sensen
12-24-2010, 09:04 AM
Inventor
By Sensen
I've got a feeling that I've been inside this room for too long. These four walls are closing in on me. The more I stare at them, the more I want to break them down. I know what's out there, my head tells me so, yet I have this urge growing inside of me like cancer. It tells me to walk out of this room and see for myself. See what? What's there to see that I have not seen? My head asks. I don't know, just to see other colleagues and ask them how their day is or take a walk along the corridor to the back garden and sit among the red and white rose bushes. Something, anything to do as long as I can get out of this room.
Yet I'm still here, sitting behind my desk staring at my sketches, equations and graphs. My head tells me to keep working, there's nothing out there that I haven't seen, focus on my projects. I'll get out at the end of the day anyway.
I don't remember how long I've had this feeling for. I don't remember wanting to take a walk away from my lab so badly. All I really remember, and care about is what's going on inside my lab.
But not today. Today, I no longer want to sit at the desk. I want to walk out of this room. My head tells me to stop. Yet something else tells me to keep moving. So I move towards the door. My head starts to scream and order me to stop moving all at once. But my feet won't listen. Here I am, at the door. I reach out for the door handle. I'm about to get out of this room.
There is no door handle.
I don't understand how a door does not have a handle. So I push it and look around trying to find an Exit button. There is nothing of such. I am trapped.
I begin to shout out for help. Someone out there must hear me and they will come to my rescue.
Nothing happens. Nobody comes.
I am now hysterical. I pound my fists repeatedly on the door. I even grab a chair and slam it against the door thinking that might help somehow. The chair breaks. I scream. I scream and scream for nearly 5 minutes.
Suddenly, the door slams open. Four huge men rush in towards me. "Oh thank God you're here! The damn door has no handle. Someone needs to take a look at it." I sigh with relief.
"Take him out of here! But be careful, he's delicate." One of the men speaks.
What does he mean "delicate"? I'm still trying to figure out what the man is saying when the other three lock my arms behind my back and push me towards the door.
"Hey guys, there's no need for this, I just panicked because I couldn't open the door. I'm sorry, did I disturb somebody?" Puzzled, I ask. There is no answer.
The door is closed behind me. We walk along the corridor. I can see a red door at the end of it. On my right there are a few Exit doors. Something tells me to take one of those exits and run.
The men shout orders for me to stop. I run. I run as fast as I can. The men are getting closer. There it is, another door that also says Exit. So I take it. I grab the handle and twist it.
My ears are deafened by screams. "He' out! Oh my god, he's out!"
There are people, hundreds of people who are running away from me. Adults, children, old people, they are all panicking and running for their lives as if there is a bomb in my hands.
While I'm frozen with confusion, the four men tackle me to the ground. I can see other similarly dressed men shouting out to the running people. "Please follow the yellow lane for a safe exit route! We have the situation under control." One of the men leans his face close to mine and talks through grinding teeth: "I should have done this when we were in your room, you ****ing maniac!" He pushes his thumb down the top of my head. Black out.
The next time I open my eyes, a familiar face appears. The face is smiling at me. His eyes are cold.
"I can't believe you've done it, again! What are you trying to do? Put me out of business?"
"I'm sorry, what? What business? Where am I?" I ask. I'm sitting in a chair. My hands are cuffed. So are my feet. I am surrounded by the four men who chased after me and a younger looking one. The younger man looks awfully familiar to me. I have seen him somewhere. But where?
The young man groans. "Here we go again. Questions about your identity."
One of the other men speaks: "Just reset him. End of story."
The young man raises his eyebrows: "But he has the right to know, doesn't he?"
"What? What's there to know? Who are you people? Why have you captured me?" I ask. They can smell fear in my voice.
"You are a dream come true", the young man says, "and I've made it come true." There is an enormous pride in his voice.
"I don't understand. What are you trying to say? What dream?" I sigh.
The young man smiles: "A dream that people today can see a world famous figure in flesh and bones anytime they want. You're a legend, you know? And I'm not sure if I'll ever measure up to you."
I stare at the young man. He's confusing me more and more with every word that he says.
"You've created one of the most crucial elements in life. For your invention, we are forever grateful." The man continued.
