Why They Wanted To Go In
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taken from public domain
“Do not retreat! Do not retreat!” Then the captain’s head exploded, and all I could see was… It isn’t worth thinking about. I need to stop having these dreams. I’ll get out of bed and make myself something to eat.
“Alexa, play classical guitar on medium volume.” I used to love playing my guitar. I used to love listening to musicians like Mason Williams. Now, I put the music on only because it’s supposed to help with the depression. It doesn’t.
The fridge is filled with food. Some of it is real — organic, even. Tomatoes, oranges, real cheese. That stuff reminds me of better times, though I often don’t even bother with it. Lots of that good stuff gets thrown into the processor. On the other hand, the synthetic stuff is cheap, tasty, and easy to eat.
As I pull the lid off a container of M’Vleeta, I can hear the rattling of the air purifier coming through the vents. I spoon some of the gelatinous blob into my mouth, and it moves over my tongue as I taste the pungent flavours, all synthetic: beef, mushroom, onion, even something green. It’s pretty good. Food is one of the few things in life that brings me happiness now. A shame I’ve resorted to spooning M’Vleeta from a container.
“Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap,” the air purifier rattles away. It bothers me, but I don’t have the energy to say something to the owner of the building.
“Tap, tap, tap.” It really bothers me. I could nearly throw a fit, but even that would be too much to ask of myself. I’ve really had enough of feeling this way.
No matter what they do for me — whether it’s medication, new implants, therapy or conditioning programs —, nothing really helps. I spend days thinking of what to do, and then days telling myself I can’t do anything. Nothing has been the same since 2030.
Taken from public domain
I was just 18 when the first nuke detonated over Los Angeles. It was terrible. No one was ready for all the shit that would come flowing over us after that moment. I can’t believe I lived through it all. I hate these fuckin tears.
That’s it. I’m through being depressed, through wasting away, and through being tormented by memories of a terrible past. I’m throwing in the towel. I’m going to the Paradise Initiative today.
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“It was the Grim Years. They took their toll on me,” I tell the social worker who wants to know why I’m applying to enter into Paradise. By now, in the year 2079, I’m not the only person who comes here for that reason. The agents at the Paradise Initiative rarely turn someone away when they bring up the torments of the Grim Years.
“Go on, Mr. Stevens,” says the female agent sitting across from me. We’re in a private room. It’s clean and it smells like oranges.
taken from public domain
“Sometimes, I think that all of the people who died in the blasts were the lucky ones. They didn’t need to feel a thing. They had no idea what was even happening.”
I stop talking for a moment and look at the ground. I can feel myself starting to get upset. I look up at the agent and she’s staring intently at me.
She’s a pretty little thing, but the girls just don’t look the same as they used to. What ever happened to real hair? She has some kind of artwork sitting on top of her head and there’s bright, blue hair wrapped all around it. What the hell, I think. I look her in the eyes, only briefly. She is beautiful. I am old. I glance away and continue expressing myself.
“I had to live like fucking golem in a cave underground!” She is visibly confused by that, and probably has no idea who or what golem is. I go on.
“I struggled to survive: the nuclear winter, the fallout, the fighting that seemed like it would never end. Sure, you’ve learnt about the Grim Years, but you have no idea…”
I take a breath, and now the agent is the one who looks down. This girl’s just a greenhorn. Here she is, sitting in her fancy office as if everything is okay. Everything is not okay, I think to myself. There’s a 3-D printed tree siting on the corner of her desk. I keep talking.
“People in my day thought that a nuclear war was scary, but we couldn’t even imagine the life that came afterwards. I… I… I survived. I regret so much!” I say loudly, and the tears that gathered around my eye implants finally start to run down my cheeks.
“It’s okay, Mr. Stevens, you’re okay. Please, try to calm down,” she says to me, but now that I’m into it, I give her the full picture.
“I crawled out of that plane crash, and I kept crawling. I couldn’t feel my legs.”
As I say this to her, I’m grabbing at the bionic legs they’ve attached to my body, squeezing them as hard as I can, but I can’t feel a thing.
“I’m not sure how long I crawled for, but my helmet was cracked, and the radiation… I could feel my skin boiling. I couldn’t see, but I kept crawling.”
The agent is still looking down. It’s too much for her and her bright blue hair. She can’t even look me in my bionic eyes. I continue, and now I am asking her for an answer to something she can’t begin to comprehend. Not her. Not with the life she’s lived.
“Where was I going? What was I even thinking? Why am I still alive!?” And, with that, she clicks away at her keyboard and tells me that my request is granted.
I’m a worked-up mess, but I’m almost smiling on the inside because it worked. I knew that they’d let me into Paradise. I don’t care if everyone looks down on me for it. I don’t care. I’m sick, and tired, and I want out. I’m allowed to do this, and that’s what I’m going to do.
“Put me in, put me in now!” I yell, standing up and flipping over my chair. She hits the red button under her desk and I can feel the chip in my head start to work its magic. I gradually calm down as it emits an electric pulse through my brain, but I fight it.
“I want out of this place and into Paradise, now!” I yell, even louder, and now she’s out the back door of her office and I can hear heavy boots on the ground coming for me from the other side. Good, I think.
taken from public domain
Three officers in black uniforms enter the room and come towards me. I just keep yelling, as loud as I can. They restrain me, speak some official words, and then inject me with something.
This is it, I think to myself, hanging there in the officers’ arms. It’s all going to be over soon. When I wake up, I’ll be in Paradise. I recall that I’d marked off the maximum stay on my form. I’ll be inside the Paradise program for a long time.
I should be passing out soon. Any second now…
Adam Moore
From fiction to poetry, essays to expository articles, I write for the joy that it brings me. Participating in the Professional Writing program at Algonquin College has been a great experience so far. I hope to graduate and find my way into an exciting career as a writer in one of the many possible fields that are out there.
