RealiTV Chapter 1

1.      

Chase

I won’t insult your intelligence by starting this story with once upon a time. It feels like a lifetime ago anyway. The past doesn’t matter now. All that matters is the present. There isn’t even a future, not that I can see anyway.
It all started in a Supermarket. In every supermarket across the globe, supplies ran short. Then they ran out altogether. In the end, we didn’t even bother trying to stock the separate aisles: we just put the meagre offerings all onto the one shelf and let the vultures descend. It usually didn’t take long for the battle cry to go up.
“That’s not fair, I didn’t get anything,” was the usual prelude before the big solo piece:
“I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER!”
As if the manager hadn’t already taken what he wanted and escaped to the coast.

Tonight, all there was on offer was an onion, a pair of socks (pink) the Complete Guide to Dog Walking magazine and a single Citronella Candle. While two families fought over the onion, a child stole the socks, and the hoodlums set fire to the magazine with the candle in the corner and hunkered down for the night. We didn’t try to stop them. There had been too many stabbings already.
The shelves were bare again. None of my colleagues looked like they had slept for days. They stood on the front line at their posts, waiting for the end: either the end of their lives or the end of their shift, whatever came first. Under the flickering lights, they looked like the walking dead already. Most of the crowd dispersed and probably made their way to another store that still had power. One or two hung around with a misplaced hope that we would get more stock in. Another one or two were still around because they had no homes to go to.
Out of boredom and habit, I went to take a cursory glance around the back loading dock to see if we had missed anything. Sometimes items got left behind by the drivers after we took everything in.
And there it is. The golden ticket item: one single pack of 1 ply toilet roll. At one point, no so long ago, we can’t give this stuff away. But now, it is a prime commodity. They don’t even care it is the sort of toilet roll that makes you realise that you are one false move from your fingers dipping into poop canyon. It’s thinner than my patience at the end of a ten-hour shift.
I took it out to the Shelf with a kind of reverence that was once reserved for Holy items. As though they could smell it, eyes tracked my movement. We workers weren’t allowed preferential treatment, so the glazed over eyes of my colleagues stayed glazed.
But still there are four desperate veterans of the Supermarket Wars ready to battle over it. I don’t know who I would put my money on. There is the exhausted, half-crazed nurse ready to poke someone’s eye out and then pop it back into place with her extensive training, the 90 year old widower with her walking frame who has outlived three husbands, a scared young man in a suit who is so far out of his depth, he is drowning and a young family, whose children are snarling at anyone who get close. There is a look in the old ladies’ eye that makes me think the odds of her winning are good. She is the sort to take anyone down who looks at her funny.
I place the goods on the shelf, between the four of them and take a step back, unable to look away as the carnage began. As I had suspected the Suited Boy was the first to fall. The children in their trolley cage snapped at him so hard that he stumbled backwards and landed with a thump on the floor. He didn’t try to get back up, broken from the world he now lived in.
The young family was next to fall. It was quite a surprise to all of them when the nurse sideswiped the trolley and the children spilled out onto the cold floor. Despite the world being a heap of trash, the parents still stopped to make sure that the children were unharmed. It came down to a one-on-one match between the nurse and the old woman. They locked eyes with one another, and the air around them grew cold.
I took another step backwards. The lines had been drawn and their fight was about to begin, when the old lady smiled at the nurse, unexpectedly.
“You’re a sweet young thing. You wouldn’t want to hurt an old lady like me, would you?” she asked. The nurse, like me, could see a trap when there was one.
“Cram it Wrinkles. You and I both know that you wouldn’t still be here if you were a sweet doddering old lady. I’m taking this paper and you can’t stop me. I have been using socks for months.”
“I’ve been using my hands. I’m so itchy back there it’s like I’ve got a mosquito on my ass.”
The old woman bared her false teeth and almost lost them in the process. Both women shot their hands out to grab their prize, and the nurse was a split second faster, yanking it out of the old woman’s reach. The nurse grinned victoriously. As her face lit up, she looked twenty years younger. I could imagine her in the old world, sharing a laugh and a coffee with a friend. She was the sort of confident, beautiful woman I would have been too nervous to approach.
Then the moment was over, and she made a complete rookie mistake. She turned her back on the old woman. That was all the geriatric needed and swung her walking frame around with surprising dexterity. It hit the nurse in the back of the head, and she went down like a sack of potatoes. I think. It has been so long since we had sacks of potatoes it’s hard to tell. The old lady scooped up the toilet paper while we all looked on, with a mix of amazement and respect on our faces. 

While the rest of the customers picked themselves up and smoothed their ruffled egos, I slumped behind the service desk. Dust covered most surfaces, but the bins stank less back here.  I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I have worked Christmas Eve, every major sale and every promotional period in my time here. I have never had to deal with anything like this before. This is uncharted territory. I am a retail worker on the front line. And I am sick of this shit.

