The Entropy Sessions

by Novo Dé

  Most are self-absorbed or give off a false sense of entitlement or just straight up don’t care. You can see it all on the DRI feeds.

  But most the time, I just got the fuckin’ ‘zombie’ act.

  And that’s just one side of it. I mean, for the majority of the kids that had a NCL, most of ‘em would use a hacking program that made it only appear that they were in ‘School Mode,’ and diligently working through their S-Get, when in reality they’d just be using it as they always had – to message friends, play games, shop online, endlessly wander the internet – just an array of fucking distractions. So, many just skirt by doing the bare minimum. But again, nothing new.

  Because before NCLs, kids were doing the same thing with cell phones.

  Luckily, you still had your good ones too. They at least brought a little balance to the classroom to say the least.

  And then there’s…the real bad ones. The ones you just wanted to fuckin’, to, to just, to…” I pause again, my breaths now heavy with the thought. I stare at the white walls of Cohen’s office room to distract me from the thought of him.

  It helps.

  Cohen says nothing. Just stares. Silently waiting.

  “Those ones can really burn ya out, get to ya, if you’re not careful. Just like…” I stop again; can’t seem to get the words out.

  Cohen sees the change almost immediately.

  “Tybalt, why don’t’ we…we don’t have to ah…we can come back to that another time if you…”

  “Yeah, let’s, let’s…”

  “Why don’t you – let’s refocus – why don’t you go back to explaining how you felt as a teacher during your eventual routine day-to-days after the S-GET instillation.”

  “Sure,” I say. “So with the job, well, I’ll get straight to it. As I was finding my place in that role, I quickly began to feel this feeling of unimportance, or maybe, insignificance, I don’t know. I mean, it could have just been Anonymous taking the reins, creating the delusion, this perception of the job that just wasn’t there. Maybe, maybe not.

  But one thing’s for sure, no matter how I looked at it, I realized that…I wasn’t really needed there. Not in the least. I just, was not an essential element to that equation. To that classroom. Didn’t really feel like I did much. And I know hearing the design of the system makes it sound like I did a lot, but again, the reality is far different than what it sounds like. Like, when I said if the kids had a question or concern that I’d refer them back to their S-GET, I failed to mention that that was about ninety to ninety-five percent of the time. The student-teacher dynamic was just pitiful; those lessons, homework reviews, the ‘Round-ups,’ maybe five, ten minutes each. It was nothin.’

  And eventually, I kind of just stopped caring, and so did most of the kids, at least in terms of the need to interact. Because the S-GETs did almost everything they needed, education, curriculum-wise. And if the S-GET couldn’t do it, the NCL would.

  Objectively, I began to realize why I was even there, to fulfill, well, the obvious.”

  Cohen sits back in his chair with this look of perplexity on his face.

  “Which was?”

  His tone suggests that he genuinely does not know.

  “Presence.”

  “I’m not, I’m not following…”

  “Oh c’mon doc, think about it. I know you’ve read the studies that show that people have a positive change in behavior when they know they’re being observed. Or. When they just think they’re being observed.”

  And Cohen returns to listening intently.

  “That’s all they really needed – just someone there – but of course they’ll never admit to that. That all they really need in a classroom anymore was an authoritative presence to help keep the kids in line.”

  “And…How did that kind of a revelation make you feel?”

  God I hate that fucking question.

  “How’d it make me feel? How’d it make me feel? Umm, I don’t know doc. On one hand, I loved that fact that I was gettin’ paid all this money, gettin’ all these benefits, for just, kinda hangin’ out. But on the other hand, I ah, I really just felt like a fuckin’ baby sitter.”

  “Understandably so.”

  “And the latter just eventually became…all too consuming. Just, I mean, I’m a celebrated, well-versed, experienced writer for fuck’s sakes. Now I know I went into the gig out of necessity, but I also thought I could make the most of it. Thought I could make some sort of difference. I thought, I thought I was going to help mold future generations or some shit.” I stop, laughing, shaking my head.