"What invention did I achieve?"
"Water, sir! You created water and now, it's flowing everywhere, clean and free. You have everyone's admiration and are every genius's envy. That includes me. So I thought, I'll have to come up with something better than yours, and what's better than letting people around the world have the privilege of seeing you, hearing you and watching you in flesh and bones, right here, behind glass, in this museum, working on your projects."
"Your lies are not working. Your flaws are terribly noticeable. How do you even legalise your business of kidnapping me and sitting me in that awful room so the public can watch me behind glass?"
The young man smiles.
"Because, dear Sir, I have invented you."
"What?"
He leans closer to my face and speaks very slowly:
"I bring legends who passed back to life. You were my first invention. Then came Marilyn Monroe. And Hitler. And Mark Twain. The list goes on. They're all out there, doing what they've been programmed to do, thinking that they're really them, believing that today is just another day in their famous life."
The man straightens his back and crosses his arms:
"But not you. Oh no, you have to get out and run around like that. This is your third time. I can't keep up with you. I can't keep dodging bullets from the Board. They're going to come down here tomorrow with their bull**** questions and constipated faces. Nobody likes to see their investment breaking out, running wild and scaring visitors off. Then again, nobody knows you like I do. You wouldn't hurt a fly. You just ask too many questions. I need to take a look inside your brain, yet again."
I look at the man who claims to be my inventor, speechless and stunned. He looks back at me.
“Amazing! He used to look at me like that. You really are something, you know.” He says.
“Who is HE?” I ask, puzzled more than ever.
“I never really got to know him as much as a son should be able to know his dad.” He continues, seemingly not hearing my questions. “It was always his projects, his ambitions and his dreams that came between us.”
The man stops. He starts pacing around the room. The men in uniforms quietly stare at him, waiting for his order. One of them asks – “What do you want us to do with him, Patrick?”
Patrick, my inventor, signaled – “Give us a minute.” The men leave the room.
Pulling a chair and sitting opposite me, Patrick crosses his fingers underneath his chin and stares at me. A few minutes pass by in silence.
“Tell you a secret, actually I’ve been looking forward to this moment, to see you like this again.” Patrick smiles.
“To see me like this?”
“Yes. To see you acting like you and not anything like I’ve programmed you to do. It’s fascinating.”
He puts his hands on his lap. His eyes fixates on my face.
“I miss you, dad!”
Dad? Dad! Up to this point, I am not going to bother asking any more questions. I have gone from one maze to another. I am forever lost in this conversation with the man who claims to have had built me up, somehow, to bring someone famous back to life through the eyes of museum visitors.
Patrick keeps staring at me. His mind must be racing with thoughts. I can see them screaming through his eyes. Yet he chooses to stay silent and be content just looking at me, at his invention, at the reflection of his father.
“What’s on your mind, Patrick?” I break the silence.
“You. And how strange it is to sit here and look at you and talk to you but it’s not really you. There is nothing I can do to bring the real you back to life. And whatever that’s running through your mind that’s making you do the things that are out of my control, well, at first they were fascinating. The first few times when it happened, seeing you break out of your comfort zone – the zone that I designed for you to be in - I actually had hopes that somehow, something finally took place and perhaps, foolishly I thought, I could resurrect you in this form, in this flesh, in this body that looks just like you with finally, a brain and personality that you once had. But…”
“But what?”
“Only a fool would want to play God.” Patrick sighs.
He draws a deep breath and rubs his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to a robot. It’s good to see you, like this, again. It gives me hopes, though false, but still are hopes.” He stands up and walks towards the door.
“What are you going to do with me now?” I ask.
Patrick turns and looks at me. His smile seems sympathetic.
"I’ll need to have another good look at your memory before resetting you. Once I'm done, as usual, you’ll wake up and not remember a thing that happened the day before.”
He turns and walks out of the room. The door shuts behind him.
*
Some days I feel uneasy as if someone out there is watching my every move. I feel imprisoned. Inside this room, I want to break down these four walls. There must be nothing out there that I haven’t seen before. My head tells me so. Yet I have this urge to walk out, get some fresh air, talk to my colleagues, take a walk to the garden at the back of the lab and admire the red of roses and the blue of sky.
