The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

  37

  Together May and I sauntered down the vast hallway of Billy’s mansion to the foyer and then out into the dark night. It was a long day of visiting a psychic, encountering a gun-wielding hermit and finally a spur-of-the-moment meeting where Wolfgang disclosed a precious stash of gadgetry. I was worn out from all this action.

  Wolfgang was waiting outside on the enormous front porch. “We can share a cab?” he suggested.

  “I guess so.” May looked around. “We need to walk over to the security post first.”

  Although it was easy enough to call for a taxi, only under special permission were guests allowed in this upscale neighbourhood of Upper Toronto.

  “Do you want me to ask Billy if he’ll drive us?” I enquired.

  “Forget about that guy. Sometimes I wonder if he’s playing his own game and we’d be better off without him,” Wolfgang admitted what he held inside. Not waiting for response, he stepped down the porch onto driveway.

  “Can I ask him at least?” I persisted, expecting more hospitability from Billy.

  Turning to face me, Wolfgang shrugged his shoulders and tucked his hands in his tweed coat. As if not expecting anything from Billy, he glanced around at the scenic bird life high in the trees. The chirping sounds had more appeal to him than arguing with a dense brick wall as Billy. May, with all her reporter patience qualities, looked pessimistic from my willingness to try and beg his majesty for even a drop of water.

  Peering back into the mansion, past the double doors, an alert Billy was putting on a pair of shoes preparing to depart—maybe with us.

  “Can you give us a ride to the security post?” I inquired as a lowly proletarian, begging a master for a morsel of bread.

  “Yeah, I’ll drive you to the front gate,” Billy said casual in nature.

  “Thanks, I appreciate this,” I acknowledged the effort.

  Billy swung a set of keys ringed about his index finger and shoved past me, down the front porch to the ancient, maroon car he left out front styled with the giant dent on the front bumper. “Let’s get this over with,” he dictated.

  Somehow I felt I touched a nerve and it felt like this favour was going to be turned into a big deal. I dreaded the day for compensation.

  “How many drinks have you had?” May raised a concern over drinking and driving.

  Billy waved the idea down. “Listen, I have a high metabolism and a high tolerance. I can drink a lot more than the average person.”

  “Fine, do whatever. Let’s just go.” May grew impatient at the continuous dilly-dallying.

  “I’m sitting in the back unless someone else is going to drive?” Wolfgang feared for his life and felt safer in the backseat.

  Billy unlocked the two-door vehicle and climbed in. Being first to the door, Wolfgang and May walked over to the passenger side of.

  “I’m not sitting beside him either,” May whispered. “Joel, he’s your friend so sit in the front. Try not to set off the time bomb,” she whispered to me.

  “Why me?” I returned with great disagreement towards the duo.

  “Too late. The majority have spoken.” Wolfgang passed his verdict using words that were used against him to force him to visit Aerial.

  Billy leaned towards the rear view mirror to brush his sideburns with his fingers, trying to flatten his hair. His hair was so short that it seemed never to move anyways. Satisfied, he cracked his neck in rapid succession from either side. Covering his head with a baseball cap, he was ready to move out. Feeling loose, he moved his hands to the steering wheel and we were off, speeding down the driveway. Sharply turning the steering wheel while holding the handbrake, the car fishtailed out onto the street.

  “You’re going to kill us.” May screamed at Billy’s aggressive driving.

  Billy looked amused by the comment. “Life’s about livink it when you got it. Just like the song, smoke it if you’ve got it.”

  I tensed up, regretting asking Billy for a ride. It was going to be another trip full of problems instigated by a wild rock star.

  Just as quickly as we left the driveway, we approached the security post and the car slid sideways to the curb.

  “You can get your taxi here. See you tomorrow.” Billy continued stroking his sideburns.

  I climbed out and held the door open for May and Wolfgang to get out.

  “Thanks for driving us. We appreciate your help.” I praised Billy despite the harsh looks from May and Wolfgang.

  In a rebellious style, the car spun around and rumbled off to the place it came from. By the security post, a guard stood out with his arms over his hips, shaking his head at the reckless disregard for safety.