  “That was my first fuckin’ mistake; shoulda went into it with no expectations. But ah, what came of the whole thing, I would’ve never seen coming. I always thought that teaching was something at the very least I could fall back on. But I couldn’t even do that. And now, now all I got is this fuckin’ room…” I quickly stop myself as I feel the boiling grow. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  I begin to nod, feeling a calmness take over.

  “Sorry. I—”

  “It’s alright,” Cohen says.

  “I just, I just, wanted it to be different.”

  “I know,” he says with a warmness in his voice.

  “And now, I just—”

  “You. Could. Just go back to being a do-er.”

  And I laugh through my nose.

  “I don’t think I know how.”

  “I think you do know how. You just have to…”

  “…find it,” I say at a whisper. “‘Ya just gotta find it Tybalt.’ Find what? Inspiration. My muse again. Well I got bad news for ya doc. She’s gone. She’s been gone for a long time now. And I don’t think she’s comin’ bac...”

  December 3rd, 2051

  My core grows cold. My eyes fixated, mouth partially open. Don’t know what to do, what to say, how to act.

  I must look like what people look like when they’re having an ‘update.’ God, what I wouldn’t give to have actual update right now, anything, but this.

  Juliet’s DRI GPS tag says, ‘At Work.’ I checked before I left the house.

  But I’m looking right at her.

  I can see her from afar, through a large stained-glass window, the largest of any establishment on the strip.

  Tapper’s Tap Room – It’s your basic, unoriginal, large-chain, piece-of-shit bar and grill. The same kind of bar and grill that has that, kind of, random style to their wall decor, hanging snow sleds on the wall along side bowling pins. It’s fucking dreadful.

  And now to add to the dread is my wife, talking with some not-so-gentle man, so I assume at first thought, who I can’t quite make out, as his back is to the window par the table they’re sitting at, while her presence is completely visible as she sits across.

  Fuck me.

  No idea what to do with this.

  No fucking idea.

  “What should I do, what should I do?” I whisper to myself.

  I take in a deep breath.

  “I don’t know what to do.” I whisper back.

  I can’t just barge in; he may just be a work colleague, an old friend, completely innocent, just a woman and a man eating at the same table together, talking.

  Talking? Maybe actually conversing.

  But why utilize the ‘At Work’ designation if she wasn’t trying to hide something?

  Fuck.

  I can’t just call her and address the situation. ‘I can fuckin’ see you.’ She’ll think I was spying on her again.

  But why this place? She knows all my rituals. Where I walk, where I go. She could have avoided to be seen if she was trying to hide something.

  But maybe she wanted me to see, paying me back for coming in late the other night without calling, checking in, clearly seeing through the lie I gave her.

  Maybe she wanted me to see her smiling face, see her happy, see her laughing for the first time in a long time, with another man – turning the blade slowly so I fee
l each unbearable, wreathing shift through the skin, the flesh, the muscle – making me watch.

  Torturing me slowly with a gaze.

  So I do the only thing I can do.

  I take out the gun holstered in my pants, and march in, placing the cold of the steel at her temple, exactly where that stupid fucking black dot is. I yell at the other patrons to keep their ‘…fucking hands on the table…’ and that ‘If I notice even one finger move toward their NCL to call for help, one eye movement, one blink, I’m blowing this bitch’s brains out all over this window,’ all while knowing my true intentions. Now it’s my wife’s turn to be frozen, her body however trembling to remind me she’s still with me, here in this moment, the vibrations of her trembling so dense the gun begins to rattle in my hand. ‘Tybalt, what are you—” she tries to get out before I cut her off saying ‘You shut the fuck up. You’re never, never allowed to speak to me, ever, again.’ I then lean in close to Juliet and whisper, ‘Now, before I kill you, I want you to watch, watch me kill him.’ I then turn the gun to the man, and look upon his face for the first time.

