A tale to come...

1. THE FOURTHCOMING
A tale to come…

2. People grumble around me. Their complaints are not to each other, but
rather tossed out in the air without care. Everyone is talking. No one is
listening. I imitate those in my company, with a dead-eyed stare and a
static stance. My vagabond views will not be tolerated, especially in this
trading estate where greed surrounds the area.
There’s a row of screens before the barrier. On them is a welcome note.
Once touched, the questionnaire begins. The wait for the screens takes
longer than usual. It seems the man in front of me is fumbling over his
answers. The people behind are getting increasingly agitated. I ignore
them. The crowd’s devotion may be intense, but security won’t allow
anything happen, not here. This place was once sacred, although not
many new generations realise this, this is a different age. Spirituality was
the first to fall, then followed free will, or at least I recognise that.

3. I busy myself with my questionnaire. I’ve done these often; I whisk
through the questions as if on auto-pilot. Name, date of birth, required
purchases. The questions get more intrusive as they go, I make my mind
bypass it. Finally, I add three new items to my wish list. They lead us to
believe that data collection is crucial in providing the most effective and
enjoyable consumer experience. Consumer experience I can believe.
However, enjoyable? I’ve never been able to relish 2 minutes to myself.
Now colossal signs indoctrinate the many. We’ve been led with
fraudulent desires. Although it’s not our fault, there is no easy alternative.
Media have made it easy to harmonize the illusion of power, and
technologies accessible to all increase dopamine levels. Even I sense it.
I subside, yet again I must be another one of those algorithms.
Regrettably, failure to comply with these requirement means access to
an auction house is denied, and today I must enter. At the barrier, I
swipe my hand over a scanner. My access is granted. I walk up the
stone steps, leaving orderly lines of lackadaisical individuals behind. At
the vast wooden doors, I’m engulfed by a shadow that’s cast from the
stone overhanging. The gargoyles are charming in comparison to the
dictators that are relentlessly leering overhead.

4. As I enter, I’m hit hard in the face by a wall of noise. The people here
are animated, bouncing off one another like crazed atoms, waving their
palms in the air and shouting out excitedly. Amongst flaking tapestries of
melancholy men and women, knelt with hands clasped, are
advertisements of today’s bargains.
I clock an old man to my right who’s fixated on the listing he’s
holding. The rest of the congregation look towards the auctioneer, his
holographic head towering over the bidders-to-be. Ears perked, their
eyes glowing in the dark, just like a hounding pack of wolves. The
auctions are notoriously fast paced; if you’re unaware of when an item
will be up for bidding, you’re likely to miss it.
I ask to borrow his pad. Recoiling, so his neck’s bent back, he looks
me up and down, as if taking me all in to assess whether I’m trustworthy.
After a brief but uncomfortable pause, he allows me to scan his list. He
clutches a corner of the pad with a finger and thumb as I browse.
“They got what you came for?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, pointing to the Sunny Hill orange peeler on his list.
“Ah,” he says. “You better hope they got enough. I’m going for one
too.”

5. Since my peeler broke, I’ve been unable to eat Sunny Hill oranges. My
cravings are almost unbearable at points. The thought of their zesty juice
triggers shallow breaths that make me feel lightheaded.
“They do the best oranges in the city, don’t they?” I say.
He nods, humming the joyous Sunny Hill theme song, although his stern
expression suggests doing so isn’t a conscious decision.
I say: “My aunt lent me her Mood Star peeler, but their fruits make my
tongue swell.”
“You’re probably allergic to a preservative in them,” says the old man. “In
my day you didn’t need any orange peelers. You’d peel them with your
hands. How they’ve become so tough I’ll never know.”
The food becomes more extremely genetically modified each year to
cope with increased challenges that accompany the changing climate.

6. The holographic auctioneer raises his hands to signify the start of the
bidding. The gesture is met with cheers and whistles. As each item is
presented, its manufacturer’s jingle plays. People dance along around
me. Sloof products are met with a wave of movement. Some shimmy
and dip, imitating the dance moves that are on their television
advertisements. Others shout out their bids, their waving hands
stretched towards the gables above.
I’m pushed forward by a wave of bidders edging nearer the
auctioneer. He says something to the crowd but I can’t hear what. Voices
around me shift in tone. Panic takes excitement’s place, as I’m swept up
in a current of delirious people. I break free from the commotion. Fighting
the bustle around me, I try not make any sudden movements. I
recognise a distinctive look, there is a radical in amidst.
Many people fear the Radicals, but it’s my acknowledgment that
people tend to fear what they don’t understand. In longevity, we have
become distracted from our primordial instincts. Living away from
technology, in harmony with the land, is a way of life majority of us left
behind some generations ago. I however, have developed a certain
sense of curiosity about their way of life. I’ve seen how we’re ruled by our
gluttony, constantly consuming to no end. It’s a cursed thirst that can’t be
quenched.

