Rainbow of Tiny Souls is copyrighted by the author and is not to be used or modified without permission. All rights reserved.
EXT. INDUSTRIAL PARK – WAREHOUSE - EARLY MORNING
The parking lot is oversized even in relation to the enormous building and full to boot. Taking nearly a city block, it squats in the sea of asphalt; the latter, diligently covered in cars, trucks, and vans, groans under the bounty of metallic fish.
There are no logos or signs informing visitors or greeting workers. The fence, brick solid and keep-out tall, bristles with glass teeth and electrified, razor wire hairdo. If there was a competition among its kind in the “I mean business” category, this one would be a top contender.
The warehouse disdains aluminum and lesser materials, strutting reinforced concrete, barred and bulletproof windows, security cameras, and doors that give safes envy. If the fence is a bouncer, this hulk takes intimidation to new a level.
Into this unwelcoming environment a car door opens and a small WOMAN emerges forth. First, a timid foot tests the surface of the parking lot to ensure it indeed does not bite, despite the appearance of the entire outside. Second shoe joins its companion and the rest of the WOMAN shortly follows.
From her spot, nose to the unfriendly wall bearing a cheerful yellow sign advising assuming a curled position lest you be shot (repeatedly and with authority) for trespassing, the stretching expense is not inviting. The second yellow sign announcing a surplus of bullets is thoughtfully softened with a smiley. Someone apparently cares that you die happy and informed.
WOMAN, risking life and limb, bravely setting for her destination
Come on, Olivia; you need this job.
EXT. INDUSTRIAL PARK – WAREHOUSE - EARLY MORNING
A white background, black text sign next to steel, nondescript door reminds employees to please don't feed the dogs as they are perfectly fine finding the bodies and chasing down live prey. In what is becoming a pattern, its friend suggests that the dogs roam in large, hungry packs and bribing them with steak is an exercise in futility, but to go ahead if it makes you feel better about your odds.
Fortunately, the door marked with number 7 swings open with a swish, revealing a white hallway and grey cement floor. Just past the entrance, seemingly out of place, a stone tablet is set into the floor. On it, the phrase “Life is sacred” is engraved.
Olivia steps into the cement bowels and advances, only to stop when the door closes behind her. There are footsteps and an older man, wearing an ID card with a name of Carl, comes around the corner. It hangs around his neck and is absent from Olivia's.
Carl, twirling the ID, sternly
Best find the plastic, or we release the hounds.
Olivia, frantically digging in her purse, put off
What's with the dementia and paranoia?
Security section held an impromptu sign contest; there might or might not been drinking involved.
Olivia, finding and putting on the ID, wary
I applied for custodial work not espionage.
Welcome aboard Olivia. Step lively, there are light bulbs that need changing.
Is that a joke?
Carl, turning around and walking away, waving off the questions for later, dismissively
Give or take a billion. This way, junior; we are on the clock.
INT. WAREHOUSE – ELEVATOR - EARLY MORNING
The elevator plunges down, descending. Clearly, this is not a normal facility.
You want to explain what I signed up for?
Carl, smiling reassuringly, comforting
To see is to believe. Soon, Olivia; have faith.
INT. WAREHOUSE – WOMB - EARLY MORNING
The room is huge and it goes on for at least a mile and quarter as wide. Massive shelves hold innumerable suspended animation cubes, each connected to support systems. They are stacked with space around them, allowing foot access and machine-assisted removal/replacement as needed.
The cubes are solid and don't show any openings. In front, on a stand and connected to the cube by a cable are individual, flat monitors. Each displays computer generated, individual DNA based, projected growth of a human infant. The rendering goes from birth to eighteen, in continuous cycle. The genetic variety reflects the human race and no two are the same.
In addition, running the gamut of the entire visible color spectrum, each cube has a large light placed on top of it. Those are on, but lost in general illumination.
Carl and Olivia step thru the automatic door and it closes silently behind them.
Olivia, her mind overwhelmed, stunned
What … what …
The artificial sun goes out, the monitors all fall silent and dark, and only the multi-colored glow of souls shines in the total darkness. Millions of tiny voices, speaking.
Actual abortions are very rare today - overwhelming majority are a sham. They save the soul and living embryo/fetus; store them here and around the world. They bring them in, they take them out. We don't ask how or why - we are the maintenance crew.
Carl, adding brightly
Oh, and we change the light bulbs.
FADE OUT:THE END
Return to the Academy of Bards
Return to the Author's Page