Short, Light, Free Chapter 2: Dystopian Determination

It was just another day of doing the same things over and over again.

It was another day at a stand-alone office with colleagues who were too busy to greet one another.

Here I am, at my desk, keying a letter of the alphabet that has just appeared on one computer screen into another computer.

This is my job.

It might be difficult for you to imagine but this job actually pays me one thousand five hundred every month.

Every ten minutes, my computer would, without fail, receive a letter. Initially, out of curiosity, I tried piecing them together.

I jotted them down on a small slip of paper:

N ＭＫＧＷＴJＰ

There was no meaning behind these letters.

Nevertheless, I continued working hard for that monthly salary.

Of course, eight hours a day go by quickly.

Even after a day of working, I don't feel tired at all.

Ding!

Another letter appeared on the screen.

L

Calm and unhurried, I typed it into the other computer and clicked 'confirm'.

Work has finally ended and nothing beats the joy of returning to my warm abode.

The comfort and bliss of taking a long hot bath were unparalleled.

Simple joys in life.

Wait. What is this?

Why is there a slip of paper stuck in my bathtub?

Is this a joke?

I am usually the only one at home.

Upon a closer look, I see the word 'bathtub' neatly written on it.

I have just recently bought this bathtub so it must be a prank from the merchant.

Before I could tear it down, it slipped through my fingers and fell off.

Where was my bathtub?

It was gone and replaced by a cardboard box.

And here I am, sitting inside a cardboard box, submerged in water.

Strangely, the cardboard box was waterproof.

I looked up at the showerhead.

There was also a piece of paper stuck on it. Who exactly was playing a trick on me?

I tear the paper off the showerhead and it turned into an old baseball bat.

"I can't take this anymore, Doctor. Am I going mad? I see slips of paper on all kinds of objects and when I tear them down, the objects turn into other things. Do you understand what I'm saying? For example, if there's a piece of paper on this table and I tear it down, this table becomes a big rock or some other strange things."

The doctor looked at me listlessly before saying, "I think you're under too much stress at work. First, I'll prescribe you with some calming medication and we'll go from there."

"How long do I need to need to take this for?" I ask, puzzled.

"There are sixty-three pills in this bottle. Take one every day. Come back to me if nothing changes after two months," the doctor explained flatly.

I made my way home, eyeing the bottle in my hand.

There was a piece of paper attached to it too. I tear it down slowly.

The bottle turned into a bicycle pump.

I think my condition was getting worse.

Regardless, I have to work.

The next morning, I arrived at my company.

Another day of doing the same old things.

Ding!

The screen lit up.

O

I typed it into the other computer and clicked "confirm".

Wait.

No, surely not again?

I saw a slip of paper on the monitor.

My hand automatically reached for it.

Is my work going to disappear if I tear this down?

I retracted my right hand.

One minute, two minutes…

I blanked out for ten minutes.

Ding!

V

I snapped out of my daze and keyed a 'V' into the other computer before pressing 'confirm'.

What's happening to me? I massaged my eyes.

Are my eyes going bad?

I looked up at the ceiling.

No way… Oh my goodness!

The ceiling that I have never paid much attention to has a piece of paper stuck onto it as well.

This was wild. I refused to believe it.

I placed a stool on top of the cupboard.

I climbed up with much effort and put my feet on the stool.

I stood up slowly and managed to touch the ceiling.

I grabbed onto the piece of paper tightly.

'Aperture Enterprise', the name of my company.

I tore it off, my hands trembling.

I am still me but my office was now a pile of ruins.

My work computer remained where it was.

Everything seemed to be telling me that I have gone mad.

I think they're the crazy ones.

Ding!

The next letter appeared.

E

I smiled gently before ripping the slip of paper off the monitor.

Just as expected. I have been facing a rubbish bin at work all these years.

How ridiculous. What was happening to this world?

Covering my head, I ran away, avoiding all crowds.

Escaping the bustling streets, I arrived at the outskirts of the city.

At this point, I was wondering if the city that I have once thought of as a city would have a piece of paper attached to it. Would removing it reveal another pile of ruins?

Was that a perimeter wall that I am seeing?

There stood a thirty-two feet tall perimeter wall outside of the city, which I have never left until today.

Although this lofty perimeter wall broke through the horizon, it could not be seen from within the city.

The perimeter wall went on and on as if encircling the city that I have been living in for thirty whole years.

What is going on?

Curious, I walked along the wall and eventually stumbled upon a door.

Beyond that door was a military base filled with skeletons and rusty weapons.

On a table, in a room located deep inside the base, sat a blue briefcase that contained an old document and a yellowing diary.

The document was titled 'Scattering of Nuclear Arms'.

The content of the yellowing diary was as follows:

"The enemy had dropped a nuclear bomb and our mayor had chosen to abandon us. The government, too, had given up on this region and implemented high walls to seal us in. Rich men in the city had long fled the city by purchasing golden tickets from the mayor at exorbitant prices. All exits have been welded; there is no way out. Poor people like us are left struggling in this aftermath. Doctor Gamma hasn't given up on us, however, even though we have already been severely deformed by the radiation. The newborns are becoming increasingly abnormal with each generation. They can survive on just mud. Doctor Gamma, a respectable psychologist, has taught us the power of hypnosis. We repeatedly instilled the idea into our descendants that writing down the objects of their desire onto pieces of paper and attaching them onto ordinary things would allow them to see what they want. Subsequent generations of offsprings have inherited this perfect illusion. They can live on in this utopia."

With both hands, I touched my face.

It felt strange.

I could clearly see the pustules on my deformed arms.

I screamed.

Ten days later, I am back at my desk.

In another company, Black Mountain Technology Enterprise, that paid a thousand five hundred every month.

The job scope remained the same.

Ding!

S

I keyed it into the other computer before clicking 'confirm'.

I pressed down on the slip of paper that was attached to the monitor.

Please don't fall off again. It is too much to bear.

Chapter end