But maybe not today.
Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.
THE END
By Sensen
I've got a feeling that I've been inside this room for too long. These four walls are closing in on me. The more I stare at them, the more I want to break them down. I know what's out there, my head tells me so, yet I have this urge growing inside of me like cancer. It tells me to walk out of this room and see for myself. See what? What's there to see that I have not seen? My head asks. I don't know, just to see other colleagues and ask them how their day is or take a walk along the corridor to the back garden and sit among the red and white rose bushes. Something, anything to do as long as I can get out of this room.
Yet I'm still here, sitting behind my desk staring at my sketches, equations and graphs. My head tells me to keep working, there's nothing out there that I haven't seen, focus on my projects. I'll get out at the end of the day anyway.
I don't remember how long I've had this feeling for. I don't remember wanting to take a walk away from my lab so badly. All I really remember, and care about is what's going on inside my lab.
But not today. Today, I no longer want to sit at the desk. I want to walk out of this room. My head tells me to stop. Yet something else tells me to keep moving. So I move towards the door. My head starts to scream and order me to stop moving all at once. But my feet won't listen. Here I am, at the door. I reach out for the door handle. I'm about to get out of this room.
There is no door handle.
I don't understand how a door does not have a handle. So I push it and look around trying to find an Exit button. There is nothing of such. I am trapped.
I begin to shout out for help. Someone out there must hear me and they will come to my rescue.
Nothing happens. Nobody comes.
I am now hysterical. I pound my fists repeatedly on the door. I even grab a chair and slam it against the door thinking that might help somehow. The chair breaks. I scream. I scream and scream for nearly 5 minutes.
Suddenly, the door slams open. Four huge men rush in towards me. "Oh thank God you're here! The damn door has no handle. Someone needs to take a look at it." I sigh with relief.
"Take him out of here! But be careful, he's delicate." One of the men speaks.
What does he mean "delicate"? I'm still trying to figure out what the man is saying when the other three lock my arms behind my back and push me towards the door.
"Hey guys, there's no need for this, I just panicked because I couldn't open the door. I'm sorry, did I disturb somebody?" Puzzled, I ask. There is no answer.
The door is closed behind me. We walk along the corridor. I can see a red door at the end of it. On my right there are a few Exit doors. Something tells me to take one of those exits and run.
The men shout orders for me to stop. I run. I run as fast as I can. The men are getting closer. There it is, another door that also says Exit. So I take it. I grab the handle and twist it.
My ears are deafened by screams. "He' out! Oh my god, he's out!"
There are people, hundreds of people who are running away from me. Adults, children, old people, they are all panicking and running for their lives as if there is a bomb in my hands.
While I'm frozen with confusion, the four men tackle me to the ground. I can see other similarly dressed men shouting out to the running people. "Please follow the yellow lane for a safe exit route! We have the situation under control." One of the men leans his face close to mine and talks through grinding teeth: "I should have done this when we were in your room, you ****ing maniac!" He pushes his thumb down the top of my head. Black out.
The next time I open my eyes, a familiar face appears. The face is smiling at me. His eyes are cold.
"I can't believe you've done it, again! What are you trying to do? Put me out of business?"
"I'm sorry, what? What business? Where am I?" I ask. I'm sitting in a chair. My hands are cuffed. So are my feet. I am surrounded by the four men who chased after me and a younger looking one. The younger man looks awfully familiar to me. I have seen him somewhere. But where?
The young man groans. "Here we go again. Questions about your identity."
One of the other men speaks: "Just reset him. End of story."
The young man raises his eyebrows: "But he has the right to know, doesn't he?"
"What? What's there to know? Who are you people? Why have you captured me?" I ask. They can smell fear in my voice.
"You are a dream come true", the young man says, "and I've made it come true." There is an enormous pride in his voice.
"I don't understand. What are you trying to say? What dream?" I sigh.
The young man smiles: "A dream that people today can see a world famous figure in flesh and bones anytime they want. You're a legend, you know? And I'm not sure if I'll ever measure up to you."
I stare at the young man. He's confusing me more and more with every word that he says.
"You've created one of the most crucial elements in life. For your invention, we are forever grateful." The man continued.
"What invention did I achieve?"