The House

Ten Weeks Earlier

Every bright LED light flickered on in unison. They were all on a timer. From the outside to an observer, it would appear the compound glowed. Especially when paired with the glowing red strip lights that highlighted the single doorway in and out of the complex. Inside, the same red lighting was used to accentuate the hall and the symbol in every room. At first, the inhabitants found it creepy. But as with the small white dome cameras, the larger black cameras that were half hidden by heavy black curtains and the ominous voice that could and would interrupt them at any time, they forgot that The Eye was there.

Good morning, Contestants. The Eye Is Open.
 
In every room of the compound, the contestants had been milling and waiting for this moment. In the green room, surrounded by ferns and cacti, Robin laid alone, unperturbed. With a lazy swipe, he sent the hanging basket into a swinging and swirling motion.
Over in the blue room, Claire, Gemma and David sat on the unmade beds, conspiring together. Their whispers were not picked up by the cameras. In the showers next door, Evan was showering, and gently adjusting his ice scented body wash. He pretended not to notice that it was a lot lighter than the last time he used it.
In the living room, Kevin was laying across the soft sofa, making noises with every part of his body. His body odour was stopping everyone else from joining him. In the adjoining kitchen, Sonia was making coffee, humming to herself and occasionally staring daggers at Kevin.
Outside, Butch was laying in the morning sun, trying to tan his pale, hairy body.
And finally, in the largest two-way mirror in the house, she stared into her own cold eyes. The cameras on the other side of the mirror were trained on her face as she tried to squeeze some emotion onto her face.
“I just want to say, no matter what happens, I am so happy to have had this opportunity. And I know that even if I do have to go today, and I really don’t want to go, but I do know that I have made friends for life.”
She repeated the mantra over and over. Although the words sounded good, they were really very fake, even to her own ears. She tried again, forcing her voice to crack with sadness. She tightened her ponytail and reapplied her Crimson Blush lipstick. She mouthed her mantra between applications. As the heavy voice rolled out through the room, her housemates left their rooms and streamed past Marion. She waited as they all left, smiling at each of them. When she was alone again, the smile slipped, and the scowl appeared. That was the first time she looked genuine.

In the eviction lounge, the contestants sit on three different couches: purple, green and blue. Those that hadn’t been selected for eviction were split between the purple and green. They were allowed to sit wherever they wanted. They always sat in their own little cliques, most of which got smaller with each eviction. The three housemates up for eviction sat on the uncomfortable blue couch, under their own promotional photos, facing the others. The promo photos looked so different to what they truly looked like. Photoshop was not available in real life. A massive TV dominated the room, overlooking all of them.
As they sat in silence, the TV flickered to life. Onscreen, a tall, thin woman in a ridiculous holographic dress appeared. There appeared to be a large bow on one of her sharp shoulder blades, while the other shoulder was bare. Her bleach blonde hair was coiffured into a tight beehive. Intense and bright make up gave her a futuristic look.
“Hello contestants,” she purred and bared her shining teeth.
“Daria!” the housemates chorused as though they were greeting a long-lost friend.
“Well. What a week. For the first time, Marion and Robin are on the eviction couch. But Kevin, this is a world first. Nowhere in any version of The Eye has a contestant been nominated and survived six weeks out. Each and every time there has been an eviction, you have been nominated. How do you feel about that?” She was looking for the drama. Or tea, as the kids call it, she thought silently.
“Well, you know,” Kevin smirked. “They call me the cockroach for a reason. You can’t get rid of me,” he laughed loudly, breathing on them all. It was like taking a tour of last night’s curry dinner.
“That’s one way to look at it. Robin, how do you feel about being nominated?” Daria prodded.
“Eh, it would be nice to stay but if I don’t that’s ok. I have had fun.”
“Right. And you Marion?”
“Look, I just wanted to say to everyone,” Marion started. “I just wanted to say. I just wanted…to say…” Like you practiced Mar she coached herself, feeling her blood pressure rising. “I just wanted to say that no matter what happens, you’re all a bunch of self-centred assholes. You all just sit around, sunning yourself as if you’re on a holiday. This is a fucking game. You’re not on holiday! Not one of you is playing the game, you’re just sunning your perineum, most of you. You don’t deserve the half a million pounds.” Spittle was flying from her mouth.
Daria mentally rubbed her hands together. Jackpot. Found the tea.
Everyone stared at Marion. Without discussing it, they all decided who was going to be evicted that night. After all, they all were there for the cash, but they also wanted to be able to use this as a platform to launch their celebrity to another level. They all knew that only one or two of them were going to end up going on Strictly, Gogglebox or Love Island. There would be no Celebrity First Dates for them if they didn’t put a pin in Marion quickly. At the moment, she was quickly securing herself to becoming the celeb everyone loves to hate. Marion’s 15 minutes needed to end now. She was going to get the spot-on Masked Singer and the rest of them would be struggling to book I’m a Celeb, if they weren’t careful. Sod that, thought Butch. I’m not eating a kangaroo’s anus.
“Ok everyone,” Daria kept her voice calm and eyes steady. “Let’s all take a breath and have a moment. Does anyone have a response that they would like to share? Maybe some juicy secrets to spill?”
There was an awkward silence filling the air. There was really nothing to say that would give Marion more bookings in the real world.  Tantalising viewing, this was not. Daria could instinctively hear TVs around the nation changing over. Daria could spot the weak link and prodded hard.
“Claire?” Time for a bit of girl-on-girl action. “You were saying just the other day that Marion was a wild card, and you didn’t think that she could be trusted?”
“No!” Claire protested. Even though it was on camera that she had said that and more. “Well, ok I did say it. But I don’t think that you can’t be trusted necessarily. It’s just that if it came down to you or Kevin, it’s hard to tell who would be of better…use.” Claire finished weakly. Kevin smirked. He was just pleased that it was a certainty that he would be surviving another week’s eviction.
“Oh, you two faced bitch. You’ve got all of these morons wrapped around your middle finger and they don’t even realise it. Everyone has fallen for the good girl, sweet and innocent act. Not me sister. I can see you flipping them off. I know the truth. I’m not a sheep like the others.” Marion snarled, eyes flaming, pointing at Claire. She was now sobbing. Gemma wrapped an arm around her.
Marion turned slowly to face the rest of the housemates. The cameras ran on, and Daria forced her face to look horrified and not gleeful at Marion’s outburst.
“Marion. Please. Don’t do this. You have had a lovely game so far,” Daria’s used her soft voice. “Sit down.”
After a moment of looking around, Marion sat down, wringing her hands.
“I think we need to move on.” Daria continued. “So,”
Onscreen, the three faces lit up. Their glamour shots highlighted their best features and hid all of their flaws. If only there was a photoshop for the personalities. The world would be a better place, but the viewing figures for The Eye would plummet.
Onscreen, a maze leads to each photo, where a black bar hid the baskets and therefore the results for tension. Each housemate would place their Eye token into the top of the maze, as they explained who they were voting for, and the token would slip into the hidden baskets. No one would know who voted for who, except for the watchers. And everyone else in the house, because they did discuss their votes even if they weren’t meant to. Whoever was the loser for the week would leave the house and show then would have to either get a real job or try to become an influencer and push some substandard make up onto people.

