I recently decided to try writing something. A sort of novel, I guess. I'm thinking of finishing it and then seeing if it's any good for publishing. I want to post at least some of it here for you to read, and hopefully get some feedback. (You can be as harsh as you want. I can take it and I can improve things that are criticised). Please do tell me if you'd like to see more.
For now here's the first chapter:
Act 1
The cage of lies
Chapter 1
There was a clear difference between the drunken people who wobbled out of the bar and the policebots with distinguished mannerisms and no real face - at least not a human one - who watched the people and made sure everyone acted according to the strict rules and laws of the city.
Sometimes you could see someone get a warning, and you knew that it didn’t feel good. Their sharp tone of voice reminding people not to start a fight on the street while the screens replacing their faces would display flashing text and symbols.
These scenes were just a part of what happened on this particular street. Some people just walked through but some people stayed on the street far longer. It was life, flashing by, everyday.
Today the old lady with the nursing android by her side stopped to talk with the owner of the bar. She always had a strange look on her face while walking past the bar.
-Nice weather today ain’t it ma’am?
-Oh! Stop acting like a stranger dear. Why can’t you leave the past behind us? I don’t blame you for what happened! Really, I don’t!
-Shush! Don’t shout so loudly. No-one here needs to know about that. I moved to this part of the city to start anew. I don’t want people shouting at me again. Besides, I've seen you here a couple of times. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’ve moved here.
-Well, I’m old and decrepit so it is easier for me to live here, where everything I might need is close by. And to be honest I wanted to get away from that blistering idiot.
-Who? Oh, Mark right? Your son?
-Yes! Ever since that incident he's been acting so erratic. It’s sickening to see him act like he’s so much better just because he’s alive and…
The conversation got interrupted and drowned out by a group of teens walking by, their music blaring from the latest and trendiest sound apparatus.
-Like for absolute reals! Like did he actually say that? No way! Lol!
-Yea! He like seriously said that! Like, what was he even expecting?
-And you showed him! Go girl!
After the group had walked by, the old lady had already said her goodbyes and was continuing the other way.
A lady in a floral dress turned from a corner onto the street. Clearly distracted by a book she was reading she walked straight at a man who wore a white jacket with blue linings, clearly one of those jackets with internal heating and cooling. Bam! The book flew from the woman's hands and onto the ground.
-Oh, I’m so so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going.
Clearly a hurried remark.
-Don’t worry. Stuff happens and I didn’t get hurt.
-I was just so entranced in this book I’m reading that I didn’t pay attention to my surroundings.
-What were you reading? He said while picking up the book from the ground. -How to cope with being replaced by a human and other stories by C.R. Rowes?
-Yeah. It’s quite good. Have you read anything by him?
-No, but I’m sure I have heard his name before.
-Maybe you might have. He was one of the most read authors of the 22nd century.
-I’m quite surprised though. To see a book in physical form these days.
-I went through lots of trouble to get my hands on one of the physical copies of this book. They are quite rare to find, and cost me a pretty penny too.
-I'm sure it did. I have a hard time finding old records for my collection too.
-Oh what a surprise! To meet someone who is interested in collecting pieces of the old world and what once was.
-It’s nice that some examples of these creative works have remained since not everything has been digitalized yet. I myself have started to digitise some of my records since I couldn’t find them anywhere.
-That’s really interesting. It’s good that someone works to preserve stuff for future generations. That they also get to enjoy the stuff we do nowadays and people years before us.
-I should hope that maybe the young people of the present will someday understand the importance of our past.
-I’m sure some of them will. I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m sorry. My name is Janet Harrows. Nice to meet you.
-Certainly. Well, it’s time for me to get going or else I'll miss my train. We should totally meet up for some coffee sometime. Here’s my business card. Talk to you later!
-See you!
The man hurried along, his jacket flapping in the wind. Janet stood there, glittering eyes fixated on him. Her dress made a sweeping motion as she turned on her heels and she had a bounce in her steps as she began her stride towards where-ever she was going.
In contrast to Janet and her colourful floral dress, there was a woman with dark clothes who sometimes sped through the street. She only did this at night when there weren’t so many policebots around. This was rare since the policebots were here on most nights. Tonight she was here, but so were the policebots and she wasn’t in a hurry like usual. Now she could be observed more clearly. The grey hoodie covering her was a bit dirty and so were her dark brown jean-type pants. Her face was partly covered by a green bandana.
