Taxing Time - Part III

     “Alright guys. Time for a game of ninja!” said Adrian. They’d arrived to the heart of suburbia. The brief period of silence in the van ended. Feelings were mixed among the fundraisers but they played the game anyways. Adrian won, as he usually did, and then drove away, as he usually did. The crew watched him as he left, then all turned back to the well-travelled paths they had to walk.  

     “I hate that god damn game.” Curst said. She turned and made a note of the street, and house numbers. She wouldn’t try to make someone give a s**t about the state of society more than once a year. Hours go by quickly when you fundraise. Curst did well and signed four people up. Nearing the last knock of the night a voice sounded out of the buzzer.

     “Hello? Who’s there?”

     “It’s Amnesty International.” Curst said. “We’re doing a membership drive to try to stop the sex trafficking of Canadian women and children.”

     “No, no, no I don’t want any of that.” The woman’s voice crackled on. Curst shrugged her shoulders. She knew the woman held captive by the electronic box couldn’t see her but she probably would have shrugged regardless. Curst was almost at the bottom of the driveway when the electronic voice sprang out again. “Girl!” It said. “Girl from Amnesty! I changed my mind.”

     “Just a minute now.” Curst kept her feet as she turned back to the house. Even if she fell there’d be no one to see her beat red face except the cold, impartial manifestation of technology. The door opened. A woman in her late 50s stood at the entrance. Her dark curly hair had begun to grey. She was a slight being, well dressed with a scarf wrapped around her neck, which could have been the only thing holding her together.

     “It really is awful what is happening in Vancouver. Here let me write you a check for $50.” She said. Curst took another breath and gave another smile.