  “He’s crazy,” May remarked.

  “Maybe he is but he’s my boss so I guess it’s all good.” The spineless guard copped out from taking a jab at Billy. “He ordered a cab for you.”

  A yellow taxicab idled just on the skirt of the road leading into Upper Toronto.

  “No way.” May looked surprised that it was true. “Did he really call a taxi for us?”

  “I guess he is a good guy.” I was impressed by the simple act.

  “One good gesture does not classify a man,” Wolfgang generalized and headed to the taxi.

  “Come on Joel, let’s just go home,” May pleaded, wearily wanting to head home.

  I did as I was told and squeezed into the back with May and Wolfgang. The cab drove off.

  “You’re destination, please,” the taxi driver requested in a crude mannerism.

  “Can I be dropped off first since I am closer?” I requested.

  “Sure,” May agreed, fidgeting for extra room in the backseat.

  I leaned forward. “Navrina Road, apartment building seventy-five.”

  The taxi driver nodded, checked his side mirror before jumping to an open slot between the traffic, heading south towards highway four-oh-one.

  “This may sound weird but Billy and Cadet seem a lot alike,” May commented.

  “Great another Billy!” Wolfgang quivered at the disturbing thought.

  “Both are abrasive and unmanageable,” May described comically.

  The comparison was dead on for two big characters indeed with indistinguishable behavioural patterns. Only neither knew it and neither took any liking to the other. Identifying the problem was simple; it was basically like bringing together two matching magnetic poles and watching them oppose each other. The first encounter was just the beginning. Fear was a powerful enemy that just could not be shaken from our midst. We needed some level headed plans otherwise we were doomed for failure.

  “Do you believe Billy is going to call us?” I posed, yet, somewhere in the back of my mind believed that we probably were better off without him tomorrow.

  May turned to me. “Don’t worry. I think tomorrow things will be a little clearer after a good night rest. It was a long day today.”

  My eyes weighed in heavily as exhaustion grew. Sleep was needed but then again I never slept soundly. I gave May the benefit of the doubt and trusted her prognostic. Could sleep really make things better?

  “Not too much, but sleep is known to help clear the mind and make better decisions,” Wolfgang added his two cents.

  Maybe I was too tired to think straight but the mere mention of sleep disturbed me especially the way Wolfgang described it like it were some sort of leisure activity. Wolfgang was too much sometimes. It bothered me that he talked as though he had the answer every time. He seemed so caught up in his ways that it would never occur to him that he could be wrong sometimes. Possibly, he was stuck in an ego bubble, oblivious to any existence outside his realm. He was best kept to small doses.

  Not that Billy was any better, Wolfgang just got under my skin. It was all his negative sentiments, and unwilling to cooperate especially during the little adventure in the junkyard. The depressing memory of the trial of Mister Popular flashed before me. Negative people clouded my mind and brought out the worst in me. It was a burden chaining me to a world
of agony, limiting to relive the poor testimony for the prosecutor. The trial loomed over my head as a dagger dangling carelessly on a perch. My face cringed and I felt sad and down and I desperately wanted out of the taxi. Why was it so effortless to be pessimistic? My exhaustion was getting to me.

  We were actually closer than I thought, and in no time I was in front of my apartment building.

  I opened the taxi door but felt a hand holding me back.

  “Get some rest.” May released her concerned grip.

  I scurried out of the backseat to stretch. “I’ll try. Bye.”

  “Bye.” Wolfgang said.

  May winked at me harmlessly. “Ciao.” She reached out for the door, and slammed it shut.

  The taxi skidded off into the night. I was relieved that the front of entrance of the apartment was empty including the dingy front bench frequented by the gawking elderly couple. Through the front foyer inside, I headed in to an awaiting elevator.

  The answering machine beeped five messages, none of which I dared to check should there be more calls from reporters about the Mister Popular trial. Tomorrow was another day. Being home in my apartment held a level of comfort above anything else, a sort of refugee status that I did not have to go anywhere else. It was a storage place for food, entertainment, and somewhat less important my sleeping quarters. A quick snack of a dozen shelled peanuts and orange juice and I was good to hit the sack.

