Stories of Siv Spencer Theophane
In the Dark
In the middle of a dark forest veiled by the clouds, a silver building stretched like branches, corridors curved around every tree and stone doorways were hidden from the naked eye. It was a cold night, the barely visible windows were clouded by the condensed air from the breath of the men inside. Every individual permitted to enter would smell the fire in the air, there was always something burning. Some experiment that went wrong. In fact, the chances of a successful experiment in this scientific laboratory were slim, so what motiviated these scientists to work? Like many before them they wanted to change the world.
These were men that had chosen to dedicate their lives to this cause, they were married to their discoveries and were alien to the outside world. They rarely communicated with each other and many of them chose to remain in their laboratories for weeks at a time. They had no homes, no families, these were men loyal to science - if they wanted food they had a fridge ; and if they required sleep they requested a bed. There was no existing hierarchy within the patriarchal school of adult scientists that anybody knew about - but the resources had to come from somewhere - though none dared to question where it all came from. Nobody wanted to know, their way of life was set and flexibility was unimportant.
Siv Theophane sat like a lazy king as he stared at the blazing computer screen that was spontaneously making a slow humming sound as it loaded up a window. Headphones were firmly gripping his ears and Siv was listening intently to the sound of a mother lecturing her two young boys.."I don't care if you mess it up again with your friends afterward, your not going anywhere until you tidy this bedroom.." the woman had said sternly. Siv took notes on the authority in her voice, how her voice rose for emphasis on certain words, and the surrender and obediance of the young boys once they were spoken to in that tone. The complexity of human interaction was enough to occupy his mind, and his interests laid in the bed of psychology. His bunsen burner had began to rust and his test tubes had not been cleaned in months, not that this had been noticed by Siv or anyone else.
Had Siv ever been given a command - he would obey it. But he had lived his entire life in Room 17. Who was he? He was the man in Room 17. Given another name by only the woman of whom gave him life - the woman he was ashamed to share his blood. The very woman that had left him inside this prison where he had to learn how to assemble and dissect; how to analyse and to be bias; how to live and not die. There were no children in the building anymore, they had stopped taking them in several years ago - many, many years too late. He was twenty-four years of age yet had been living for only the first few years. But then, what was the value of one human life? Siv's chair creaked as he stretched his arm to reach a small and weak brown bag on a nearby shelf. The coins inside chattered against the fabric. Coins. Money. Without it a human could not have an acceptable quality of life. But where is the worth? People trade in the coins for goods and/or services, and those people give the coins to others to fulfill more selfish needs, yet if every human being was giving away money - why was considered valuable? Surely something that passed through the hands of billions of people wasn't hard to come across, particularly in the cases of prostitution and gambling dens.
People are selfish creatures - they feel emotion for themselves and not for others. Siv saw it all the time; the computer monitor would purr and articles would appear before his eyes. For many days he would peer at stories of foolishness and cold ruthlessness, of people in pain and people hurting others. There is no obvious reason for it, he could connotate every word on his page in attempt to convince himself that he was not part of a race that caused such hurt and destruction. But the proof was never there. Meteors could hail down on the earth and Siv would remain still and unnerved. His thoughts would hover in the air distracting his mind from what was around him like a man-made monster.
These were men that had chosen to dedicate their lives to this cause, they were married to their discoveries and were alien to the outside world. They rarely communicated with each other and many of them chose to remain in their laboratories for weeks at a time. They had no homes, no families, these were men loyal to science - if they wanted food they had a fridge ; and if they required sleep they requested a bed. There was no existing hierarchy within the patriarchal school of adult scientists that anybody knew about - but the resources had to come from somewhere - though none dared to question where it all came from. Nobody wanted to know, their way of life was set and flexibility was unimportant.
Siv Theophane sat like a lazy king as he stared at the blazing computer screen that was spontaneously making a slow humming sound as it loaded up a window. Headphones were firmly gripping his ears and Siv was listening intently to the sound of a mother lecturing her two young boys.."I don't care if you mess it up again with your friends afterward, your not going anywhere until you tidy this bedroom.." the woman had said sternly. Siv took notes on the authority in her voice, how her voice rose for emphasis on certain words, and the surrender and obediance of the young boys once they were spoken to in that tone. The complexity of human interaction was enough to occupy his mind, and his interests laid in the bed of psychology. His bunsen burner had began to rust and his test tubes had not been cleaned in months, not that this had been noticed by Siv or anyone else.
Had Siv ever been given a command - he would obey it. But he had lived his entire life in Room 17. Who was he? He was the man in Room 17. Given another name by only the woman of whom gave him life - the woman he was ashamed to share his blood. The very woman that had left him inside this prison where he had to learn how to assemble and dissect; how to analyse and to be bias; how to live and not die. There were no children in the building anymore, they had stopped taking them in several years ago - many, many years too late. He was twenty-four years of age yet had been living for only the first few years. But then, what was the value of one human life? Siv's chair creaked as he stretched his arm to reach a small and weak brown bag on a nearby shelf. The coins inside chattered against the fabric. Coins. Money. Without it a human could not have an acceptable quality of life. But where is the worth? People trade in the coins for goods and/or services, and those people give the coins to others to fulfill more selfish needs, yet if every human being was giving away money - why was considered valuable? Surely something that passed through the hands of billions of people wasn't hard to come across, particularly in the cases of prostitution and gambling dens.
People are selfish creatures - they feel emotion for themselves and not for others. Siv saw it all the time; the computer monitor would purr and articles would appear before his eyes. For many days he would peer at stories of foolishness and cold ruthlessness, of people in pain and people hurting others. There is no obvious reason for it, he could connotate every word on his page in attempt to convince himself that he was not part of a race that caused such hurt and destruction. But the proof was never there. Meteors could hail down on the earth and Siv would remain still and unnerved. His thoughts would hover in the air distracting his mind from what was around him like a man-made monster.