7. I can’t help but gawp at her. She’s an embodiment of my taboo
thoughts in a place that hails all she stands against. I’m at a crossroads.
The Radical turns to face me, realising my fascinated stillness towards
her. She sinks into the crowd.
The Sunny Hill theme plays. I turn to see a projection of the peeler
alongside the auctioneer. People start shouting their bids, hands raised.
More bids come flooding in. The price has doubled from the first bid
already. The Radical still in my mind, I resist raising my hand. I can’t help
but salivate, with the thought. Without thinking, I raise my hand and
shout out. The auctioneer points a giant finger my way in
acknowledgement of my bid. Then, he flickers twice, his voice cutting
out. He disappears.
His hologram is replaced by one of a Radical. It’s not the same
woman I saw before, but the look is unmistakable. The crowd stops
moving. They watch on, confused. Some cry out in protest; others blindly
continue to bid for the peeler that’s no longer on display.
“Wake up,” says the holographic Radical. “Humanity has been
bewildered from its former self. Many of us are born with an unconscious
death wish. Hidden forces are amidst, this isn’t reality anymore. A
vindictive fake world has come into play, and we are the absent-minded
pawns. Mass production has turned us into traitors of the earth, the
planet no longer resonates with us…”

8. The auction house is plunged into darkness. Silence. All is
completely still. A single scream haunts the room before panic is
reinstated. Without the holographs, and the glossy adverts lining the
walls, it seems no one knows where to look. People push past each
other in all directions, searching for an exit. I bounce off bodies, trying my
best to hold my ground. I make my way towards the exit but my path is
blocked by a wall of people. There’s no room to move forwards. I can’t
turn back, for others who share my idea desperately search for a way
out.
Screams seems to peer into nothingness. A tranquil calmness
overcomes me. The people in front surge forward, as bright light fills the
room. The barriers must’ve been reopened. Once again, I can see. The
hysteria remains alive and yet I’m separate from it. I’ve been marked by
a gentle haze and welcome disassociation. I witness myself, an extra in
a scene of strange anarchy. A figure travels though the crowds,
untouched, unphased. She’s calmness personified, a feeling that cuts
through the chaos and projects onto me. It crawls along the lines of my
skin and I am consumed. It can only be one thing: An Ethereal. She
must’ve opened the barriers to release people from the chaos. I’ve heard
the stories. They’re said to give off a powerful sense of serenity, but
nothing could’ve prepared me for experiencing it first-hand. Descending
from the cosmos, they’re said to be Earth’s final defence, here to save us
from our final hundred years before our greed leads to our fatal demise.

9. However, not everyone around me is calmed by her presence. Perhaps
they’re not ready for what she can bring. Or perhaps they fear she could
be prone to darkness. Some Ethereals turn into fowl demons known as
Oracles. It’s said they began as Ethereals, as pure and picturesque as
the one before me, but upon seeing how we run our world, they tuned in
with the dark and bitterness, hellbent on fuelling destruction at any given
opportunity. They’re said to be tortured by their own madness. Before
me, I see people rage, showing no desire to help one another out of this
torrid scene. I see those who cling to their purchases, as if it doesn’t
matter if they make it out alive, so long as they have physical proof of
getting their money’s worth. Seeing what I see now, I understand how
some Ethereals were driven to becoming those twisted beasts that are
so feared.
The room clears, as does the Ethereal. Her presence still reverberates
within me, a deep feeling of reassurance. Was she reaching out to me,
could she hear my thoughts? This is it, the encouragement I needed. I
will strike out and become the visionary I’ve always desired to be.
Society has reached a breach of corruptness. I will no longer live my
days amongst this misery. Our world is under unbearable pressure. Our
existence is not irretrievable just yet, it is time to rise. The crusade for
truth shall finally set me free…

10. However, not everyone around me is calmed by her presence. Perhaps
they’re not ready for what she can bring. Or perhaps they fear she could
be prone to darkness. Some Ethereals turn into fowl demons known as
Oracles. It’s said they began as Ethereals, as pure and picturesque as
the one before me, but upon seeing how we run our world, they tuned in
with the dark and bitterness, hellbent on fuelling destruction at any given
opportunity. They’re said to be tortured by their own madness. Before
me, I see people rage, showing no desire to help one another out of this
torrid scene. I see those who cling to their purchases, as if it doesn’t
matter if they make it out alive, so long as they have physical proof of
getting their money’s worth. Seeing what I see now, I understand how
some Ethereals were driven to becoming those twisted beasts that are
so feared.
The room clears, as does the Ethereal. Her presence still reverberates
within me, a deep feeling of reassurance. Was she reaching out to me,
could she hear my thoughts? This is it, the encouragement I needed. I
will strike out and become the visionary I’ve always desired to be.
Society has reached a breach of corruptness. I will no longer live my
days amongst this misery. Our world is under unbearable pressure. Our
existence is not irretrievable just yet, it is time to rise. The crusade for
truth shall finally set me free…