Daria called each housemate into the Voting Room while the others sat quietly, giving the stink eye to Marion at the same time. Proving she was smarter than she looked, Marion felt the cold grip or regret in her stomach.
After the final housemate placed their vote, Daria turned solemnly to the maze. She gestured her talon nails across the pictures.
“Now as you already know, you have placed your token into the slot of the housemate that you want to evict. In a moment you will see the tokens fall and discover who has the highest number of tokens in their basket. Whoever that is, will be evicted and the haze of The Eye will turn away from you, forever. Here we go.”

All eyes were pinned to the eviction board. One by one, the tokens fell through the maze and landed into a basket. The eye tokens that fell through were far too realistic for Claire’s liking. They spun and bounced as they fell. The distant hum of the tokens as they approached the maze. Most of the housemates exchanged cold glances, knowing damn well who was going to be evicted. As the last of the tokens fell, Kevin smiled to himself.  The black partition fell, and the baskets revealed that one person hadn’t received any tokens. One person had received one vote and the last person had received seven.
Daria cleared her throat. “The votes have been tallied and the eye has closed on one of you. Someone has to leave and tonight, that someone is you. Robin. Grab your belongings and be at the outer door in five minutes.”

The screen went black. Silence reigned for a long beat. No-one but Robin made a move. He stood up and moved towards the doors. His suitcase was already there. Realising the cameras were still rolling, the remaining contestants stood up, and made little sympathetic noises. They apologised as if they actually cared. The poor producers forced to watch them were realising that they had chosen the wrong careers. Daria wasn’t watching. Instead, she had made her way off of the podium on the film stage. One of her lackies gave her a double shot latte, skim milk and vanilla flavouring. Another lacky chased after her, trying to touch up her hair as she strode away, presumably to yell at a production assistant.
“Ms Pittman? Um, excuse me, Ms Pitman?” the young PA didn’t look directly at Daria, as per the instructions.
“Don’t talk to me,” snapped Daria.
“Yes. Yes, but there is a phone call for you. It’s your partner.”

The assistant fumbled with the phone and almost threw it at her. It made a nice change, since Daria was usually the one throwing phones around.
With a sigh, she took the phone.
“Hi babe, how’s it going?” she purred, her voice taking on a lilting quality. She listened, checking her nails. “Yeah, I’m just about to do the last segment and then I’ll leave and meet-”
Her partner interrupted her. “I can’t come tonight. I have to work tonight.”
“What? Why? You’ve been working all day.”
“I know. But we have a cluster of people all presenting with more of those strange symptoms I was telling you about. We don’t know what’s wrong with them. The doctors are really worried. They’ve called for all hands-on deck,” Mindy, Daria’s partner was whispering in the hospital corridors. She knew she shouldn’t be telling anyone anything yet.
“So? It’s not like it’s your fault.”
Mindy sighed. “It is my job though. Look, I can’t say anything else. But try not to get too close to anyone, just in case, ok? I don’t know how bad this is going to be, but I don’t think It is going to be good. Stay safe. I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

Before Daria could reply, Mindy had hung up. Daria didn’t know that Mindy wasn’t going to make it home that night. It wasn’t that she was dead, she was just really tired.