A man wobbled out of the bar across the street. She approached him slowly from the front. Only sharp eyes could have seen the smooth motions of her hands, hands used for this purpose only. A graceful motion. She put her hand in her pocket and took it back out as if nothing had happened. The man went down an alleyway having not noticed the quick transaction. An easy job. The policebots have their eyes on the wrong people.
Her smirk could only be seen from her eyes. She had a lightness in her steps as would someone trained in this profession but more so since she had succeeded. Everything would have gone to plan however if she hadn’t slightly brushed a policebot’s shoulder. A metallic hand sprung up instantly almost as a sign for needing attention.
-Halt! You have violated rule number 8. Any violence against slash harm towards the police’s equipment and or the property of cyberkind industries is strictly prohibited. You are to remain where you are until otherwise told. You will be held here for questioning and or the application of charges and or a ticket.
The policebots face started glowing with a yellow warning symbol. Text scrolled through the screen. “Violation of rule number 8 of cyberkind industries”
-You are to reveal your face for identification.
-Wait! No! I didn’t even hurt you. It was merely a small impact. I’m terribly sorry. Please!
-Friendly reminder: Everything you say or do can and or will be used against you. Remove the item covering your face.
-Jerk. she muttered face red. - No. I won't follow orders from your kind!
She kicked the bot hard enough. The bot flew backwards and onto the ground. A loud crack sounded through the street.
-Halt! Halt! Emergency. Calling nearby cyberkind units.
It started trying to rise from the ground, failing and falling back on the ground. Its hand was nearly out of its socket, writhing uncontrollably. Another bot had responded and came towards the woman. In a moment of panic she ran away from the bot. The bot had a huge red exclamation mark on its screen as it sped behind her. She threw a nearby bicycle on its path, trampling it for a bit. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave her the chance to slip into an alleyway and escape.
-Halt! You have violated rules number 8 and 15, and are to be detained.
It was too late. She wasn’t coming back. Not anymore. The damaged bot on the ground struggled a lot and kept falling down over and over again. Not possibly understanding: it was for nothing. It could be easily replaced. There was no reason to start repairing them as there were thousands of replacement bots at hand. The other bot though - came to its rescue, lifting the other back on its feet. They couldn’t possibly feel anything. They were only bots created for one reason. They didn’t need to have top of the line Artificial intelligence. The bots arm twitched a bit as it tried to still move it before just snapping a bit. Now the arm just dangled in place, brown liquid dripping down from its fingers. Its face displayed a frowny face icon before numbers rolled across the screen rapidly. Only pieces of them could be distinguished: “3,14,24,5,5,4,21,1 … 3,12,13,7,5,6,26,19,17,5 … 17,9,7,19,19,4,15,7”. It stood in place for a bit before walking off.
The night was lit by the bright colours of the signs up above, mounted on the highrise buildings. It was obscene, the bright nights of the city. The signs were urging people on: “Buy this…, Buy that…, New from HexiClean…, The new way of life…” and on, and on, and on.
A street cleaning droid rolled through the street, hitting the bicycle lying on its side. It tried urging someone to move themselves from its path, but to no avail. After a few minutes had passed it gave up and just dragged it along. The spinning amber coloured lights span on top and the bicycle made a screeching, scraping sound.
Now the street was empty. Only the light and the shadows remained. Today there had been a lot of life on it. Slight flashes of life. Seen through bars. Bars on a window. Bars which he could see through. The window reflected his image through the bars as he stood there - watching. He was sure they couldn’t see him, or hear him. He didn’t even try to call for help. Knowing the man behind the door could hear.
He knew who the man was. Or at least he could suspect it. The people coming to see him were loud, armed as he had seen from the bars on the door, and often angry. He had heard them shouting at him. They didn’t like his attitude or the pacing of his work. Maybe they didn’t even like him. They wanted so much from him in so little time.
He backed away from the window. There wasn’t anything to see. A shame really. His room was simple. A metallic door embedded into the wall, facing the other wall with a small window with bars. The walls were boring, the room was boring. Just grey concrete with nothing decorating it. The only furniture he had was his bed, mirror and a table with a lamp in the corner with a small stool under it. There was a door leading to a small bathroom next to the small wooden table.
He crossed the room wanting to check what was happening on the other side of the big metal door. Through the bars he could see him. The man was on his computer again. The only time they interacted was when he brought him food. The food was pushed through a small hatch on the bottom of the door. He had tried to talk with him, but he just turned away and left from the door.
