Twenty Fifty-Four – The Vertical

It was a warm foggy night in November, and the electronic alarms chimed the twentieth hour. Arthur Blair, his eyes shielded behind his arm in an effort to escape the unwanted glare of the dim yet annoying lights, hustled quickly through Pheasant Run, fruitlessly though light blinded him.

Pheasant Run was an unkempt and fading street that held the commercial heart of Arthur’s community. Fog was a common occurrence within Pheasant Run’s narrow and dim pathing. One would think the street was paved centuries prior, a thousand stomps of a thousand hordes reduced the concrete to brittle pebbles. No bystander noticed the ground slipping from beneath their feet, and there was never a plan for renovation. The entirety of Pheasant’s Run was in similar condition to the road, deteriorating under noses of people who have found a better distraction to life than the surrounding environment. No care has gone to the aesthetical maintenance of the street and the buildings on it, there might’ve been a care in a time when it mattered but that time is long gone. What matters now is distraction, for a reason Arthur hasn’t yet identified.

As Arthur continues at a brisk pace, he thinks to himself on where he is going and what he was doing before the chime signaled ten o’clock. He tries to dig deeper into what really happened back there – Where even was there? he frantically mumbled to himself while fastening his pace, unable to make a stride in his mind. All he remembers is that he must be there every day to work for his pay, but what he worked on is what he struggles on remembering. He happily shrugs off the notion, as he does every day prior, in favor of thinking of something easier. Back at Arthur’s home, he found a bizarre machine the other day hidden in storage owned by his late father. He hasn’t seen a machine like it in his world, and neither has the world in a very long time. Remembering this machine, he begins to walk with a bit more hurried passion. While walking through the masses until eventually reaching his apartment complex, he sends a message to an online group of friends of his.

The community of Pheasants Run are not sociable in the physical world, most conversation happened over the phone or other communications. Due to communication being heavily innovated by the “Big Four”, it is easier to talk and convey information online to anyone in the world at any time. For the people, it is more enjoyable to use the online tools at their disposal to speak. In-person contact has been rendered obsolete in Arthurs world. He understands this vividly and by choice, Arthur doesn’t think others fully understand. Arthur has noticed the failing ability of others in communication in-person, and knows it is becoming an impossibility with the growth of technology. Based on his own conjecture through experiences, he believes others do not even have the time or enough care to understand or even see the issue in the first place. Distraction is ever-so-present in this world, and Arthur is distracted by what others distract themselves from. And so, Arthur sends a message to this group stating what he thinks he knows about the worlds distractions and how society is crumbling due to these innovations. He himself knows of the doubtfulness of these claims, he doesn’t quite have the mental strength to process how technological innovation could lead to social crumbling – it directly goes against what he has read online. He then mentions the machine at home, typed in newspeak,“Simple lookn, mayb… mayb something I can use 2 get me out of this dump.” He describes it as a machine powered by outlet, direct power and not a rechargeable battery. A protruding screen and a bizarre engraving, “IBM”. Certainly nothing anyone has seen before, certainly something worth a bit of money. While thinking of what he might get when he sells the odd machine, he presses send to the group.

He hasn’t met any of them in person, and only knows each by a username that he sees frequently in his online communities. He considers all of them his friends, they seem nice enough online – there is always enjoyment when they play a game online together. While running up the steps of his apartment complex, he sees the message has been marked as seen. He successfully gets inside his apartment seconds before the curfew alarm surprised the entire street half an hour after the first burst of alarms. He tunes out the alarms due to his excitement as he takes the machine from its perch in his closet. His apartment is shabby and messy and small, there is a bathroom, closet, and a great room containing a small gas stove, fridge, and his small twin-sized mattress. It has the essentials of life, but most importantly of all essentials: it has electrical outlets in order to charge his electronics. He plugs in his phone and checks it. He checks to see if there is a response in the group chat, there was no response. He didn’t see his first message either, it wasn’t there anymore.

Arthur swore he had sent it, he swore he saw people see it. He sends another message, “Uh hey?” … Failure to Send Message, Try Again? He mashes the button to try again, scared of what was going on. This has never happened to him in his long tenure of technology. He can’t even remember how long, but can say without doubt “For as long as I can remember.” Failure to Send Message, Try Again? It read after a three second buffer. Arthur, suffering from panic, kept pressing the button, but each time had the same result.

