Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Ellie looked away from the clock on the wall. She could still hear it in the background, looking down on her.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

She drummed on her lap with thin fingers. Her eyes wandered around, scanning the others in the waiting room. There were many of them today, too many to count, but in the end, there were only really five. Five people, many bodies.

One: nicely kept hair, fancy suit, their fingers moving swiftly over expensive smartphones. For them, Evaluation was like any other appointment. It was the same as having to renew their passport. Mundane and a bit tedious. But they were safe, and it showed on their faces. No sweat. No twitching. No darting eyes.

Two: casual and ordinary. They’d been snapped out of their normal life at home, maybe with a kid, a partner, maybe a dog they just fed. In their head, they were writing shopping lists and to-do lists and dinner plans. Maybe they were a bit nervous, but far from terrified.

Three: terrified. Their hairs were messy and oily. Dark circles resided under their eyes. The last time they washed their clothes was two months ago. They hadn’t bought new ones in ten. With these, you never knew what to expect. Their eyes were either flicking around or distant. Their faces were either in their hands or grimacing. And their knees could shake so violently that the entire row of chairs would feel the vibrations.

Four: peaceful, patient, old. They sat there, breathing in air, and breathing out air. They knew what they had coming, and they had already accepted it and prepared. Their loved ones had already said goodbye. Their wills had been written. Their homes had been sold.

Five: the newcomers. They were nervous, but they weren’t scared, and they weren’t rich, but they still had parents with expectations and the means to make them meet them. Straight out of Sixth Form, they were still young and full of hope and potential. Safe, in other words. 

Ellie didn’t fit in. She didn’t look nice. She didn’t look ordinary. She didn’t look terrified. She didn’t look old. And she didn’t look young and hopeful. She wasn’t one, two, three, four, or five. She was just Ellie.

Ding.

Beneath the clock, a screen said in large letters: LIVE WORLD POPULATION.

Next to these words were numbers, but one couldn’t read the numbers like one could read the words. They were changing too fast. Always increasing, but for a moment, slowing down, speeding up, slowing down, mostly speeding up.

A green arrow pointed down. Sometimes, it’d be red and pointing up. The air in the room was always the thickest, angriest, noisiest when it turned red. Clicking pens and shaking legs. Hyperventilating and suffocating. The Judges hoped that with more Rejections, the arrow would be green again.

It was never green for long.

A larger screen showed letters from A to G, and next to each one was a number in the hundreds.

A note clutched in Ellie’s hand had a number on it. 488.

The highest number on the screen said 482.

Ding.

The number next to the letter B disappeared, replaced by a new number.

483.

To Ellie’s right, a woman, the typical three, stood up. She turned to the toddler next to her and got on her knees to anxiously kiss the child on its forehead. She whispered: “You stay right ‘ere. I’ll be back before ya know it.”

She got up and walked over to a booth with the letter B over it. She disappeared behind a curtain.

Tick. Tock.

Ellie looked at the child left behind in its seat. He was calm and quiet, staring at his own shoes, his hands knitted in his lap.

Something stung in Ellie’s heart.

When she had once been a five, her very first Evaluation, she had wanted children herself. She was still hopeful, back then.

By the time of her second visit to the waiting room, she had lost her mother to Evaluation, and Ellie found herself scared of the thought that her child could lose its mother too one day. She couldn’t bear it.

By her third visit to the waiting room, she had seen how her father was still grieving over his wife. Ellie figured that she couldn’t have a partner either. She wouldn’t want to leave a partner behind like her father had been. Shattered and broken, doomed to be whisked away by the slightest wind.

By her fourth and most recent—in fact, present—visit, she had lost her father too. She had lost everyone. And she made sure not to find anyone new to lose, preferring the comfort of loneliness instead.

Comfort.

And loneliness.

Ding.

484.

Tick. Tock.

Ding.

485.

Ding.

Ding.

Tick. Tock.

At once, everyone in the waiting room looked to booth B. Behind the curtain were cries and screams and curses.

The waiting room was silent.

Three tall shadows in uniforms emerged from a corner and moved swiftly toward the booth. They dragged the crying woman out. The slime of snot and tears covered her face, which had gone fiery red. She wiggled around in their grips, trying to hit them on their chests with weak arms, kicking the air with her legs. The guards did not flinch once.

“I don’ wanna leave me child! Georgie, come help ya mum!” 

The child sprung up from the chair, tears falling silently down his cheeks. The guards dragged her out the door with the child hurrying after them.

“You can’t do this!” Her cry faded as the door closed behind them.

Loneliness.

Ding.

B 488.

Ellie rose from her chair and moved all the way across the room, the little walk feeling like a marathon. At the finish line, she disappeared behind the same curtain that had shielded cries of desperation a second ago.