"Water, sir! You created water and now, it's flowing everywhere, clean and free. You have everyone's admiration and are every genius's envy. That includes me. So I thought, I'll have to come up with something better than yours, and what's better than letting people around the world have the privilege of seeing you, hearing you and watching you in flesh and bones, right here, behind glass, in this museum, working on your projects."
"Your lies are not working. Your flaws are terribly noticeable. How do you even legalise your business of kidnapping me and sitting me in that awful room so the public can watch me behind glass?"
The young man smiles.
"Because, dear Sir, I have invented you."
"What?"
He leans closer to my face and speaks very slowly:
"I bring legends who passed back to life. You were my first invention. Then came Marilyn Monroe. And Hitler. And Mark Twain. The list goes on. They're all out there, doing what they've been programmed to do, thinking that they're really them, believing that today is just another day in their famous life."
The man straightens his back and crosses his arms:
"But not you. Oh no, you have to get out and run around like that. This is your third time. I can't keep up with you. I can't keep dodging bullets from the Board. They're going to come down here tomorrow with their bull**** questions and constipated faces. Nobody likes to see their investment breaking out, running wild and scaring visitors off. Then again, nobody knows you like I do. You wouldn't hurt a fly. You just ask too many questions. I need to take a look inside your brain, yet again."
I look at the man who claims to be my inventor, speechless and stunned. He looks back at me.
“Amazing! He used to look at me like that. You really are something, you know.” He says.
“Who is HE?” I ask, puzzled more than ever.
“I never really got to know him as much as a son should be able to know his dad.” He continues, seemingly not hearing my questions. “It was always his projects, his ambitions and his dreams that came between us.”
The man stops. He starts pacing around the room. The men in uniforms quietly stare at him, waiting for his order. One of them asks – “What do you want us to do with him, Patrick?”
Patrick, my inventor, signaled – “Give us a minute.” The men leave the room.
Pulling a chair and sitting opposite me, Patrick crosses his fingers underneath his chin and stares at me. A few minutes pass by in silence.
“Tell you a secret, actually I’ve been looking forward to this moment, to see you like this again.” Patrick smiles.
“To see me like this?”
“Yes. To see you acting like you and not anything like I’ve programmed you to do. It’s fascinating.”
He puts his hands on his lap. His eyes fixates on my face.
“I miss you, dad!”
Dad? Dad! Up to this point, I am not going to bother asking any more questions. I have gone from one maze to another. I am forever lost in this conversation with the man who claims to have had built me up, somehow, to bring someone famous back to life through the eyes of museum visitors.
Patrick keeps staring at me. His mind must be racing with thoughts. I can see them screaming through his eyes. Yet he chooses to stay silent and be content just looking at me, at his invention, at the reflection of his father.
“What’s on your mind, Patrick?” I break the silence.
“You. And how strange it is to sit here and look at you and talk to you but it’s not really you. There is nothing I can do to bring the real you back to life. And whatever that’s running through your mind that’s making you do the things that are out of my control, well, at first they were fascinating. The first few times when it happened, seeing you break out of your comfort zone – the zone that I designed for you to be in - I actually had hopes that somehow, something finally took place and perhaps, foolishly I thought, I could resurrect you in this form, in this flesh, in this body that looks just like you with finally, a brain and personality that you once had. But…”
“But what?”
“Only a fool would want to play God.” Patrick sighs.
He draws a deep breath and rubs his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking to a robot. It’s good to see you, like this, again. It gives me hopes, though false, but still are hopes.” He stands up and walks towards the door.
“What are you going to do with me now?” I ask.
Patrick turns and looks at me. His smile seems sympathetic.
"I’ll need to have another good look at your memory before resetting you. Once I'm done, as usual, you’ll wake up and not remember a thing that happened the day before.”
He turns and walks out of the room. The door shuts behind him.
*
Some days I feel uneasy as if someone out there is watching my every move. I feel imprisoned. Inside this room, I want to break down these four walls. There must be nothing out there that I haven’t seen before. My head tells me so. Yet I have this urge to walk out, get some fresh air, talk to my colleagues, take a walk to the garden at the back of the lab and admire the red of roses and the blue of sky.
But maybe not today.
Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.
THE END