The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

  Billy wrapped me in a bear hug, propping me over a raised knee. “Joel, Joel,” he reiterated in a raspy voice. “You’ve been ... shot. Those bastards shot you.”

  Billy’s right cheek was red from where Tamme struck him. “Your face is swollen.” I mustered enough energy to point to it.

  Billy forced a fake chuckle, like he did not want to but did it to appease me. “Don’t worry about me, Joel, just try to relax.” Tears pricked the side of his eyes. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  Every inch of my body ceased to be in my control. My arms dropped to my side for I no longer had the strength to maintain them. My neck muscles had weakened too. Any attempts to hold back my emotions made the pain in my chest intensify. I felt uncontrollably weak and feeble. I dwindled on the border of life and death.

  Cadet was also by my side. “You didn’t have to shoot him,” he screamed in a distressed fashion. He removed his turtleneck shirt and placed it somewhere on my back. Trembling, he grasped my hand and held it tight for reassurance.

  Rising over the pavement, I had the sensation I was floating on a light cloud. I strained to keep my attention on either of my friends.

  “Please don’t die Joel,” Billy stated, cradling my head as if willing me to get better.

  A cold spell had me shivering especially over my clammy hands. I could not believe what was happening. If only May and Wolfgang knew. If only Aerial could have foreseen this event. If only the dreams could have alerted me of this outcome.

  “Hold on Joel,” Cadet shook his head in disbelief.

  “Please don’t die,” Billy begged.

  The open outdoor scenery changed as I was hoisted up onto the front seat of a stuffy SUV vehicle.

  “Cadet,” I called for his attention.

  “Yeah Joel, I’m here.” Cadet looked like he was preoccupied.

  “Thanks for helping me and not running off. Thanks for giving me your shirt.” My eyes had a tough time focusing, people and objects blurred into a jumbled soup.

  “You’re welcome, anytime. Just stay awake with us,” Cadet asserted. He sat in the front seat beside me, all the while maintaining the pressure over the wound.

  I did not see any blood but it was obvious I was bleeding through the back; it was the only explanation for my sudden weakness. Like a giant stress ball returning to its full form, the tightening eased and I was carefree to the consequences of any physical suffering of the body. Nothing really mattered anymore.

  Overwhelmed by the circumstances, Billy jumped in the driver’s seat and revved the SUV. The engine sputtered with the little fuel it was running on.

  “Billy,” I moaned without raising my head. “Billy, I’m dying.”

  “No you’re not,” Billy argued, not sure what weight his words meant in this dire situation.

  There was an indescribable need to let bygones be bygones. “Please tell Tamme I’m sorry for hurting him. I don’t know what came over me. Thank you for being my friends.” I heaved a discouraging phlegm cough.

  Neither Cadet nor Billy was discernable anymore; they lost their bodily shapes. I felt weary and so closed my eyes. My limbs melted away like wax. There was nothing more for me to do but to breathe out.

  Epilogue

  The perimeter of a downtown parking lot is sectioned off with yellow tape, a police protocol used to fence out the public. The flashing lights off the rooftops of the ambulances and police cruisers’ signify a dramatic state of affairs. The spectacle draws in curious wanderers out to satisfy a primordial curiosity.

  Despite the hectic rush to get to work, a crowd grows exponentially in number. People in the back row stand on their toes, each one seeking a better vantage point. Like a pristine field of unabated flowers in springtime, cell phones are held out recording the fallout of a tragedy. As a fatally wounded man is loaded onto an ambulance stretcher, countless images are stored electronically and pushed out to the Internet for more to see. No one can dispute the shooting in a busy downtown core, the truth is out for everyone to witness. Adding to the snowball effect, investigative reporters cling to the authorities, trying to expose the details behind the appalling affair from what little information given to them.

  All the spectators present, acting like a jury trying to decipher the evidence, did nothing to contribute to the untethered suffering and agony administered by a militant force. In the end, something had to give. The sacrifice of one life is but a beginning for the rest—a true testament to expose a lurking danger. It is an act of defiance built upon another.

  Like a ghost invisible for all to see, Joel stands naked before his tribulation. Unconfined, he is to be regarded as having no skin, no bones, and no boundary to contain a tangible body. This is just true exposure without any physical limitations or boundaries. His being is a perpetual existence united with all that is beautiful in the seen and unseen universe. It is a tranquil subsistence where everything is good. Like a drop of water joining the ocean of life, he is released to the expanding cosmos.

  Hint

  The secret messages can be built up from the first letter of specific paragraphs. There is a pattern.