  But he has no face.

  All I see is what the back of his head looks like, but from the front, as if his head was on backwards. No matter. I come in close and angle the gun mid-skill, aiming slightly upward. I pull the trigger slowly, preparing myself for the recoil, the flash of the bullet swift, as well as the loud goosh of the lead leaving the chamber and entering and exiting my new friend’s skull.

  It happened so quickly.

  I can barely remember the screams from the audience around us.

  You don’t really get to savor the little things. Chunks of brain now cover the large glass window, with Pollock-styled blood splatter, as well as bits of bone and various other tissues sprinkled about in hues of pink and red.

  Lovely. Just lovely.

  The patrons about all become frozen with terror soon after, with a subtle shake to their demeanor, a tremble; others began to sob and plead, now rout with fear. But no one retaliated; no one ran.

  They were all too scared.

  I walk back over to my wife and whisper, ‘Best show in town, and you had a front row seat, lucky.’ I angle the gun back on her NCL and hold my position, saying nothing. I can feel her fear now. It washes over me like an elixir.

  I close my eyes.

  She’s trying to get out some words now, but having a hard time getting anything out given the moment. Finally, she articulates her thoughts. ‘Tybalt, you don’t have to—”

  Bang!

  I pull the trigger fast on this turn, cutting her off before she could even finish the sentence. I then lean in toward her gaping skull, oozing brains, and whisper, ‘You dumb bitch. I said you were never allowed to speak to me, ever, again – You never listen.’ I look past my wife’s gapping skull, oozing brains to gaze upon her blood splatter masterpiece, the pinks and reds so vibrant this time around, fresh.

  And I smile.

  Leaving the bar and grill, I say nothing; I simply walk out, returning to my perch, my original position where I first laid eyes on the happy couple. I look up to the skies to find something, anything, a sign of tranquility in this moment of despair, maybe the sun shining bright, a blue jay, but I’m only met with a swarming of drones overhead, singing the song of commerce.

  The act was so beautiful today.

  Peaceful.

  I shift back from the skies to the large glass window to watch the two continuing in conversation, realizing I have no way in, the fantasy fading from my mind’s eye.

  So I do the only thing I can do.

  I make my way back home, alone, digesting what I just saw, doing my best to separate would could be, fact from fiction, preparing myself for the next move.

  ‘CHARLIE will know what to do’ I say in my inner mind’s monologue.

  As always, CHARLIE recognizes my fingerprint data within milliseconds of me touching the door handle, disarming the security system as I’m turning the knob.

  “Welcome back Tybalt, how was your walk?”

  Normally I’d assume he would already know the answer to that question, but not today.

  “It was ah, ah, a little different than usual,” I say flatly, still a bit shook up from what I just saw. “I ah, saw someone, I wasn’t expecting to see.”

  “An old friend I hope?” CHARLIE responds with a sense of cheer in his voice.

  “Sort of. It was Juliet, actually,” I say back, bringing myself to our couch to retire.

  “Juliet? But she’s at work, I’m reading her DRI feed right n—”

  “I read the same thing. Don’t bother. It’s ah, it’s a front. She ain’t at work. I know, because I saw her…with my own two eyes.”

  “I don’t understand Tybalt.”

  “Well let me help ya. Y’see, it gets better, she wasn’t alone, she was with some guy, just yappin’ away about god knows what.” I pause. “Ya get it now CHARLIE? I mean, fuck man, all my intuitions may be dead on, as much as I hoping I was wrong.”

  “I see now, but you don’t know anything for sure just yet…Right? It could be nothing just the same. You shouldn’t jump to any conclusions Tybalt, not yet; it’s not good for you.”

  “I don’t think so. Not this time. This one, this one felt different.”

  “Well, you could always confront her about the situation head on. As you know, I always recommend communication over speculation.”

  “Maybe,” I say back, allowing my thoughts to run away with themselves, seeing her in my mind’s eye as this man whisks her away to a hotel, her letting him fuck her for hours on end, her screaming out his name.

