Life: A Life Trilogy

by Travis Knoll

  March 21, 2035

  New York, New York

  Rikers Island Prison

  14:17

  There were small chicken scratches beside the bed that were there to count the number of days that I had seen the moon and sun exchange in a time dance together. The sexagesimal system created this persistent illusion for all of us. It made Lifers that had to work for their time instead of realizing that time was an illusion. We'd been hypnotized to think what we saw was real. I kept reiterating this to my acquaintance in the holding cell beside me. The orange numbered jumpsuit was a nice change, I supposed, from that of the hoodie I always wore.

  The mist would come through the bars of the small window in the room. It was a way to maintain our time with nature’s movement, as nothing really stopped. I learned more of freedom and myself from being in prison. I rolled around and peered at my new friend that was resting. He was being held captive like so many were because of their beliefs in freedom and the Uprising that I came to love. By the plutocratic society putting me in prison, my mind was freed. I realized that my freedom within couldn't be taken from me, and I was able to close my eyes and go anywhere and see anything with joy.

  After the Uprising fell, the prisons became vastly overcrowded because of petty things like missing curfew three times, listening to unregistered music, or trying to watch a TV tube show that wasn't permitted, activities which were all taxable, which could be placed in the same severity as that of killing someone. The Uprising was always in the background, but had to remit and go into hiding. The governments’ bounty on their heads, and the noose clinched around their necks because of the continual raise in taxes was too strong, and they had no leader.

  A TV tube in the corner outside the holding cell had a reporter on the news, and there was a media storm blaming me for Detective Slate’s murder. They fabricated pictures of myself that stabbed him. The list of charges included tax theft, for personal gain, which was a minimum twenty-five-to-life sentence. The reporter on the TV tube stated that they wanted to make an example for others, that this behavior wasn’t acceptable and were throwing the max sentence at me.

  "What are you going to do now?" my fellow inmate asked me.

  He was in for missing curfew three times and trying to expunge his mark. It was his third strike and I felt for him.

  A guard came by and tapped his black billy club on the metal bars—that grabbed all of our attention.

  "You have a visitor," the guard stated.

  "Who is it?" I asked.

  "Someone named Steponme... You're on the clock, so you better hurry, boss," the guard said.

  I walked to a visitation area that was an open room with multiple white tables in it. In the center, standing beside one of the tables, I noticed Alex, who stood up with an endearing smile that was reciprocated by a similar smile on my face.

  "You have ten minutes, bud," the guard said as he took the cuffs off me.

  I walked to Alex and we hugged as the guard hit his billy club on the side of the door jam. "No touching," the guard stated as we took a seat opposite each other.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked.

  Alex looked around the room. The guard paced in the hall outside the visitation room, moving his attention away from us and down the hall.

  "It's the Uprising, it has started to grow in strength since they saw you get shot on the building. It was broadcasted everywhere with the instapress to people, and it spread like wildfire," Alex said.

  "So I can't do anything from in here," I said.

  "They need their leader," Alex muttered softly, concealing her voice from the guard.

  "I'm not a leader. I'm a criminal."

  "Listen, they still have information that says that you're innocent around Odysseus’s collar. They're going to try and pin as much as they can on you to make an example out of you. We need to get you out of here."

  "I know, and how do you plan on doing that?"

  "Come here."

  We both leaned in closer to each other. "I placed a small GPS tracking device on you when we hugged, they will come in the night from the underground, just be ready," Alex said in a whisper.

  The guard hit his billy club against the door jam and yelled, "Time is up!"

  We both stood, and Alex waved bye to me. She had a seductive wink, and she could always draw my attention.

  March 21, 2035

  New York, New York

  Rikers Island Prison

  23:47

  Signs watched a silent pinging of the location of the GPS signal that was tracking my location. He stopped and pointed directly above himself.

  The moonlight illuminated through the small cold bars in the cell’s window, and revealed the night guard at the other end of the hall. He was sleeping with his chair tilted against the back of the wall and with his uniform’s hat covering his eyes. I rolled onto my side as I heard a strange muffled thumping noise from underneath my bunk. I quickly jumped out of my bed because I heard the sound of metal being incised from beneath me. The machine sounded like a liquid-nitrogen cutting machine. I peered under my bed and saw the metal flooring being cut like butter with the cold nitrogen. The machine was muffled and sounded like a soft hissing sound.

  I glanced at Talks peering up through the drainage system and shared a smile with my friend. He pushed the top of the floor through where my bed was. Talks waved for me to hurry and follow him. I glanced back to my fellow inmate, which I didn't even know his name. He just nodded his head as if to say do what needs to be done. I had the thought of one day coming back for him.

  I immediately left the jail through the underground gateway...

  We ran through a restricted underground system that was nestled inside next to the jail’s underground sewer system. Signs and Odysseus navigated as he pointed the way through the depths of the darkness. We ran throughout the dimly lit cavernous system. I pulled on the arm of Talks and looked him directly in his eyes.

  "Why did you come and get me?" I asked.

  "It backfired on them," Talks said.

  "What did?" I asked.

