approached the lift. What they didn't know was that he despised it. He despised the fact that all the sounds
engulfing him were not colleagues in conversation, grabbing the paper, or paying for coffee, but mindless,
soulless drumbeats of shoes and high heels clacking against the tiled ground.
The station was full of life, but lifeless.
He was first in line for the lift, of course. After a few decades of strict education, the Chinese had learnt
the virtue of order. But somehow, as he waited for the elevator to descend, he doubted if it was a worthwhile
trade. A man stood next to him in almost identical shirt, jacket and tie, except his was worn around the edges
and scantily pressed. Working overtime seemed to be all the rage these days.
He smiled at him, offering his compassion at his worn features. From the look of him, he wasn't getting
much sleep, and perhaps that explained his lack of response.
Or maybe it's because he knows who I am, and he's... afraid? Being respectful?
He felt his heart sour.
The lift arrived, and he filed in, followed by the mass of suited men and women waiting to be back at their
workstations. He turned round and studied their faces, finding nothing but... nothing. They were all blank.
It took the magnet-powered elevator less than ten seconds to ascend a hundred stories into the air, and he
averted his eyes when the doors hissed open.
A raggedy congregation of workers crowded the hallway that led to the offices, every one of them similar
in appearance, but decidedly different in attire. Some of them had patchwork on the sides of their sleeves, others
on one leg of their slacks. Every one of them wore stubble that looked unkempt and, to some extent, lethal.
But they were uniform in their movement when they slid to either side of the hallway, allowing the
businessmen and women clear passage to their workstations. Their faces were all blank as they moved, devoid
of all emotion, not even contempt.
Arise, those who wish to be slaves no more.
Slaves to whom?
The elevator emptied, one by one, until he was the only one left in it. One of the workers pressed a button
on their end of the doors. They closed, and the elevator glided up one more floor to the top, where his private
office was. He exited the elevator, sending it down to receive its descending passengers. One ride up, one ride
down. It was all carefully calculated.
He picked up the plaque on his desk, laying his coat on his leather-backed chair.
"
Chief Architect of the New Great Wall - Mass Transit"
He walked over to the glass windows and looked down. The height didn't bother him. The workers have
reached the platform now, and they filed into the train. There was no commotion, no rush, no... nothing. He saw
his private car, and knew it would remain empty until the day came to an end, when the train would take him
east, back to the coastal cities where the rich and successful breathed the crisp sea air. The Old Great Wall had
once run from Shanhaiguan in the east, to the Lop Lake in the west. The New Great Wall was the same, but
instead of brick and mortar, it was made of technology, ingenuity, and hard, unforgiving steel.
The red lights on either side of the tracks blinked on, stretching along the length of the entire train. It
blinked from right to left, signalling that its direction was to the west, into the desert regions where the poor
would get their day of rest under the scorching heat, only to have them come back during the night. It was the
only way to ensure the country worked round the clock. It was what made them great - tenacity, perseverance
and hard, hard work.
The lights blinked far below him. Red, red, red.
Red to warn the workers to board before they were left behind.
Red, for our flesh and blood forged our new Great Wall.
Red for the blood that fuels it.
Red for the flesh that built it.
Red for the hearts we left there, for it was the price to keep it going.
* * *