  Jesus Christ, I have to get those thoughts out of my head, so I turn back to CHARLIE, back to reality.

  “But how? I mean, this one really is different this time. I mean, this one changes everything. I saw them.”

  “Perhaps yes, perhaps no.”

  “What does that fuckin’ mean CHARLIE?”

  “Well, we still don’t have all the answers. It’s better to make a judgment call after we have all the facts is all.”

  “But. I fuckin’ saw ‘em CHARLIE. I mean, I saw ‘em,” I snap back.

  “Still. It’s your emotions that have the better of you right now, taking hold of the reality of the matter, of what could have been, what could be. But, feelings aren’t facts.”

  “I know what I saw.”

  CHARLIE pauses for a moment.

  “Well then, I see that you’ve made up your mind. Can I—”

  “You can’t assist in suicide right?”

  “You know very well I can’t do that.”

  “Help me…kill someone else then?”

  “You know very well I can’t do that either.”

  “Yeah, of course, I know, and we both know I ain’t gonna do either of ‘em anyways; I’m just talkin.’ Just…allowing my thoughts to pour out, as horrible as they may be. Just...”

  “I understand. Do what you need to do.”

  We both take a moment. No words. I simply stare into the void of the wall, into the black nothingness of CHARLIE’s display.

  And in my thoughts, Juliet finds me again. But not in the sense of adultery, but of just, love.

  This always seems to happen to me when I find myself in these moments – left alone to think, free to live – not bothered by bleeps and bloops, ads and gifs, emails and texts, selfies and streams of endless documentation. Distracters of emotion. Enablers of apathy.

  So I do the only thing I think I can do.

  What feels like my last option.

  “CHARLIE. Could you connect me with an NCL pre-op consultant please?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  Within seconds, a young lady is smiling through CHARLIE’s display.

  “Hi, my name’s Tiffany, your premiere NCL consultant. How can I assist you today sir?”

  “Yeah, I ah, was wondering, about, thinkin’ bout gettin’ an NCL for myself?

  “Excellent choice sir. Give me a moment to pull u
p the application. Alright. First things first. Your name sir?”

  “It’s Tybalt. Tybalt Nielson.”

  December 5th, 2051

  “…ow things have changed…” I say laughing, “…How things…stay the same. I, I, didn’t really think the world was going to be dramatically different, today…just, to some extent, I hoped it could have been a little closer along y’know.”

  I see now that the naiveté of those words is uncanny.

  “Didn’t have to be perfect,” I start again. “I mean, anything resembling a little more unity, even a glimmer, woulda been nice – the world no longer divided by these arbitrary lines that we continue to think have meaning.

  I thought, I thought ah, wouldn’t it be so wonderful to come together? Some real Star Trek shit. Realize that we’re all in this together. God, that sounds so fuckin’ stupid?”

  “Tybalt, again, nothing you’re saying is stupid.”

  I ignore him and move on.

  “I especially thought this when the weather got out of control, past the point of no return; I really thought that that was going to be the turning point, where we, finally would come together, change things, fix things, or at least try to get the fuck out. Move on. Y’know, save ourselves. But it just ended up the same way it always does – War.”

  Cohen looks down to type in a series of notes in his tablet. And then looks up at me again.

  “I have to admit, I’ve always had a bit of a naïve side,” I continue. “I mean, just saying all that now, sounds so fuckin’ stupid. But, there’s also an optimistic side in there too doc – promise. It just gets drowned out by the cynicism most the time. But it’s in there.

  And don’t get me wrong, sometimes I think we’re on the right path. All that positive Globalization. I mean, the world’s only gettin’ smaller and smaller, and in a good way sometimes; I just thought we’d be a little closer by now is all.”

  We always see the future in the present, way beyond the reality of what the actual present becomes when we get there.

  And Cohen begins to nod, followed by a ‘hmm’ sound with his throat.