This is my PitMad Twitter Pitch contest entry. I’m still finalising the full query as I will be querying it once Pitch Madness activities are over. Here are the twitter pitches I will be using and an excerpt.
I hope you enjoy them.
Jenna is afraid of cyborgs. But she should be afraid of the people who ordered
their existence them, like her mother. #PitMad
With men extinct, women have created utopia. 17yo Jenna discovers the price for a perfect society will cost her the one she loves. #PitMad
Jenna fears cyborgs. But she should fear the ones who made them because everything in her utopia home is recycled, even humans. #PitMad
With men extinct, women create utopia. For 17yo Jenna, perfect
society crumbles when cyborgs take her BFF away because of her mum #PitMad
With men extinct, women created utopia. But for 17yo Jenna,
perfection comes at the cost of her friend’s life & it’s her mum’s fault #PitMad
knows the dirty secret of women’s success after men died out. Telling = destroys
her mum’s career. Not telling = losing BFF & GF #PitMad
With men extinct, women created utopia. But when her friend
disappears, Jenna finds paradise has a price & her mum’s collecting. #PitMad
An accident takes her BFF. Cyborgs take her GF. But why did
Jenna’s mum want her memories erased? #PitMad
Jenna must free her best friend & girlfriend from her
mother’s cyborg-controlled facility before she loses them forever. #PitMad
From the mistakes of the past we create a better future. Through acquiescence we remain united
and forge a prosperous tomorrow. We were once in the dark, but we now know the
way and will remain on the path in the light. Together we will keep humanity
strong, peaceful and united.
Mothers keep us
safe, Mothers keep us strong. Mothers know best and can do no wrong.
A three letter word shouldn’t sting this much, but it does.
“Imp,” hisses Kiri Robyns as she shoulders into me. I try to deflect her jibe off me as she glides past, but her insult lingers on me like the pain in my arm.
“What did you say to her?” My best friend, Hetty, screeches to a halt.
For a moment Kiri and her glued-to-the-hip-side-kick, Rosetta, freeze. Wet clumps of hair stick to their foreheads and their hands tighten around their towels. They must be coming back from the water hole.
“Just leave it,” I murmur, pulling Hetty up towards the walking track that leads to the lookout.
The two of them laugh as they continue the opposite way to us, back towards New Canberra.
“Why don’t you stick up for yourself more? Or at least let me?” Hetty complains, as she does nearly every time some shallow person points out I’m an imperfect.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” I reply, between puffs as we start on the sharp incline. “If people are going to judge me on the colour of my eyes then –”
“They’re not worth it.” Hetty finishes my sentence for me as she’s heard me parrot this a thousand times or more. Her voice labours as well. “I seriously don’t understand it though. I would think that they would want to kiss your butt with your mum and all that.”
“Oh, is that why we’re friends?” I tease, knowing there’s no truth in it. “So you can suck up to the Australian Ambassador’s daughter?”
She sticks out her tongue then laughs. “You know what I mean, Jenna.”
I smile at her, and then groan as we hit the steps that lead to our destination. My whole lower body protests in pain at the halfway point. But it’s so worth it once we hit the top.
“Isn’t this beautiful?” sighs Hetty, looking out over the city. She stretches her arms up, pulling her T-shirt up above the hem of her shorts.
I smile. “For sure.” I love escaping up here, especially with Hetty, away from Mum and her diplomatic duties.
Below us, a forest of eucalypts surrounds our city. The songs of the magpies echo around us and the scent of blossoms lingers in the air. The cluster of houses and buildings in the distance looks so insignificant next to the bushland.
Hetty jumps up onto the safety wall that edges the lookout – the only barrier between us and the sheer cliff below. It’s not that high, just enough to stop kids from wandering straight off the edge.
“I wonder why more people don’t come up here? We always seem to have it to ourselves,” she ponders. “Apart from the occasional cyborg domestic unit checking the bins.” She gestures to the yellow rubbish disposal units that abut the barrier.
