Society1000
Menagerie
It was quite simple. The here and now everyone thought was the be all reality wasn't. Society1000 was just too perfect to be true, to be real. To be able to live forever was the norm, but science had proven over and over that natural laws were being defied. Being able to wake up from drowning, being able to walk after becoming paralyzed from a car accident or death by flu was not something people should get away with, but did. The countdown to death started at 1000, but if someone never did anything dangerous, a thousand days could turn into a thousand years.
Vark wasn't an extremist; he didn’t seek death. However, Vark wasn’t one who wanted to live until the sun burnt out. He was just an ordinary guy living an ordinary life. He had done some stupid things growing up. He joined a gang. Number 996. From there, his number just kept falling like a thrown stone. One day after seeing a member’s number hit zero and the fellow never rise, Vark knew he was done. Number 734. Leaving a gang was harder than entering one. Number 728. Vark was glad.
He moved on used his gang savings to finish college and moved into a nice community. He lived a good many decades his numbers slowly falling. Murderous ex-girlfriend. Number 659. A hunting accident with some friends. Number 512. A…well…a rabid dog. Number 437. There were little things in-between: heart attack, being trampled by a horse after being bucked off, swallowing rat poison. Vark didn’t mind his loss of numbers. He’d seen how those with high numbers acted, all jumpy like and paranoid. That was no way to live a life, always on edge.
Vark’s number was a constant reminder not only for himself but for everyone else. The count was in a different location for everyone. Some were in their mouth, Vark wasn’t that lucky; others were more prominent, like the forehead. Vark was in the middle; his count was splayed across the knuckles of his left hand. He always found it trippy watching how the number changed right before he passed out from death. It was worrisome having a number so visible. There were those that found fun in watching the numbers of others fall. As many things in life are, nothing is fair.
The day was March 28, Laura’s birthday. Laura was the last living relative of Vark’s; they were partners in the crime of life. Her birthday was the day he saw the other side, as people so sweetly called it. He didn’t agree. What he saw scared him.
He was walking into his bank to withdraw money for her birthday dinner; he wanted to take to a fancy French restaurant. Out of nowhere, a gunman shot him point blank in the head. There was a heist in process and no one was the wiser. With no warning, Vark was put down like a dog.
Being shot in the head was not a problem, it happened every day and with every case the victim got up to live another day, unless their count was zero. Vark was different; the doctors say he died for eight hours. He should’ve been up within the hour. The nurses were constantly checking his count. Number 199. It never moved. Always at 199. The doctors were worried that something was wrong with him. All those who lived in Society1000 never suffered long after their count changed. No lingering pain, no comatose, no missing limbs. Society1000 was the perfect world. Vark was an exception. That made him dangerous. When he woke up, they tested him for inconstancies, but everything checked out.
Vark knew better.
What was on the other side was not meant for his eyes, or anyone else’s for a matter of fact. Vark questioned whether what he felt and saw were real or just a dream. The world in which he thought was real, felt like the dream now. It was like a thin veil had settled over his being; everything was had a muffled feel to it. Vark thought about his experience all the time. He knew in his gut what he saw was real and Society1000 was nothing but a nice dream.
He still recalled the experience.
He saw eyes and eyes; eyes with glowing rings of light circling their pupils. Oddly enough they weren’t watching him. They were constantly moving, scanning. Vark quickly realized he didn’t have normal control over his body. He was only able to slightly shift his eyes; out of the corner he saw rows of experimental cylindrical containers, below him were more rows. The containers held a clear grayish liquidity gel with bizarre creatures suspended inside in all stages of development. Fear was all Vark felt. Everything was unknown. Some of the creatures were things of nightmares. Some had weird protrusions all over their body or in certain spots; others were at one part furry and the next part scales; even more were oddly shaped with multiple limbs or none at all. Each creature was different.
Vark knew the hard truth. The weightlessness he felt, the grayish tint to his vision, the angle in which he saw the beings with glowing eyes. All of it was proof that he was in a container. He wanted to see himself but he couldn’t find the strength to move. He looked to the glass hoping to see a reflection but all he saw were the beings standing everywhere, milling about.
They were ethereal looking. They were similar to humans. Their body shape was basically the same, but they were taller with three eyes. Their pale skin almost looked translucent. Each hand held eight gracefully long fingers.
