Ominous Smile

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A glimpse into a fictional ( possibly ) future pondered upon and written about by many. My take on a short spin of the concept of a slaver-ish society and what it means to be different

Submitted: September 09, 2012

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Submitted: September 09, 2012

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‘Aren’t you tired of abiding to the same rules? Listening to the same songs? Preaching the same words? Don't you wish you could look in the mirror and see a human, standing there mysteriously, wondering about his creation, what it means to be alive?' asked NS-9, of course.

‘No sir, i'm afraid i do not, now please excuse me, I must go back to work' abruptly replied the feeble, pathetic shadow of humanity....his co-worker whom they all call NS-5J.

NS-9 was unlike any other NS worker. He was created in the IVF labs with a catastrophic defect…he could think. Many called him the dreadful poet or the harbringer of chaos. But of course, he didn’t think that. He was a human in his eyes, an autonomous life-form which could marvel and appreciate the simple nature of life and how its omniscient rotations pummeled down all the insignificant beings which inhabited this earth. He was a pioneer of consciousness, a tuner of free-will and an advocate of passion. However, useless in this society.

Metropolis was built on the rigidity of its peoples. The Platonic styles of nomenclatures buzzed throughout the musty air. The city couldn’t function unless everybody was doing exactly what they were meant to be doing at exactly the time they are meant to. Metropolis couldn’t afford to harbor a rebel; a human succumbed to free-will. After all, the system must live on. It is for this very reason NS-9 was excommunicated out of Metropolis, and forced to slave at the endless robotic warehouses of the NS corporations. Here, the truly miserable humans are held, whipped and beaten to work for hours on day, never stopping, not until they die. In which case, The Corporation will simply purchase another doomed humanoid slave, and the cycle repeats.

NS-9 though could enjoy the simple natures of whatever surrounded him. For instance, the slow turning of the metal gears flabbergasted him deeply. Within the rugged framework, lay an infinite arrangement of metal grooves, left behind by the rough thrusts of the maker. As the gears turned, the pattern followed. The crevices marked within itched away the metallic surface, revealing an opaque glistened shriek of what was hidden beneath. Streaks of dark grey races across these crevices, painting a harmonic and perfectly orchestrated arrangement of intersecting lines, forming faces, pictures, reflections and polarizations. He knew though, this curse was exactly the reason why he was brought here in the first place.

This free-willed imaginative style of thinking haunted his day-to-day life. Either it was the gears, or the murals…something was always pestering his mind. Somewhere out there he knew, must exist a creature such as he, singing the same sinful song.

Alas though years passed, and the hair on his head started to whiten, his skin began to blemish. It seems he was to face the same fate as all the other NS workers, death at some point or another. Of course by this point, he didn’t really care. He was already a slave for the very thing he hated and thought against, perhaps death offered him more freedom than life. At this point though (in the darkest of times), he realized that all his ideas and dreams, never changed anything. In the end, he was exactly the same as others: just as hopeless, robotic and useless. Everyday he awoke only to dream of the moment he could close his eyes. Only when he dreamt, could he live the world he truly dreamt of exploring

Another day, another helpless time. Effortlessly and conditionally, NS-9 turned the myriad of levers. By now his imagination withered away, he was only living to die and be in peace. During his final moments, he began to ponder about his life. Was he happy? Could he have ever been? Such questions bore useless answers by this time though, what difference would they make? HE decided to stop his duties, and simply stare outside the tinted window, towards the scorching sun, echoing its song in the heavens. Such a beautiful entity, such a free being he murmured. Such a glimmer of hope, out of my touch…his voice began to atrophy.

His eye though caught something he had never seen before, a creature simply walking by the building side on the outside meadow. A woman, or so he was told, was making her way outside, completely oblivious of the building she was venturing next to. ‘ Why would she care anyways’ NS-9 questioned, ‘ the contents of this building are useless….therefore the building itself must follow all the same’.

But he stared, he stared at her voluptuous features. Her hair, whisked the air gently as she made her way. The mahogany/blonde color painted the air as she twisted her body left and right. Her perfect curves seemed to fade into the majestic green meadow, reflecting just how perfect she truly was. Ns-9 never caught a glimpse of her face however, as the windows were stained with dirt and sweat. But he could imagine her to have the very features he dreamt of. Wombat cheeks, inviting eyes and a smooth face, resonating her perfect smile.

Day after day, he waited at the same stop at the same time, for the woman to appear. She was more than a woman at this point though; she had now become a piety of his subconscious. She never walked by. So then, night after night he raced to go to sleep, to dream of this woman..to imagine her features and her character and her gentle touch. Night after night, his life faded away as his dreams soon controlled him. He was no longer a prisoner of this world, but a warrior of his mind. His conquest for the woman overcame his instinct and purpose.

Alas the last day of his existence came sooner than any1 ever thinks. At the final pull of the lever, he collapsed. His eyes began to close but he urged them to stay open . He used his entire might, to last this one last day. The sun began to rest as the moon began to shine. His eyes,succumbed to the night sky as they began to close. The vision of the woman appeared again, this time though he could see her face. Tears trickled down his eyes as he finally found the reason to his existence. With the last of his strength, he clenched his eyes shut and held the womans hand, walking off together into the darkness, forever together, eternally happy. Alas his dreams became his reality as a smile cracked across the limp, lifeless face.


© Copyright 2017 Chumbawoo. All rights reserved.

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