People Like Us

Down among the casts of switch-foot dancing men was a tall fellow in a top hat. He sat near the helm of the ship, looking out past the dock to where the stars were supposed to be shining. They weren't, of course. The many extravagant lights from the ball blocked out any beauty in the night-time sea sky.
The wealthier of the men sat on the east-side rail. The man thought through a world of green do these other men gaze. Reading their lips "When did he get all confident?" and smirking to himself he sits alone, clearly sizing up any other man in his fancy suspenders. A woman approached with some prestige, channeling the man's attention away from the envious men.
"What do you do here?" She asked. 

"It just doesn't feel like a night out with no one sizing you up." the man replied, all the while smirking. The woman nodded and with a smile, she sat down next to him on the cold iron bench. "What do you do here?"
"It just doesn't feel like a night out when you size everyone up." The woman smiled back, reiterating what the man had said. "Zoe." She answered, before he could ask.
"Ian." he replied. 

"Ian? Hmm," the woman pondered, "Ian Weltz?" Ian nodded. Famous for being infamous. The visible reminder of the invisible. Zoe nodded back. "A very respected man."
"I wouldn't say respected." Ian smirked again, referring to the men whose eyes bore into his overcoat. "But well known. And you are?"
"Ferin. Zoe Ferin. Unbeknown. Unacquainted. New."

"I wouldn't say unacquainted." Ian nodded his head to the other young man looking inebriate and half-eyed at the cut of Zoe's dress. "But, new. Definitely new."
"Why are you here? Alone, I mean." Zoe crossed her legs uncomfortably at the other man staring.
"I'm not alone, am I?"

"No. Well, you were before I came." Zoe blinked, her eyes shifting towards the man again.
"Don't feel uncomfortable, Zoe. If you're with me he won't do anything." Ian turned his body to Zoe and leaned against the ship's rusty-painted walls.
"Why are you avoiding my question?'' 

Ian smirked again, tapping his index finger on the chip of paint that was close to falling off the wall. "I'm here alone because I can be. Not because I was coerced or left." He tapped his whole hand on the wall.
Zoe blinked, "Well I didn't mean it like - wha - what are you doing?" She pointed a red finger at Ian's hand. 

Ian stopped and dropped his hand in his lap. "Sorry, does that bother you? I just wanted you to realize how nasty this ship is in reality. Why would the wealthiest men in all of England choose to ride on such a small vesicle?" Ian scrapped the rusty paint out from under his fingernails.
Zoe did a surreptitious 360 and turned back to Ian. "What are you saying?" She asked, worried.

Ian grabbed Zoe's head and turned it to the jealous men. "Do they look so wealthy to you? Do any of these people look wealthy, or middle-class, or even decent, for that matter? Did you ever stop to think that little piece of paper you got in the mail was a hoax? A journey to America that costs almost nothing? With wealthy men? On a small ship? Do you know where we are really going?" Ian asked. 

Zoe scrunched her face. "Uh, er, you mean, we're not going to America." Zoe looked around again, and this time she really looked at the people dancing. They weren't dancing in a sophisticated manner, or really dancing at all. They were just moving around in packs and laughing as another half-eyed idiot fell down and got trampled by the crowd.

Everyone was dressed in moth eaten, second-hand clothing that screamed 'five decades ago.' It was as if someone took a bunch of morons that couldn't dress themselves properly, gave them an old wardrobe and let them loose on a ship to drink and dance. Zoe couldn't believe what she hadn't notice before. Everything on the ship looked like it had been taken off of a corner on the poverty-ridden slums. 

Ian shook his head. "We're not going to America. We're not going anywhere. We're staying right here on this ship until it sinks." Ian gestured to the vacant helm behind him.
Zoe winced. "They - they're gonna abort? Wh - what about the rest of us? We'll all die, then, won't we? Is that what this is for?" Zoe was on the verge of tears, practically two shallow breaths away from hyperventilating. 

Ian hesitated, then abruptly stood up. "Follow me." Ian said, taking Zoe's delicate little hand in his and leading her towards the rooms of the ship. He took her inside of his room and closed the door. "They take the poverty-stricken. The evil. The useless. The worthless. They take them on the cheapest ship they can find. 'A trip to America.' Then they sink it. And claim it an accident." Ian said.

Zoe sat down, paralyzed with fear. "Why, am I - and you?" she stuttered, blinking back tears that inevitably rolled down her cheeks anyway. "You. I mean, you're Ian Weltz. You're - you're -" Ian held up his hand to stop Zoe.
"I'm, what? Famous? But certainly not wealthy. Certainly not relevant enough to keep alive in the slums. It's 3014, there are too many people. They don't need people like us." 

Zoe sobbed. "Yeah." She whispered. "People like us. Like - us? Like what?" Ian held Zoe and stroked her hair softly.
He sighed, "People who are too amid poverty, even for the slums of England. We don't deserve to be anywhere near the rest of the relevant people. At least that's what they think." Zoe winced again.

Zoe heard a faint noise, and realized before she had time to react, that the sound was the water. There was no other sound aboard. She hadn't noticed anything die down. The loud music and slurring laughs of the others outside had vanished abruptly. She looked down and noticed the faux linoleum covered in water. It was rising fast, and soon it was to both of their shoulders.

Taking her last breath, Zoe dove under the water and desperately tried to swim through the bone-chilling opaqueness. She swam through the door, leaving Ian's body behind, and kicked as hard as she could to propel herself towards the end of the hallway, and soon to the opening to the deck. 

As she was swimming past a door, her dress caught on a sharp splinter pointing outwards. She struggled to free it, and ended up ripping her dress. By the time she turned herself around, the moon, which now brightly shone due to the lack of ship lights, was far above her head. As was the water. Bodies were floating up beside her and she was momentarily blinded. 

Zoe started panicking, not knowing what to do. She headed for what she thought was upward. But what she found was a piece of glass that had broken from the helm, and she found in right through her wrist. Zoe gulped from the pain, but what she gulped wasn't air. She grabbed her throat and desperately tried to propel herself upward.

A hundred or so bodies were floating at the top of the deadly black sea. The moon looked down with an indifferent face. The stars, the molecules of water, the ship captain, the creators of, who work behind "People Like Us", they could not care less. They were just doing their job. Living. But the other people under the moon, under the stars, treated so poorly, lost more than just a life that night.

They lost a chance at redemption.