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All content (c)2004, 2005, 2006 Adam Smith
"What does the modern man/woman truly want?" A Short Story by Adam Smith
Citizen Graint [44] stared out the window onto the dimly lit metropolis streets, so many stories below
him. The rain poured down in an almost commemorative spirit, mourning the passing of the fine
Leader [50]. Even through the thick glass window, the sound of it could be heard; an endless,
repeating rhythmical pattern of tiny droplets dancing on the smooth, refractive surface. In the lower Hive, in the corner of a decrepit little apartment that Johason [0] called his home, a young man lay lying on his back on top a bed, his eyes studying the patterns that the light made reflecting off the smooth plastic ceiling. He could barely move - barely breathe. He felt so alive, aware of everything happening around him, and yet inside he felt dead, and knew that it was nothing. But that didn't matter. His mind was clouded by the drugs, and until they wore off, that nothing didn't matter. All that mattered was himself, and for that brief moment, he became the center of the universe, he became God. He was no longer a worthless waste of life - he was important, everything. And then, like a rush of blood to the head, he felt like he was hit by a 2x4. He rolled over and vomited blood and bile onto the floor, which created an oozing puddle next to the needle. It was over. Is this what he wanted? The drugs always left Johanson [0] feeling rather existential. No, not really. But he wanted to feel good, and that was impossible these days without the drugs. Besides, the drugs helped him remember DeMika [23]. Back when he was Johason [23].
Citizen Graint [44]'s bleary eyes began to burn. Blink. They darted back and forth along the
computer monitor, scanning the recording of the Leader [50] waving to the cheering sea of people
as he was driven past, and then collapsing. Blink. Nothing there; no assassin. Blink. Maybe if I
check the next frame? Click. Blink. Nothing. What's that? A gun? Click. Zoom in. Blink. No, just a
flag. Blink. The video screen's hazy. Maybe I should just rest my eyes.
Citizen DeMika [43] sat in a plush leather chair and watched her office spin around her. Slowly, the
chair's wheels begin to stop, friction showing its usual effect. Even though she had stopped, she
still felt a little tipsy - the room seemed to be off-balance, her equilibrium nearly as flustered
and confused as she was. It seemed likely that the senate would vote her in as the next Leader - a
position of great responsibility. But how dull it was! You were permitted no friends, no family, no
life. She didn't really want the Chair; hand it to someone else�maybe Citizen Graint [44]? He had a
higher class ranking than she did, and he had always served the old Leader [50] well. But none of
the other Citizens liked him. Too quiet; too orderly. To her, and, no doubt the other Citizens, he
barely seemed human. She was sure that there was just a sweet, gentle person inside of him, but his
own shyness and fragility prevented him from showing it. He was like the polar opposite of
Johason [23]. No� It was hopeless. There's nothing. The video was clean of any visual evidence. None of the spectators saw anything. The bullet seemed to have gone clean through the Leader [50], and even after so much time spent searching, they couldn't find it. Weeks�months laboring, with no leads, no traces. In two days, Citizen DeMika [43] would be coronated and placed into the Chair. The public would lose faith in the government for their failure. His failure. His class ranking would surely plummet. He might even lose his status of Citizenship. He needed a scapegoat. Light slowly came into Johason [0]'s world - the dim light provided by the small lamp in his apartment. Was it night or day? He didn't know, and therefore, it didn't matter. But something was strange. His pupils struggled to focus the blurry haze of yellow and white and black. The image became sharper. He saw a face looming over him. A body. A man, clothed in a white robe and a ruby sash, with perfectly combed brown hair. A Citizen. Around him�5 men. Maybe 10? They were all carrying guns, and dressed in law enforcement uniforms. Black sunglasses obscured their eyes from view. They all looked the same; it was difficult to tell if they were even alive - not biologically, but�spiritually. They were dead on the inside, and it wasn't the same quietus the drugs made him feel. Citizen DeMika [43]'s face was worn with worry and dried tears. When she first heard it, she couldn't believe it. In fact, she didn't believe it. She knew that Johason [0] was being framed by her fellow Citizens. There was no evidence; she had checked the case file when the identity of the supposed assassin was announced. Sure, she could prove the fraud that was happening, but then she would be killed off. Most people were too stupid to realize how unlikely it all seemed. A part of her tried to make her believe that it was true, though. But she hated that part, the part that thought that she was happy and content with her social class, that it was a good idea to take the test that tore her and Johason [0] apart. She knew that it couldn't be, though, and she knew what she had to do.
Down from a chain, a conical lamp swung, dimly illuminating the room. Johason [0] sympathized with
it - his hands were shackled behind his back, tied to the wall by the damn metal snake. He wanted to
strangle himself with it, or smash his head against the wall - he didn't want those drones to take
his life from him; he'd give it away. Let them be beggars, not thieves.
It had never occurred to Citizen DeMika [43] just how powerful she was, or was about to become. At
first, she was somewhat worried that she wouldn't be able to get into the complex, but that, of
course, was nonsense. Tomorrow, she'd rise into power; she'd be the successor of the Chair, and
ruler of The Country. Of course the prison guard would let her pass. The building was dank, and
there was the odor of exceptionally pungent mold in the air. It was late at night, so most of the
lights were off.
A knock. Was it time already? He could feel the tension in his body vanish. He felt almost at a calm.
It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. It was almost the same feeling as when he took the drugs,
but without the intensity that they brought. Johason [0] looked up. Red rivers flowed down his cheeks; bloody tears - a side effect of the Tetrazynol. You weren't supposed to cry when you had it anyways. The window to his soul was a gruesome one indeed.
"Is there anything you want�?" |