  38

  In the bedroom, I changed the soggy pillow cover since I forgot to do it last night and neatly made my bed. I accepted the fact that every night would lead to profuse sweating just like it was a given I would be awaken by a nightmare. Despite yawning I felt restless; there were many factors at play in my life. Wolfgang had actual physical proof with a device uncovered from a fuse box. We ran into an army guy named Cadet whom may have some critical information about the culprits. Problem was convincing him to trust us.

  I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling. The faint street light produced gloomy shadows across the bedroom walls—a familiar site I knew too well. Deep down inside I wished for a blissful night with nothing but pure sleep and no more haunting nightmares.

  Suddenly, the images of the shored steamboat and the boardwalk with emerald green lampposts curving over the walkway danced in front of me. This nightmare united the group of us. In all the mental harm it brought on, it also had a beneficial effect. It was a mixed blessing of the yin-yang sort.

  All the nightmares were extremely vivid, compelling me to never forget them despite the first apparition twenty years ago. My life would have been so different had I not had them. I would have achieved so much more in my life than a measly computer packager. Plagued by the nightmares, I wondered why me?

  Tears streamed down the side of my face. I felt so alone, as if abandoned on a forgotten island. No escape from my misery, no escape from the uncontrollable sleep pattern. I felt so useless. I yawned as I felt the long day and late night weighing on me.

  “Radio on.” I needed a distraction and only the soothing, ranting voices of Propaganda news and their dismal view on the world would do.

  —People are just too nervous with all the medications they are taking. There is no longer a balance in our daily life. Everybody wants to follow the high road, but because of this people fall down to the low road. We need to remind ourselves that the best road is the middle one. Thank you.

  Thank you Johnny on the editorial. That was Johnny from Lake Naplo out west. For our next segment, Leo will deliver the latest news on a winter Olympic scandal of an olympic proportion.

  Thanks Bob for the intro. And yes another one of my sporting critiques. So many to talk about but here’s what I foresee. I’m talking about the scandal from the last winter Olympics over judging hockey goals using instant replay. What is the purpose of a video goal judge if the video is not viewed completely? Everyone knows that, the video replay must demonstrate a conclusive goal to overturn the current call. It’s not just hockey, but other sports are using this too. …

  * * *

  Drip, drip. A gold faucet drips water into an empty basin. I stand before it unable to adjust the flow. Drip, drip. Nor am I able to turn the sink faucet off. Drip, drip. Big drops and little drops, all of various shapes and sizes. Drip, drip. Each drop falls, splashing loudly inside the ivory white basin Drip, drip. The drops stream to the centre and then disappear down a dark hole—gone to obscurity. Drip, drip.

  I watch on not knowing how to respond anymore. Drip, drip. What could I do but watch. Drip, drip. Why does this seem so wrong? Drip, drip. The sounds echo and resonate, louder and louder. Drip, drip. The sight disturbs me but still I linger by the basin motionless. Drip, drip.

  An oversized water drop reflects an upside down television image. Drip. I lose sight of the drop; another forms in its place. Drip. The television image is a ballerina dancer right side up. Drip. No, the image is a merry family of three holding hands. Drip. The image is clearer and the family consists of a father and a mother and a little child. Drip, drip, drip. The drops form faster and crash harder into the empty basin. Drip, drip, drip. Again another image, the same. Drip, drip, drip. More drops, faster and harder. Drip, drip, drip. The images blend into motion as if set by a film projector spinning a reel. Drip, drip, drip. The family is dancing, happy to be together. Drip, drip, drip. A surge of joy flows through me and I smile as I recall my family. Drip, drip, drip. Something is wrong with the picture. Someone is there besides the family. Drip, drip, drip. The corner of the image with the happy family curls inward. Drip, drip, drip. The image is on fire and melting away. Drip, drip, drip. The family saddens as if feeling the pain. Drip, drip, drip. But they do not know why. Drip, drip, drip. Someone is watching them. Drip, drip, drip.