Failure to Send Message, Try Again? Steps can be heard from outside of Arthur’s apartment, Arthur is focusing only on his phone and the constant clicking of imaginary buttons on a screen.

Failure to Send Message, Try Again?

Failure to Send Message, Try Again? He taps once more and hears the pleasant click a message makes when it sends. Though this sound was different than before, it wasn’t stopping. It was only when his phone regurgitated the same message once more, he jerked his gaze from the phone to his door – the knob was visibly shaking. His heart dropped to his stomach, and along with the door made a loud thud. Within the doorframe were two men decked in black formal attire who melted into the room not even a second after the door was shoved open. The door was softly closed. Arthur wasn’t able to speak; an invisible hand was at his throat – if he had the ability to, he knew he would scream. In his speechless state, he had a moment of recognition and realized these guys were at his office earlier. One of the dressed men breaks the silence after closing the door, “Arthur Blair, for conspiring against the state and of its corporations and housing contraband, you’ve been found guilty of high-crimes against the state. You will not be returning here, you will be going to be dealt with elsewhe…” Arthur couldn’t hear the officer finish his sentence, as the second officer came from the side and choked Arthur with an unpleasant smelling towel.

Life went on in Pheasant Run, Arthur was gone and was seemingly never there in the first place. No one on the street even knew he was there in the first place, none of his neighbors knew of him, even his friends online became engrossed in other topics and other games and found themselves questioning who the inactive person in their group chat was. Months continue as time usually does, with the people living in distraction from their surroundings and what is happening in the background. It was happy, distraction made sadness an option to be ignored. It is only when people step into the realm of sanity and focus on the object that all attention is trying to be shifted away from that they get an understanding and are swiftly dealt with as to not be a problem to the order and harmony present. Arthur was the threat and was dealt with. Within the machine, an elderly IBM PC, had a message shoved into the box signed by someone familiar to only Arthur. The dressed-up men uncovered this written letter and allowed Arthur to read it before being sent to a detention facility, it reads:

Addressed to “My child”, the letter read from a Richard Blair. “This machine is a time capsule, and I ain’t kidding you either, this machine old as dirt. With the world speeding up, I feel these relics will become some sort of cool collectors’ item and a cool present down the road. Not to get stuck up on the finer details, I feel this is a symbol of something the world might lack down the lane. Something different, meaning something new and interesting to learn about. You get to use it and see how different it was back then and wonder how it was back in my day and my fathers day. Maybe it well help more vividly explain what was lost in the future or what was gained. Data security not connected to the internet for example. In my day, not sure if these names will exist in your time, Facebook and other social medias actively scrutinize and abuse user information… privacy is something we think we have but we really don’t. Scares me to think of a world where they are allowed to continue growing, so if they do exist in some form in your day – do your old man a favor and do something about it before it is too late. Play around with this machine a little, maybe you can modernize it and ensure these names don’t mess with what they shouldn’t. Nahh, I’m just messing around – it won’t get that bad. Remember kid, stay optimistic like me. Pessimism might be funny, but it won’t get you places. Know that I love you, and if I’m still alive I’d like to know if you’ve found this message. Most likely I’ve forgotten about this message when your time comes, it’ll be fun to talk about though.”

Arthur flips the note to the other side and only sees “07/22/2054”, he realizes that it must be a date for something. Dates in his world were relative to ‘today’, it was either a year or two ago and marked by a month. Years weren’t and haven’t been documented in a while, for reasons Arthur doesn’t yet know – they just stopped being documented and people either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

There is much Arthur doesn’t know, and there isn’t much time left for Arthur to find them out. After reading the letter from his father, he realizes his motivation for the truth. He makes it a goal of his to gain all understanding he can and awaken the world. It is a large war, and he is the only soldier. A lone soldier off to his death in a camp, Arthur still moves with the same stride he returned home with to see the machine. He isn’t ready for death, but death is ready for him. He is steadfast, but he will be executed for being a threat to the order present in the world. As is the same story for everyone in Arthurs world who disrespects the order and harmony with understanding and fight for the truth. Understanding and truth are the greatest weapons in this world, they can and have brought down giants.