  "Everyone saw you get shot and the instapress helped to spread the word, now everyone is behind you. That one shot has given new birth to the Uprising and we've grown considerably," Talks said.

  "Who is we?" I asked.

  "The Lifes, the Uprising, and they found their needed leader," Talks said as both Signs and Odysseus glared at me.

  "I'm a criminal, not a leader," I stated, saddened.

  Signs opened a gigantic concrete slab hidden in the wall of the underground system. The opening revealed a spherical area that had the faint sound of trickling water built up to resemble a military encampment, and a very elaborate system that appeared to just need some funding to move forward. The words “Cave Adsum” were on the walls stenciled nicely, and Lifes that had gathered turned to look at the light coming from the storm drain that lit my face.

  The Lifes, Half-Lifes and Unlifes that had congregated in the underground encampment had come from all over the globe. They wanted to see the notorious TaxMan, and be a part of the Uprising to grow in strength and numbers in hopes to take their freedom back. The different cultures and languages that had combined in the area all shared that one same common denominator, and that was the want of their basic freedoms. The moonlight through the sewer drain metaphorically followed me like a spotlight, as I walked into the room to be greeted by people.

  In awe, everyone gazed at me. Some whispered in the background, saying that it was the TaxMan, and stated that I was the one. They clapped enthusiastically and wanted me to come on the stage—a center command staging point for dictating the orders in a military fashion that needed to be laid out.

  I was timid as I walked on that stage, cleared my throat as everyone's excitement calmed down. Their attention was drawn directly toward me, and I didn't know what to do. I chose this Life to stay out of groups and off the grid.

  "Um
m..." I murmured, as I peered at my friends in the background, which gave me more confidence.

  "We are all born into this world free. The system has enslaved us by continual corrupt measures," I said.

  The Almost-Lifes agreed and they clapped as I gained more confidence in my voice.

  "But this is our world, and we are becoming strong enough to take back what is ours! We will have our freedoms!” I finished and walked off the stage to people that cheered and clapped as they yelled my name.

  Alex came to me with an endearing glow about her. We hugged with a glimpse into each other’s eyes. I cleared my throat, not knowing exactly what to say as my eyes peered around in an awkward fashion.

  "Alex, why did you come back?" I asked.

  "You're so innocent. I would never miss a good fight, my dear. I need to finish what I helped to start," Alex said. She fixed the out-of-place hair on my head and we shared a brief intimate moment together, peering into one another's eyes.

  The abundance of wanting Lifes in the underground area made me proud. The Lifes had started to use their knowledge to train the Unlifes, bringing hope to them, trying to heal each other, but they needed more food and supplies badly.

  The area was set up like an impenetrable underground fortress. It was a command center that the Lifes could live in for an extended period of time in order to gain strength and push forward with the Uprising once again. Some of their skills were accelerated from the training they got from Odysseus, Signs, Talks and Alex, who delegated delegating the work that needed to be learned to them, in an effort to salvage Lifes’ beliefs for a better future.

  "Everything is going well, we will just need some sort of funding to accelerate the movement as some of the people need food, and we need supplies," Talks said.

  "What about the money from the offshore account?" I asked.

  "Not possible, they're monitoring everything too tightly. Everything coming into the country is being tracked heavily for all transfers to America. What you see is where we're currently at. Everything offshore to America has been locked down," Talks said. We glanced around the humble underground setting that was in dire need of supplies. Lifes were reusing notebooks, writing on the back sides of used pages, sharing the same kitchenware and dining accessories and a few were huddled around the couple of laptops that they had.

  We walked around the area. I was given a tour of different parts of the encampment. Nestled in a corner was a church built from cardboard and aluminum. It was called Truth and allowed anyone to enter. There was a kitchen in the back that was very clean, but only housed the staple food items, like oats, purified water from the dripping condensation into the sewer system and beans and broths for soup that was rationed out. A hospital was being erected out of aluminum cans and cardboard by the once-Lifer doctors that had forgone their marks to administer to the patients that came sick to the underground.

  "I have some money stashed away, but will need your help with some travel plans," I said, and looked at both Signs and Talks.

  "What do you need?" Talks asked.

  "Air travel to San Francisco, and a new identity," I said.

  "You're gonna go back to the belly of the beast?" Talks asked.

  "I need to pay my respects to my mother."

  "OK, the government has elevated the crime level for the Uprising, so you must, and I repeat, must wear a suit and tie at all times, so they think you're a day walker. There's bounty's on our heads, and if someone spots you, they will turn you in," Talks said.

  "I like a good challenge. Make the travel plans, please," I said with a sense of rebellion. Talks started to form the plans needed to create the ID and travel information that I was going to need.

  March 22, 2035

  San Francisco, CA.

  Sage Brook Assisted Living -- Geary Blvd.

  11:37

  Maude, an elderly woman wearing a hospital gown and sitting in a wheelchair, slowly strolled in the lobby of the nursing home. I walked into the nursing home attired in Lifer clothes, with a suit and tie and holding a briefcase in my right hand. Maude sneered at me as soon as I entered the door.

