The Complexities

The smell of death permeated its way into the infamous lilac, attempting to dominate the long time stench. This odor had almost dropped Ciar Oliver to the ground, but instead perseverance had won its way into the rotting room. Ciar stared deeply into the decaying body, trying not to inhale the fumes that would leave him traumatized, as he approached the thing with caution. He repeated to himself, “It’s going to be alright, Ciar. Everything will be fine” as if it was an ancient chant. This wasn’t his first encounter with death, but this was possibly the first one that meant a new chapter in his life. The first time he had to carry the dead body to the seventh floor of the old home, and watch the burning figure disintegrate right in front of his eyes.

Ciar Oliver had looked at the body with difficulty as his memories of the old hag began to play in his mind. This woman was his grandmother, and one of the last members of the House. The fifteen year old boy has moved her blanket away from her lifeless body, barely catching a glimpse at the insects that had recently declared her body as their new home. “It’s only been fifteen days…” Ciar thought to himself as he grabbed it by the arms and pulled it out from its position on the bed. The smell intensified as little Ciar dragged the thing by it’s arms.

The arms was lunged out in front of his face, as Ciar could feel her aged chin rub against his burgundy sweatshirt, but Ciar pushed onwards deeper into the hallway, reaching the rustic elevator that was barely able to operate. The dark haired boy had pulled her in the machine and laid her against the corner, positioning himself on the other side of the elevator and waited for the body to spring back into life.

“I am really alone now.” He finally admitted as he stared at the lifeless body before the loud screech of the bell rang to inform him that he was at the top floor of the Home. He grabbed it again and positioned the heavy build to the eighth door to the right. This door was the final stage of life in Ciar’s Home, and this was possibly the darkest day you can have in the Home.
Ciar struggled to place the body into the casket, trying to be gentle with the body and not damage it more than he already had. He pushed the door closed and locked the chamber with the four locks that was designed on the front of the door. Ciar glanced at the button that would start the raging fire, waiting for his grandmother’s voice to muffle from the chamber.

“One…Two…” Ciar’s voiced echoed in the cremation room before he slapped his hand onto the button, starting the blaze inside the chamber. Ciar anticipated frail screams within the chamber, seating himself at the table, glancing at the books that laid there. These books were thick paged with their backs peeling slowly; they seemed to be untouched for years. Ciar sighed in his misfortune and began to read the educational pamphlet on “The Fall of the United States”, which was a bore to Ciar since he was imprinted with this basic knowledge since the day he was able to understand the English language, but the pamphlet had intrigued the teenage boy with it’s multiple colors and date of “2034”. Ciar flipped the front page around and auto-targeted his eyes to the name of the author, “Dian Oliver”, which was the exact name of the body placed in the cremating chamber. Ciar motioned his head upwards to the burning compartment before swiftly going through the next page. He found himself engulfed in a handwritten note made in a fountain pen:

“Here lies the truth: Find all the complexities in the world, and you will find yourself.
–Grandmother Dian”

Unconsciously, Ciar had through the pieces of paper away from him after he read this message. The flames of the chamber seemed to intensify from this reaction, and Ciar was sure that his grandmother was urging him to read onwards with this pamphlet. He stood up from his comfortable position and walked towards the mysterious writing, waiting for some dark mystical creature to come out of it. He carefully kneeled down to grab the information and began to read the story:
“The United States of America was at its peak around the middle of the twentieth century. The nation had suffered from war and had lost not only their pride and money, but also the people’s trust on their own government. With the help of new communication around the world, American citizens had turned to a belief of direct democracy, a proposal that the people would govern the people. On April 17th, 2022, over ten thousand protesters destroyed the branches of their own government, leaving behind the stains of their founding fathers.

When the general public learned of this ordeal, they had rejected a renewal version of their old authority and demanded themselves to construct a democracy that held each person was as important as the next, causing the demand for well informed people . These higher demands for knowledge had forced the importance of the bare essentials to be irreverent and had led to a new tool called the Processor. The Processor was first created to generate artificial foods and beverages of any sort. Later on, the Processor had the ability to construct houses and seemed to replace every labor job in the nation. Things seemed well for the new country, but with the entire population determined to keep expanding their knowledge and keep their form of government, it was apparent that insanity would strike on August 31st, 2031.

With the idea of direct democracy, the people were unable to conjure the major problems of the nation, and contrasting morals had seemed to keep things unfinished. Direct democracy had intensified the people against each other and violent actions were soon to begin. On the morning of August 31st, a man named Jonathan Stilts had began the domino effect of violence with his attack on his neighbor, Jorge Salinas. This confrontation had begun a ten day period of violence across the nation. After the tragic death of over three thousand lives, it was clear that a Utopian society that the people of the United States dreamed of was inevitable to fall. The people of the United States had turned to the idea of confinement and families begun to form in large household communities, where they thrived until they all died out.”

A feeling of fear struck Ciar’s soul when he read the last fragment, “…where they thrived until they all died out”. His life was connected with these events, and his own destiny was paved by the idiocracy of past lives. Anger had now fallen into Ciar’s soul, as well as tears falling onto the floor. He was nothing to this world, and his existence was nothing important. He gripped the pamphlet tightly as he marched his way to the doors of the cremation chambers, unlocking the door, feeling the heat as he opened the chamber, and flung the pamphlet into the disintegrator. The aroma of death had quickly swept through the room, sending Ciar into the hallway, coughing and barely able to breath.
“Reminder, Cremation Processes must not be disturbed while in action. There is 3 minutes remaining before completion and Cremation System turn off.” The monotone robotic voice echoed in the hallway, warning Ciar of any “danger” he could face. The boy looked down the corridor, spotting the elevator in motion. His body stiffened as he watched the numbers go up to the number seven and the elevator doors open up. Ciar was sure that he was alone in his Home, and Ciar was sure that he did nothing to get his Home into action. A silhouette appeared as the elevator doors widened, and Ciar had begun to feel numb all over. The outline gave a depiction of a husky man holding a thin knife, dripping liquid from his side.

“Hello there, Ciar.” The unknown deep voice waved. The man revealed himself at last, letting out a cheeky grin before walking towards him. He was an older man at the age of thirty-eight, but his aura seemed almost childlike with his fashion sense and gestures. The man wore a pair of khaki shorts, covered in red splatter, and a wrinkled handed down t-shirt with the logo of, “CDCA”. Ciar’s had frozen in his spot, unable to control his body from the mysterious man prancing his way over to him.
“Who-Who are you?!” Ciar screamed at the man, barely able to step back. The closer the man got, the more features Ciar was able to retain, and it was just too much for him for today. The man simply laughed at the teenager and stroke his small beard, as he got near Ciar, he pulled out his hand for a handshake and replied, “I’m your Uncle Alan. I’m in Floor 1.”