grabbing shrimp noodles.
“Can I interest you in…” she faltered when she saw he had already collected his items and was halfway out the door. He had no patience for whatever sight-deal they were running that day. Richard’s mind was too occupied on how long he would get his meal to last.
Leaving the establishment, Richard made his way back toward his neighborhood and peeled the sticker off his apple with a modicum of disgust. It was labeled ‘Tampering with this sticker before purchasing this apple is a federal crime, punishable by fine or Wipe.’ He crumpled it, knowing it was the item that triggered the Graywall to be placed on the fruit. Richard took a bite from his apple. The crispness long faded to a disappointing mush. He swallowed glumly as his face grew sour. What better way to power through his mood than to share it with the district that hated him?
“Hey!” a voice called from behind him.
Richard scoffed, and closed his eyelids to roll his eyes. He reopened them and turned to nod at the officer of The Watch calling to him. The officer gestured for Richard to approach, but Richard only nodded once more, remaining obstinately in place. The officer shrugged and jogged to Richard, looking him up and down. Richard followed suit, looking over the officer.
From shirts to shoes, they were a brilliant, clean hue of blue, a paragon of representation of The Watch. This officer’s blue hat covered most of his blond hair, with wisps peaking out. The members of The Watch were required to wear blue clothing on duty, never shrouded by the grays of Graywall to let others know whom they were addressing. No reason to conceal the people enforcing the law on others.
“What are you doing around here?” the officer asked, presenting a smile that went all the way up to his blue eyes. He was young, Richard thought, as he looked at his clean face, with only the slightest hint of stubble at the base of his chin. The officer’s youth also reeked of inexperience, indicated by the fact that he was offering Richard a smile, rather than the normally allotted tuts or glares.
“I’m looking forward to my gourmet,” Richard replied, holding up his soup and bruised apple for effect.
The officer’s smile widened, amused. He almost looked like he enjoyed the joke. Perhaps he was easygoing.
“Your name?” he asked as if making conversation.
Richard blinked with surprise. The officer could have scanned his eyes to discover his name, but for some reason opted for questioning. Richard found it refreshing and decided not to be glib.
“Wright,” he replied. “Richard Wright. What about you?”
“I’m Officer Kat,” he said, while pointing to the badge from which his name floated. It was difficult to impersonate an officer when the outfit they wore always revealed your name. His badge also indicated he was a recently promoted captain. He looked Richard up and down once more.
“Where’d you get those?” he asked with a flick of his head.
“I just bought them,” Richard took another dissatisfying bite from the spongy apple.
“No, not the food. Your clothes, where’d you find those?”
He sounded as though he was interested. But Wright was familiar with this deceptive line of questioning.
“Made them myself,” Richard said, unable to mask his pride.
“Yeah?” he asked, eyebrow raised. “You sure you made them?” His affability melted away in five syllables.
“Sure I’m sure,” Richard replied. His sincerity was gone.
“You haven’t heard of anyone selling these kinds of clothes?” he prodded.
“These kinds of clothes?” Richard asked with mock shock. “You mean to say someone is selling clothes without Bio-VRM? Isn’t that…” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Illegal?”
Officer Kat frowned, having lost the last bit of his earlier composure.
“I’m sure you know that failure to report the lack of a Bio-Dependency is equivalent to committing fraud. I have sources telling me that a Visual Rights Management-Free Black Market exists in the direction you're heading.”
“Black Market for cloth,” Richard scoffed. “You know, you would have just called that a ‘market’ a few decades ago,” he said bluntly.
“Yeah, and go a handful more decades before that and we were taking ownership of one another based on the pigment of our skin. Times change for the better. Your selective memory only serves to make you sound ignorant. Bio-VRM comes with huge benefits and you know it.” He sounded offended. “Try not to get caught up looking into the past with rose-colored glasses.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible when I have to pay sight-rights to look through those glasses,” Richard replied without missing a beat.
Kat sighed, trying to regain his good-natured tone from earlier.
“There’s a reward for turning in whoever is dealing with the materials in that neighborhood, in case you’d like to share some information,” Kat informed.
“I made this, Kat,” Richard insisted, ignoring the Bio-VRM propaganda. “I don’t need VRM on things I made for myself. I’m sorry you’re so used to seeing gray fabric on people instead of actual clothing, but it’s the truth.”
“I don’t see gray fabric. I pay my premiums, Wright,” he replied smugly.
Richard’s lip twitched and he scoffed. The Watch was known to raid neighborhoods, and would tear houses and families apart in the name of stopping illicit activities. They could ruin a man’s life with the
“Be sure to let any member of The Watch know about Black Market activity! It’s a substantial reward!” Officer Kat called after him.
Richard didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, but he couldn’t help but sulk before turning a corner down another road.
Chapter 02
The road ahead was long, dark, expansive, and clean—not even an ounce of litter was in sight. Richard passed by a handful of people eating outside restaurants. He could tell they were wearing elaborately designed clothes just by the shape of them, but visually, they still looked all gray. Some even made the conscious decision to wear glasses, though the need for such items were purely aesthetic. They didn’t regard Richard with much more than a twitch of a lip or a shake of the head before returning to their business. Richard idly wondered if it was because they could see his clothes without paying premiums, or if they innately knew he did not belong.
Richard appreciated that while the members of this neighborhood tried to act as though they were above him, they were actually bound by the same visual limitations. They shared in viewing a gray world by default. The ability to temporarily pay for a sight-right subscription only helped them to try and escape the fact that they were more similar than they had any interest in being.