The worst part, Vark recalled, was when he finally got a glimpse of himself. Somehow his hand had drifted in front of him. His hand was a claw. The skin starting to grow was sickly brown with exposed muscle surrounding it. He wanted to see more, both horrified and curious, but couldn’t. He managed to move his tongue in attempts to move his head, his eyes widening when all he felt was overly sharp teeth. The worst part was when a mechanical arm came out of nowhere. On reflex Vark had jerked, drawing onlookers. The arm quickly dipped down out of view, revealing eyes specifically watching him. Most with curiosity and excitement, only one held suspicion. The intense gaze was broken when the arm reappeared with a soggy looking creature in its grasp. Its feathers were matted to its body. Its body trembled, either from fear or cold.
The creature was dumped on the ground. Its three legs curled under its body as its overly large tail wrapped around itself. Its head was held in fear. In front of it was what looked to be a family of those glowing eyed beings. The creature whimpered as it was collared and leashed. The two smaller beings, Vark could only assume were children, petted its head and laughed when their hands came away with goo. One grabbed its leash and coaxed it to its feet and tugged it away. It tripped over its three legs, managing to get tangled up in its leash. The scene was swallowed up as a new glowing eyed beings filled in.
Glowing blue eyes pointed to Vark, while holding up a leash. The being in charge with glowing black eyes, shook his head. For a few minutes it looked as if they were arguing. Finally blues eyes pointed to another creature. This one looked like a cross between an earth worm and a cat. Blue eyes handed over a rock shiny green stone and walked way, dragging it slithering cat-worm with him.
The being in charge stocked towards Vark with a look of complete malicious. Its eyes bored into Vark’s. The being stopped, glancing down to read something. He brought his eyes back up to Vark’s and moved his eight digit hand back and forth, frowning as Vark’s eyes followed. The beings lip curled up in displeasure. Before another thought could cross Vark’s head, his eyes fell closed and darkness greeted him with open arms. The next time he opened his eyes he was in the hospital with normal skin, normal limbs, and free movement.
It took him a couple of days, but Vark came to realize he had been, or was still in, a menagerie. The truth of Society1000 was it was a farce. The countdown was nothing more than a countdown to the day when he would be available for purchase. He was nothing more than a pet in a pound. He was a science creation with the intent of being something’s pet. Society1000 was just a dream. It was a prelude to the nightmare of life.
Vark wondered if the paranoid had the right idea. How many more years of bliss did he have before he too reached zero? Vark knew Soceity1000 was too good to be true, now he wished he was wrong.
Vark wasn't an extremist; he didn’t seek death. However, Vark wasn’t one who wanted to live until the sun burnt out. He was just an ordinary guy living an ordinary life. He had done some stupid things growing up. He joined a gang. Number 996. From there, his number just kept falling like a thrown stone. One day after seeing a member’s number hit zero and the fellow never rise, Vark knew he was done. Number 734. Leaving a gang was harder than entering one. Number 728. Vark was glad.
He moved on used his gang savings to finish college and moved into a nice community. He lived a good many decades his numbers slowly falling. Murderous ex-girlfriend. Number 659. A hunting accident with some friends. Number 512. A…well…a rabid dog. Number 437. There were little things in-between: heart attack, being trampled by a horse after being bucked off, swallowing rat poison. Vark didn’t mind his loss of numbers. He’d seen how those with high numbers acted, all jumpy like and paranoid. That was no way to live a life, always on edge.
Vark’s number was a constant reminder not only for himself but for everyone else. The count was in a different location for everyone. Some were in their mouth, Vark wasn’t that lucky; others were more prominent, like the forehead. Vark was in the middle; his count was splayed across the knuckles of his left hand. He always found it trippy watching how the number changed right before he passed out from death. It was worrisome having a number so visible. There were those that found fun in watching the numbers of others fall. As many things in life are, nothing is fair.
The day was March 28, Laura’s birthday. Laura was the last living relative of Vark’s; they were partners in the crime of life. Her birthday was the day he saw the other side, as people so sweetly called it. He didn’t agree. What he saw scared him.
He was walking into his bank to withdraw money for her birthday dinner; he wanted to take to a fancy French restaurant. Out of nowhere, a gunman shot him point blank in the head. There was a heist in process and no one was the wiser. With no warning, Vark was put down like a dog.