  My chin is wet from the splash back off the basin. Drip, drip, drip. I want to dry off but I watch on thinking I can help the family by watching. Drip, drip, drip. Each subsequent drop reveals more pain to the family. Drip, drip, drip. I cannot look up or away. Drip, drip, drip. I am fixed in a permanent position. Drip, drip, drip. A dreadful fear grips me. Drip, drip, drip. I sense I am not alone either. Drip, drip, drip.

  The family is not safe. Drip, drip, drip, drip. The edge melts away more of the image. Drip, drip, drip, drip. The poor family seek safety by moving to the opposite end of the image, farthest away from the destruction. Drip, drip, drip, drip. They need help but there is nothing I can do but watch. Drip, drip, drip, drip. They huddle close together, the poor child starts crying. Drip, drip, drip, drip. A dark shadow emerges from the burnt end and grows in size. Drip, drip, drip, drip. There is no relinquishing from the animated image as I must watch on. Drip, drip, drip, drip. The helpless victims are overtaken by the ever-expanding shadow—the end. Drip. The drops are less frequent and smaller in size. Drip.

  Slowly, the shadow expands beyond the confinements of the drop. Drip. Out of concern, I step back from the basin. Drip. A shape of a man forms out of the shadow. Drip. I am so close to seeing someone. Drip. The shoulders protrude more and an oval head is more visible. Drip. Who can this be? Drip. Spying on an innocent family. Drip. Who? Drip. What? Drip. Why? Fear grows. Drip. The penetrating eyes are clear blue. Drip. Grey. Drip. Hair, brown. Drip.

  I can taste the wetness of the polluted water like I am really drinking it. Drip. The shadow is faceless and imageless—hidden and obscured. Drip. Water runs down my nose and over my lips. Drip. It itches me and I want to scratch away the itch. Drip. But I cannot or I will lose my view. Drip. I cannot do anything but watch on. Drip. No more. Drip. I cannot look away. Drip. I cannot bear this. Drip

  It is a man. Drip. He is wearing a lab coat over a t-shirt. Drip. Hunched over almost engulfing the remnants of the faucet and basin. Drip. The lost family. Drip. All decency lost. Drip. Nothing left of the family. Drip. Gone.

  * * *

  Relentless blurry darkness again. My chest felt heavy as my breathing felt constricted. Beads of sweat poured down my forehead and my hands twitched as if remotely contro
lled to do so.

  Alert, I had another nightmare, recognizable as night and day. I turned sideways to face the clock, four A.M. Another night, another nightmare. No relief in sight, ever. I was in a perpetual drowning stage, struggling to hold on to life.

  My mind was fully aware of every movement in the nightmare and it hurt to think of the desolate family who did not have any chance to live.

  I bowed my head in shame. I felt like I had no control over anything that mattered; I was simply required to relent to the whims of life imposed on me. Deep down inside, a second subconscious voice was advising me not give in to the perturbing nightmares.

  Could my nightmares be telling me something—a subconscious existence informing me how to behave? Was there a subconscious longing? Obviously I longed to be free of this haunting pain and in control of my sleeping habits. What did this nightmare signify? Why the droplets of water, why the spying? Was I viewing my family and how they were made to suffer? I was confused because nothing made any sense.

  My childhood took a turn for the worse when the nightmares started at eight years old. I tormented my parents to not to be put to bed, pleading to stay up as long as possible. As with any previous night, I would be woken up in the middle of the night, crying from the agonizing nightmares. My poor parents were as baffled as to what was causing them. All the suffering they went through was because of me. They did not need to suffer this way. Unlike a headache, the throbbing grief was beyond any physical pain one person can exert naturally on himself. I was torn in two; a division left unchecked and unreachable for diagnosis.

  Enough was enough. I had to make changes in my life and for one I had to change my negative thinking pattern. I must not dwell on any nightmare—just accept it as the past and move forward. I had to come to terms that this was my routine; this was my life. Focus on something else.