He caressed the smooth surface of the door. The large metal door between him and other people. It had started to rust during his stay. Maybe it had already happened before he woke up here. The rust was rough and bumpy under his fingers. Almost like feeling sandpaper. The door didn’t have a handle or anything of the kind inside. The only distinguishable features were the small opening with bars and the bolts sticking out of the surface on the edges. The door was surely completely unopenable from the inside. He had tried charging at it, but the only thing achieved was the man shouting at him to “stop banging the damn door”. It had been almost fully solid. It hadn’t budged a bit.
So what if he was stuck here. There was lots to do and see. He had been able to see life unfolding outside almost as if he was a part of these moments. Besides: The man had given him a pen and paper to write or draw something. He could let his thoughts run wild into horizons unknown. He had written “stuff” as he thought of it. It didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t need to. He was happy with it nonetheless. The man had supplied him a lamp and more paper when he hadn’t stopped asking for them for a day. Now he had put all of his writings in a nice clean pile on the small wooden table.
It had been two weeks since he found himself lying on the bed in this dark and boring room. He couldn’t remember anything from before waking up. He now had no name, past or freedom. Sometimes he wished he could also be on the street in the window. He wanted someone to talk to. Paper couldn’t answer. It didn’t know what anything on it was. It couldn’t understand. But at least he could open up to it.
He looked at himself from the mirror. The mirror was leaned against the wall next to the old creaky bed. It looked quite cheap, but it still almost reached the roof. The man staring back at him was in fairly good of a shape but dressed in ragged clothes he had been given while here. A white tank top and a pair of loose jeans. They had gotten a bit dirty since the room hadn’t been cleaned - at least not while he had been there. He could clean himself if only the man would give him the equipment. His nose had a noble stature, his eyes a deep chestnut brown, an earthy colour like the bark of the trees. And his hair caught in motion like the swoop of the wind. He was bending down a bit. He remembered when he had hit his head on the ceiling when standing up in the room for the first time. It was intriguing. The ceiling seemed to be a lot lower than on the other side of the door. The man in the mirror was familiar to him somehow. But still, a nameless person staring back at him.
He had been training inside the room since he woke up. He knew what could happen if he didn’t. He wouldn’t be in a working condition if he didn’t. Still. It was odd. Even though he followed his workout routine strictly, he just didn’t seem to gain any muscle. Maybe it would just be visible over time. He hadn’t been here that long. And maybe some of it was due to not having any equipment. Although he had used the bed as a sort of weight.
Today he would keep it simple. He went down on his hands and knees. Then he extended his legs back. He started by doing 30 push ups, then after a short pause 20 more. Then he put his feet under the low edge of the bed. He did three sets of 20 curls. After that he just laid on the ground, looking at the ceiling above. Just thinking, watching the fading halogen lamps.
Was his family worried? Did he even have a family? If there was a family out there, they would probably be worried and looking for him. Surely someone should have noticed he was missing. He might have had a job, definitely friends or at least someone who would miss him. He just laid there and wondered.
The halogen lights on the ceiling were older technology and had started to break one by one during the last week. It was getting quite dark in the room. Hopefully he could get new bulbs for the ceiling lamps. Could he just demand them from the man? He had gotten more paper too, so why not a few lamps. It seemed to be important that he stay there. Wouldn’t that mean the man would tend to his needs?
It was also getting quite dusty already. One day the dust would definitely become so unbearable he would have to riot if he didn’t get something to clean with. He knew the man had the equipment since he had been cleaning around the computer racks, and he had been spying on him then. And he had been spying on him for some days now. The fact the door’s window wasn’t blocked signalled to him that the man didn’t care if he watched him, or that the man wanted to watch him. Why? That - he couldn’t possibly imagine. Security? Observation? Whatever it was, there had to be a reason the man had placed him here.
The room was small and unsightly, with no escape. He felt like a bird in a cage. Although - A bird was taken out of its cage for the duration of cleaning. -A bird, he thought. Maybe he should write about birds. He could write about birds living in trees, soaring through the sky and feeling the wind on their feathers, hearing the trees hum. The warmth of the sun, and the raindrops, falling on their wings. He hadn’t seen birds through the window, but he must’ve seen them once before. He knew what they were, how they looked. The extent of his memories didn’t just reach his own life, his feelings, his dreams. Did birds have dreams? What did they dream about?
There he laid wondering about birds, so free to roam the skies. Tomorrow he would write about them. At least he was free to roam the skies of his imagination.