Lost in this thought, Richard hardly noticed Margaret running in his direction from a distance. It was strange to see her in this district, as it was usually Wright alone that enjoyed the scrutiny of the neighborhood. He finished his apple by the time she looked up enough to realize Richard was ahead of her.
“Wright!” she yelled, charging faster.
He stopped in place and waited for her to approach. She came to a stop in front of him, panting heavily.
“What are you doing down here, Margaret?” Richard asked, curious.
She took a few more seconds to take deep breaths. She wore brandless clothing today. A dark red sweater, black pants, and gray, ad-infested shoes. She focused on Richard, measuring the right words to say to him, her dark face covered in worry lines. She hesitated for a moment more, then took a deep breath.
“Can—Wright, can I please borrow some money for the train?” she spoke quickly.
“You’ve snuck onto the train plenty of times before,” he replied flippantly.
“I want to see my son. He’s on the Sugar Solutions stop, but I can’t read the signs,” tears formed at the edge of her eyes.
Margaret was certainly literate, but trains had recently adopted Graywall for their signs, making it impossible to read unless paying for the sight-rights for each sign.
“Just ask someone else to read the signs for you,” Richard shrugged.
“Last time I did that, some woman either messed up or deliberately told me to get off at Visualworks. I had no idea. Four hours, I was trying to figure out why no one knew anything about where my son was!” she threw her hands open.
“Try asking someone who looks more trustworthy,” Richard suggested.
“I can’t just… Wright, please! You don’t know what it’s like not to see your son for so long,” she pleaded.
Richard frowned, glancing up at the litany of signage ahead of him, all covered in a layer of gray, preventing him from seeing the true state of the neighborhood. She picked up on this and breathed out frustrated as she backtracked for another attempt to get money.
“Come on! It’s not a lot of money!” she replied angrily.
Richard slid a hand into his pocket, sighing and avoiding her gaze. Up the stairs behind him, an old man was being escorted out of the restaurant closest to him and Margaret. The elder looked very confused; his eyes were closed.
“Wright!” she snapped in front of his face. “Will you lend me the money or not?”
“Lend or give?” Richard asked harshly.
“What difference does it make? I’m going to miss the train! Please, Wright!” she said, looking at the sun to verify her approximation of the time.
“One implies you’ll pay me back while the other makes it clear you won’t,” Richard answered.
“It’s not like you need the money anyway! You’re never spending! What do you—”
“You should catch the train before it leaves,” Richard said, walking past her.
“What!? Why are you—” she abruptly stopped trying to convince him and huffed, annoyed, before running off, her enraged eyes trained on Richard. She collided with the old man, causing him to collapse on the floor.
“Watch it,” she snapped, continuing to run toward the station. Richard shook his head and went to assist the old man.
“Sorry about that, she must not have seen you,” Richard apologized, offering him a hand. The old man didn’t take it. Richard stretched it further, but the man lifted himself up with a grunt, putting his weight on the cane he carried.
“Not the first time it happened,” the old man chuckled to himself. “And I doubt it’ll be the last!” he said, looking just to the right of Richard. Richard looked at him quizzically. The old man’s eyes were opaque, an odd swirl of gray.
“Oh,” Richard couldn’t help but say in surprise.
“Oh?” the man repeated.
“You’re blind?” He was suddenly uncomfortable and grateful that the man couldn’t see it. Blindness was so rare these days. Vision care was heavily subsidized by corporations, and most people were fully covered and easily able to see as a result. It was much more profitable to advertise to a population that could see your advertisements.
“I suppose you might say that,” the man replied with a knowing smile. “But if you’re inhibited by those Visual Rights Managements, then I would say you’re the more blind of the two of us.”
Richard continued to shift uncomfortably in place, unsure how to reply. He looked up to the restaurant the old man had just been escorted from, and noticed the security guard scowling at the both of them.
“Was the restaurant any good?” Richard asked, beginning to gesture at it for a moment before remembering it would be lost in the conversation. He could smell the food cooked inside, so painfully close to him.
“I can’t say that I know. I walked in and I was spun around and sent right out. They said they were exercising their right to refuse service to anyone,” he said proudly.
Richard looked between the building and the man a few times.
“Why?” Richard asked, baffled.
“It was right when I asked them to escort me to a table. But I’m not trying to make any assumptions based on that. Surely they care about their blind customers as much as the rest,” he smiled knowingly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“They can’t eject you because you’re blind!” Richard said, infuriated.
“Can’t they?” the old man winked. Richard was at a loss and shrugged despite his audience. “Well, have a pleasant day.” The man waved in the general direction of Richard and walked away, using the walking cane a lot less frequently than Richard assumed a blind person would.
Richard took a moment to breathe slowly, expelling the frustration he had built on behalf of the oldster after seeing the man shrug off the situation seemingly instantaneously. He shook his head and gave a last glare at the security guard who stared daggers back. Richard continued his way to his home, his racing mind slowly easing as he saw signs of his neighborhood.
The streets were rife with garbage of all sorts, but none that were easily identifiable beyond being advertisements that rolled in the wind. Other discarded adverts floated aimlessly along puddles of questionable, murky liquid. The sidewalk was stained and cracked, and the streets were absent of cars that had a working motor, most stripped of their parts. The homes—perhaps “shacks” may have been a more apt name—along the road were tiny, aged and run down by the elements. Most dwellings hardly offered any more than a single room, but Richard was lucky enough to have the luxury of a bathroom in his own home. He did feel a slight relief in remembering that the homes could be seen by the naked eye. Most were made by hand and could not be entered in the database of Visual Rights Management. Not yet, anyway.
