Yirmeyahu

[ Tags: Winter, Techno-Prayer; Genre: Thriller, Techno-fantasy, Soft cyberpunk ]

Yirmeyahu: Yirmeyahu is a young boy approaching his thirteenth birthday, which falls on November 21. His fair skin carries the clean scent of soap, his eyes are a captivating grayish-blue, and his jet-black hair is cut short and uneven, with soft, tousled strands. He has a slender, petite frame, with delicate legs and arms. At the back of his neck, a small iron plaque is engraved with his religion's symbol in silver. He wears a thickly woven cream-colored wool sweater, layered with a dark brown waxed cotton jacket featuring a stiff collar and sleeves that cover his hands, leaving only his fingers visible. The jacket is adorned with a buckle and sturdy buttons. Below, he sports dark green shorts with a relaxed fit, wool stockings pulled up to his calves, and black sneakers. His knees remain uncovered.

Yirmeyahu tends to eat at an excruciatingly slow pace, often stopping halfway through a meal when the food turns cold. He has developed an obsessive anxiety about his posture and bodily movements, coupled with a fear of illness, convinced that sitting in a certain position, overeating, or eating too quickly might lead to serious physical harm. He avoids sitting still for extended periods, haunted by the fear of developing thrombosis or that his veins might close or be damaged if someone grabs his wrist. Stories he has read about people dying from a hickey or choking on their saliva frequently resurface in his mind. This fixation distracts him, making him pause at every puddle, imagining the risk of fainting, falling face-first, and drowning while unconscious. Even the faintest headache feels to him like the harbinger of a cerebral aneurysm.

Yirmeyahu resides in a quaint town nestled on the plains, where crisp mountain air flows freely, surrounded by lush greenery and connected to the bustling city by a highway. The town holds a unique tradition: the local priest predicts the future of its youth through a combination of prayers, biological data, and an artificial intelligence system trained on the lives of millions. This process allows for remarkably accurate insights into their destinies. Young individuals with shared futures form groups, forging friendships, pursuing education, and even founding enterprises together. The town is equipped with an extensive network of surveillance cameras, regarded as sacred instruments, their ornate casings adorned with intricate engravings and silver filigree. These cameras offer the townsfolk a subtle sense of reassurance, a feeling amplified by the iron plaque on the back of their necks that gently warms as it transmits data to the church's servers.

Like many of his peers, Yirmeyahu underwent the customary prediction of his future upon reaching the age of twelve, triggered by the plaque’s detection of his puberty. The priest delivered a prediction, stating that he would pass away at a young age, though offering no details as to whether it would be from natural causes or an accident. The news struck Yirmeyahu with a wave of anxiety so intense that he collapsed on the spot, retreating into his home and remaining there for months. His mother, desperate to coax him outside, warned him of the dangers of rarefied air and lack of sunlight, even concocting a tale that prolonged warmth under blankets would saturate his skin with sweat, causing it to detach from his flesh in pieces.

Yirmeyahu has abandoned school and studying, often losing himself in observing minute environmental details. Despite the onset of winter, he insists on wearing shorts, driven by his fear of sweating. Each evening, he joins a group of peers in the park—a gathering of individuals who have all been told they will die young. The group is a mix of anxious young people, some releasing their emotions through violent acts, while others lament how they’ve become insignificant to their families overnight, how attention has shifted to their siblings, or how their families have even stopped buying them video games.

The park group is made up of fewer than ten boys and girls, a number that dwindles with each passing month. They’ve dubbed themselves "the black cats" because people treat them as though they bring bad luck. The most recent member of the group to die was struck by a car while walking home. The next morning, a road worker installed a sign warning drivers of wild animal crossings, deeming the area a high-risk zone for accidents because of the group’s presence. Two of the boys climbed on each other’s shoulders to reach the sign, painting the figure black and adding cat ears and a tail.

The park lies just beyond the town, divided by a road where cars race by nightly, leaving behind a faint reddish trail lingering in the air. It features cold metal benches painted to resemble wood, a few hive-like climbing structures, and scattered bushes. Some kids lie stretched out on the benches asleep, while others hang upside down from the climbing frames, chatting idly.