“Don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe they don’t want to do the long walk?”
She balances on one foot, steadies herself, and leans forward. Her torso arches back, and she grabs her free leg from behind to create an elegant circle with her body, arms and leg. I wish I had taken gymnastics as an elective; she looks so poised and beautiful.
“Well, they don’t know what they’re missing.” Hetty lowers her leg and straightens up. “Do you think our kids will come up here?”
Our kids?! My heart skips a beat and my stomach drops as I freak out inside, tensing up all over. I don’t want to muck up what Hetty and I have with romance. I don’t see her that way. I’ve never seen anyone that way.
“You know they’ll probably be best friends like us,” she says, her blue eyes smiling along with her mouth. All my muscles relax. Many people in our position become life partners, but I want romantic love like my parents, not just companionship. Though since men became extinct, many women opt for
their best friend as their life partner and no one bats an eyelash.
Hetty takes a couple of steps then does a cartwheel on the wall.
My heart skips another beat. “Don’t do that, you might fall.” An image of her body bouncing off the cliff face like a ragdoll flashes through my mind. I edge closer to her.
“Don’t be silly. I do this move all the time in gymnastics class.” She moves a bit faster now and does a round-off, an elegant movement like a cartwheel but with her feet landing simultaneously. Her foot doesn’t come down flush on the wall and she wobbles, tipping over on the cliff side of
the wall. I lunge and manage to grab her arm; mine feels like it nearly comes out of its socket. Hetty looks up at me as she dangles with nothing underneath her but air. My body doubles over the wall, her weight pulling me forward.
“Jenna! Don’t let me go!”
My arms start to burn under her weight and from the hot sun beating down on us both. I look down at my best friend with determination, my long brown hair spilling over my shoulders. I will not drop her. She will not fall.
“Hetty, I need you to use your legs. Push against the rocks with them. When I pull, you need to walk your way up to me. I can’t do it without you. Ready?”
Hetty looks up at me, her eyes wild with fear. But she nods. I try to block out the jagged rocks
that jut out sporadically down the cliff face and the tree-laden ground some hundred metres below.
“Okay. One, two, THREE!”
I pull with all my might and Hetty begins taking tentative steps. Sweat trickles down my arms and onto my already clammy hands. My blue tank-top shows my strain with damp patches. The concrete barrier to the lookout digs into my hips through the thin material of my leggings. She straightens up as I pull her towards the safety wall with a giant heave. Her arms are now level with the wall and she reaches for the ledge with one hand. But before she has secured her grip on it, she slips from my other hand.
“Hetty!” My scream echoes through the valley, accompanied by her cries of terror, then a sickening thump. Still calling her name, I look over the edge and see her body crumpled on a ledge some thirty metres below. Her short blonde hair, normally immaculately styled, is matted with blood. Her brown legs protrude from her dark shorts at awkward angles. Sickening dark splotches cover her blue t-shirt.
I tap my communiqué earpiece. “Emergency assistance.” The words burn my throat, which is hoarse from yelling.
“This is emergency assistance. Please state the nature of your situation,” says a chirpy voice.
“My friend, she’s fallen. She’s hurt.” Words don’t come coherently.
“Tracking your position now. An emergency response unit will be with you soon. Please advise the injured party’s name?”
“Hetty – Hetty Phillipas.” I want to scream the words, but reel myself in.
“Are you able to reach the injured party?” the Communicator asks.
I grimace. “No, she’s too far down.”
“Please advise what you can see in relation to the injured party.” The cheery disposition continues, and bugs the crap out of me. How can she be so blasé about this? Then the penny drops – because that’s how she’s programmed to be. I try not to think about the fact that I’m talking to a
I force myself to look at over the edge again. “Hetty, can you hear me?” There’s no response. Not even a groan. I can’t see her moving at all. Just blood. “No. Nothing. She’s not moving.”
“Your heart rate is rising to an unhealthy zone. Please stay calm and the emergency response unit will be there soon. Initiate your deep breathing techniques to reduce your heart rate.”