Being shot in the head was not a problem, it happened every day and with every case the victim got up to live another day, unless their count was zero. Vark was different; the doctors say he died for eight hours. He should’ve been up within the hour. The nurses were constantly checking his count. Number 199. It never moved. Always at 199. The doctors were worried that something was wrong with him. All those who lived in Society1000 never suffered long after their count changed. No lingering pain, no comatose, no missing limbs. Society1000 was the perfect world. Vark was an exception. That made him dangerous. When he woke up, they tested him for inconstancies, but everything checked out.
Vark knew better.
What was on the other side was not meant for his eyes, or anyone else’s for a matter of fact. Vark questioned whether what he felt and saw were real or just a dream. The world in which he thought was real, felt like the dream now. It was like a thin veil had settled over his being; everything was had a muffled feel to it. Vark thought about his experience all the time. He knew in his gut what he saw was real and Society1000 was nothing but a nice dream.
He still recalled the experience.
He saw eyes and eyes; eyes with glowing rings of light circling their pupils. Oddly enough they weren’t watching him. They were constantly moving, scanning. Vark quickly realized he didn’t have normal control over his body. He was only able to slightly shift his eyes; out of the corner he saw rows of experimental cylindrical containers, below him were more rows. The containers held a clear grayish liquidity gel with bizarre creatures suspended inside in all stages of development. Fear was all Vark felt. Everything was unknown. Some of the creatures were things of nightmares. Some had weird protrusions all over their body or in certain spots; others were at one part furry and the next part scales; even more were oddly shaped with multiple limbs or none at all. Each creature was different.
Vark knew the hard truth. The weightlessness he felt, the grayish tint to his vision, the angle in which he saw the beings with glowing eyes. All of it was proof that he was in a container. He wanted to see himself but he couldn’t find the strength to move. He looked to the glass hoping to see a reflection but all he saw were the beings standing everywhere, milling about.
They were ethereal looking. They were similar to humans. Their body shape was basically the same, but they were taller with three eyes. Their pale skin almost looked translucent. Each hand held eight gracefully long fingers.
The worst part, Vark recalled, was when he finally got a glimpse of himself. Somehow his hand had drifted in front of him. His hand was a claw. The skin starting to grow was sickly brown with exposed muscle surrounding it. He wanted to see more, both horrified and curious, but couldn’t. He managed to move his tongue in attempts to move his head, his eyes widening when all he felt was overly sharp teeth. The worst part was when a mechanical arm came out of nowhere. On reflex Vark had jerked, drawing onlookers. The arm quickly dipped down out of view, revealing eyes specifically watching him. Most with curiosity and excitement, only one held suspicion. The intense gaze was broken when the arm reappeared with a soggy looking creature in its grasp. Its feathers were matted to its body. Its body trembled, either from fear or cold.
The creature was dumped on the ground. Its three legs curled under its body as its overly large tail wrapped around itself. Its head was held in fear. In front of it was what looked to be a family of those glowing eyed beings. The creature whimpered as it was collared and leashed. The two smaller beings, Vark could only assume were children, petted its head and laughed when their hands came away with goo. One grabbed its leash and coaxed it to its feet and tugged it away. It tripped over its three legs, managing to get tangled up in its leash. The scene was swallowed up as a new glowing eyed beings filled in.
Glowing blue eyes pointed to Vark, while holding up a leash. The being in charge with glowing black eyes, shook his head. For a few minutes it looked as if they were arguing. Finally blues eyes pointed to another creature. This one looked like a cross between an earth worm and a cat. Blue eyes handed over a rock shiny green stone and walked way, dragging it slithering cat-worm with him.
The being in charge stocked towards Vark with a look of complete malicious. Its eyes bored into Vark’s. The being stopped, glancing down to read something. He brought his eyes back up to Vark’s and moved his eight digit hand back and forth, frowning as Vark’s eyes followed. The beings lip curled up in displeasure. Before another thought could cross Vark’s head, his eyes fell closed and darkness greeted him with open arms. The next time he opened his eyes he was in the hospital with normal skin, normal limbs, and free movement.
It took him a couple of days, but Vark came to realize he had been, or was still in, a menagerie. The truth of Society1000 was it was a farce. The countdown was nothing more than a countdown to the day when he would be available for purchase. He was nothing more than a pet in a pound. He was a science creation with the intent of being something’s pet. Society1000 was just a dream. It was a prelude to the nightmare of life.
Vark wondered if the paranoid had the right idea. How many more years of bliss did he have before he too reached zero? Vark knew Soceity1000 was too good to be true, now he wished he was wrong.