It was a tiny room, just big enough to fit a stool. Behind a glass wall, a woman took a sip from a glass of water. There was fright in her eyes, but otherwise, she looked just like any other Judge, with her combed hair, unmemorable face, and a nice suit.

Ellie sat down on the stool.

“Turn to the camera on the left, please,” the woman said, her calm voice a contrast to her previously uneasy appearance. It was her job to say this, maybe a hundred times every single day. It was routine. She has already moved on from the piercing sound of someone wanting to live.

Ellie turned to her left at the grey booth wall. There was a small camera.

“Closer, please,” the woman said. Ellie did as told. A moment went by, there was a small flash, and Ellie turned back to the Judge.

Files were loading on the glass screen.

Ellie recognised her full name on there, as well as the picture she had taken years ago for her passport. She hadn’t used the passport since. Even if she could somehow find the money for it, there was no reason to travel anymore. Everywhere you went was the same. The same grey. The same ugly. Even the ocean had died. The trees had been cut. And nowhere was safe. Every day there was a new war, a new natural disaster, a new fallen economy.

“Ellie Kathleen Taylor. 25 years old. Current residence at 54 Cattle Road. Phone number 84 51 84 90 65 51. Born 4th of August 2031. This all sounds correct, yes?”

Ellie hadn’t said a word until now. “Yes,” she stammered.

“Still no sexual partner?”

“No.” And she never would.

The Judge scrolled through the files with her finger on the glass. “Are you awaiting children?”

“No.” And she never would.

“It’s registered here that you lost your job at Greggs a year ago?”

Ellie nodded. “Correct.”

“Your former boss Mr. Quill made a statement. Let’s see… ‘Miss Taylor has failed to show up for her shift on numerous occasions and has never had a valid excuse nor tried to come up with one. Though she has otherwise been fairly loyal and obedient to the company, she lacks the engagement, motivation, and charisma needed for working with customers.’ Sounds familiar?”

Ellie nodded. “Yes.”

The Judge looked straight at Ellie. “No new job has been registered since.”

“That’s because I haven’t had any new jobs,” Ellie said.

“Why do you think that is?”

“I haven’t looked.”

The woman didn’t respond. Rather, she just made notes, scribbling on the glass wall.

“I see you were taking a degree in Business and Management at University of London. You dropped out after your third semester.”

“I’m aware,” Ellie said.

“Why did you drop out?”

Ellie shrugged. “I didn’t like it.”

“You could’ve changed course.”

Ellie shrugged again. “I didn’t feel like it.”

The Judge wrote something down on the glass wall once more.

“Miss Taylor, your Score doesn’t look very good,” said the woman. Had Ellie listened closely enough, she could’ve heard a sliver of pity, but she didn’t. “You have no family. You haven’t had a job since you lost one a year ago. You don’t have a degree, and looking at your debts, I don’t think you will either. Do you have any information you can give me that will raise your score?”

Serenity fell over Ellie like a blanket.

Comfort.

“Tick. Tock,” she said.

“You’re not helping your score.”

“I’m aware.”

The judge looked down and sighed, before tapping on the glass wall so that a large, red stamp covered all the files. It said the word Ellie had hoped she’d get—REJECTED.

“Your Score doesn’t cut it,” the Judge said. “Here is your Letter of Rejection.” She shoved a document through a hole in the glass wall, and Ellie took it calmly.

From here on out, the woman behind the glass would become systematic. She now only had to repeat the same words she regrettably spoke every day, and then there would come a new person in, and she’d have to begin all over again. It would’ve been different had she only said yes to working in her father’s firm ten years ago. She would’ve been on the other side of the glass. She would’ve sat on the stool rather than the fine office chair. But would the stamp on her files be green or red?

The systematic words began spilling out of the Judge’s mouth: “The Letter has all the details on the Procedure. You have one day to prepare, but then you are expected in the Hall of Rejections tomorrow at 12 PM. Bring your passport, and please, do not wear contacts during the retina scan. Your residence will be emptied and sold by the end of the week. And if you’re in hysterical dread, there is a phone number on the letter that you can call for reassurance. If you commit any crimes between now and the Procedure, your nearest relative or acquaintance will receive a fine on your behalf. Please, do leave the premises in an orderly fashion and do not spook the ones waiting. Resisting will be considered a crime. I hope you find peace. Thank you for your service.”

The Judge turned away to a computer, and Ellie slowly stood up from her stool.

She walked out into the waiting room. For the first time in a long, she felt like she could breathe, because soon, she wouldn’t have to.

With her Letter in one hand and her soul in the other, she walked calmly through the waiting room. A couple of eyes followed her every step, but Ellie didn’t care about the eyes. She’d never have to feel them on her skin ever again. And one day, those eyes would cease to exist too.

Ding.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

And comfort.