  "It's about time you're here, Thomas, let’s go," Maude said as she tried to get me to push her sweet old body out of the nursing home. I smiled at Maude and walked to the reception desk.

  The attending nurse at the reception desk grinned at what Maude was doing.

  "I apologize for Maude, she's a wild thing," the nurse stated. "Who are you here to see, sir?" the nurse asked.

  On the counter of the reception desk rested presidential propaganda flyers, stating to vote for President Johnson for another term. The flyer had his picture with him giving a thumbs up and the words underneath him saying “I'm your Big Johnson,” insinuating apparently that he was a big deal. He didn't have an opponent, and they might as well state that the electoral system was a fraud.

  "I'm here to see a Miss Costa. Is she available?" I asked with the politeness of a person with a Southern charm school upbringing. The nurse nodded her head and I gave her a fake marked ID that stated my name was Jason Jenkins of Southern California.

  "Oh, a Southerner..." the nurse said as she scanned the ID.

  I signed my fabricated name on the ledger. I hesitated, peering at the name before mine that was my father’s, Frank J. Costa. The reason for the visit was to pay regards to Miss Costa. My eyes lit up as I took my marked ID back from the nurse.

  "When was this Frank here to visit?" I asked. The nurse glanced at the time on the registrar that stated that it was about two hours before I had arrived.

  The security guard opened my briefcase to examine the contents, and the case was empty, and sure enough he leered at me.

  "It's for a meeting later today. I have to pick up some things," I stated.

  The security guard raised his brow and let out a "mmmhmm" noise at me that meant to say sure, right, bud.

  "Turn around, I have to pat you down, standard procedure sir," the security guard said, as he patted me down.

  "Shouldn't you buy me a drink first?" I asked.

  The guard widened his eyes, peering at me.

  "Do I know you?" the guard asked.

  "I doubt it, sir, I've never been here before, but I've been told that I have one of those faces."

  "He's clean. Right this way, sir," the guard said. He escorted me to my mother’s room, and left me alone.

  I kissed my mother on the cheek, and I was immediately hit with a confused look as she wondered who I was, and the warm rush of hot air that could boil water. She pulled the cover up closer to her chin with a bit of a shiver.

  "Could you at least have the decency to close the door? You’re letting the heat out, and who kisses a person when you don't know them?" she said.

  I turned the TV tube higher as the same Wheel of Fortune episode was on that asked for the answer of who was the poet that wrote: The Road Not Taken, two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both. Pat Sajak was literally yelling this every time I walked into the room. I paused and thought of my father, of what he said on top of the Empire State Building.

  "It's Robert Frost, and it's me, Ma," I said.

  "Don't you Ma me, and close that door," she said, shivering from the apparent breeze that wafted in from when I entered. She continued to pull the blanket higher toward her V-shaped wrinkling brow. I closed the door.

  I grabbed a chair and climbed to reach the ceiling, peering back at my mother, tipping slightly in the chair. She looked at me with a tad of concern.

  "They just let anyone in here. The last guy almost fell, so be careful," she said.

  I was curious as to if her memory could recollect the time span of a couple hours. I peered up through the ceiling tiles. I put my hand in place of where the money should be and it was gone. I reached around further and found a note stamped with a red wax tulip. I jumped to the floor and examined the letter, breaking the red wax tulip to open it. The letter stat
ed some sort of binary code that had amalgamated ones and zeroes placed in succession of each other and at the bottom it stated that it was all an illusion.

  "That motherfucker!"

  "Watch your language in here, young man," my mother said. I kissed her on the forehead. I ran out of the nursing home to the sound of my mother saying to close the door, and the guard asking what about my briefcase.

  March 23, 2035

  New York, New York.

  Command Center -- Underground

  16:57

  People wanted something to believe in, especially a cause that was greater than themselves, and others to believe in it with. The underground city encampment had become filled with patrons of Unlifes that wanted their Life. They were volunteering their services and gifts to better the community. Some of the ones that were teachers in the Lifer world were teaching some of the Unlifes and children that had propagated in the underground encampment. The hospital that was manufactured out of aluminum cans and pleated cardboard from Lifer sources was currently open. It harbored enough facilities to occupy up to three people. Everyone around the area was lively and full of joy, talking with each other.

  I walked in and toward Talks. I was trying to avoid some of the people's pleasantries, as I was ashamed.

  "What happened? Is everything OK, pal?" Talks asked.

  "I failed, that's what happened. There's no money, he took it," I said, disheartened.

  "I'm confused, pal. What are you trying to say?" Talks asked.

  "What happened was my idiot father took the money as he's one step ahead of me. All he left was this note with some sort of binary numbers, stamped with a tulip on it," I said.

  Signs grabbed the note and stated in sign language that they were binary. He sat by the computer and examined the note that was given to me.

  "We don't need that much money now, pal. They're becoming Lifes on their own and starting to believe. Some Lifers are relinquishing their marks," Talks said. He put his arm on my shoulder and they glanced at the Lifes living with passion around the underground encampment, but still in need of food.