I want to yell at the Communicator that I don’t want to calm down, but I comply, steadying myself on the concrete wall and inhale deeply through my nose. The air smells tainted. I exhale slowly, like an extended sigh, and give in to the meditation.
My senses shut down and there is only me – and the memory of what just happened, her body falling, her eyes pleading, the scream echoing.
It’s counter-productive, but I peek over the edge once I’ve finished. The view over to the ledge hasn’t changed. Hetty is as still as a mangled statue. I slump to the ground, my knees bent before me like a shield with my arms locking around them as protection for my head. It should be silent at a
sombre moment like this, but the trill song of bush birds, the occasional laughter of kookaburras and the continuous buzzing of insects fill the void.
The events replay over and over again in my mind. Every scenario I try to keep her safe still results in her falling.
The whooshing sound of the emergency response unit’s transporter brings me back to the here and now. Three Carer cyborgs alight from the transporter and two come straight toward me.
“Jenna McBride?” Her voice is low, calm and soothing. I still stiffen.
“Yes.” I try not to stare at the bald head. Even without hair, her face is beautiful. Her green eyes look at me vacantly.
“Where is Hetty Phillipas?” My hand gestures towards the concrete safety wall skirting the edge of the cliff. “Please make your way to the transporter for Carer assessment.”
I nod numbly and begin walking over, turning back briefly to watch her vault over the wall. There’s a soft thump as she hits the ground below. Soft moaning rises from over the edge. I block it out and focus on the shiny green transporter, taking slow and careful steps like Hetty should have
as she balanced on the wall. The second Carer passes me. My eyes linger on her identification tattoo – 384V.
“Jenna McBride, please stand still for your well-being analysis,” instructs the third one once I reach the transporter. She has the same face – like all Carers do – but grey eyes.
My body goes rigid as the cyborg holds a scanner in front of me. The blue beam trails up and down my body, looking for imperfections, impurities and anything else that would cause me harm. A soft tingle flutters through me.
392V – a higher number on her identification number indicates that she’s younger.
“Your blood-pressure is elevated and your body is showing signs of shock.” The grey-eyed Carer hands me a small container. “In here is your Recovery Tea. Consume it as per the instructions. Continue your meditation daily as well to ensure a swift healing.”
A swooshing sound from behind me causes me to turn and I catch sight of the bald head of the third cyborg disappearing over the edge. My mind races; we’ve come up to this lookout so many times, sat on the concrete safety wall surveying New Canberra below and laughing about the girls at
school. It was our weekly ritual – our best friend alone time. We’ve never given much thought to the sharp cliff face the barrier protected us from. It’s always been a safe place for us. Now I wonder if we felt too secure. Maybe Hetty wouldn’t have been showing off.
“Your parental units have been notified and are awaiting your return to your dwelling. Please enter the transporter.” Her voice isn’t as peppy as the Communicator’s was earlier.
“But I have to make sure she’s okay.” My desperation rises at the thought of leaving without her.
“We are not leaving until Hetty Phillipas is secure. However, your assessment shows a need for calm. Wait in the transporter and we will leave once the injured party is retrieved.”
The urgency subsides, but I stand my ground.
“Please comply,” she cocks her bare head, “as it is undesirable to restrain you.”
I glare into the vacant grey eyes, but it’s pointless to argue. The cool seats provide welcome relief against as the material makes contact with my skin. The Carer reaches into the front and presses a button. The scent of lavender wafting through the air follows. I inhale deeply and feel calmer immediately.
It feels like only moments later that the rear doors close, with Hetty inside, I assume, and the three cyborgs enter the cab of the transporter.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask the one that has to sit in the back seat with me. Hetty and I have been friends my whole life. After seventeen years, I can’t imagine a day without her.
She turns her duplicate face to me, her purple eyes staring hard, her tattoo 384V marring her otherwise perfect features. “She will recover.”
Her words give me some relief, but no comfort.