J.R. Knight's Blog, page 2

006: 10 Unsaid Thoughts

[to all different people].

I hate the fact that you abandoned me and our friendship years ago now. Apart of me misses you. But apart of me knows that we’ll never be friends again. I hate you for how I let you in, and for how much you hurt me.
I miss you. I miss you so much. I miss hearing your voice. I still ache.
I was there for you when you were going through a breakup, the worst moment of your life, and when I was hurting the most you didn’t show, now you’re nowhere to be seen. Haven’t seen you in over a year. Are we are no longer friends? Because you’ve got a boyfriend now and you’re all happy. Thanks.
I wish you would make up with him. I’m over this, I’m over tiptoeing over the fact that you guys haven’t seen each other in months and months and months.
I’m waiting for the day that I’ll see you again. Puffing away on your cigar, making me dinner, your chuckle.
I can’t (don’t) even want to begin with you. I can’t, I don’t have the words. What has your life become? What do you mean to us anymore?
I wish we didn’t fall out because of a working arrangement. I did nothing wrong, you had too much pride. Now everything’s different. Cryptic messages and invites to nothing.
Why are you the first to look at all of my social media/snapchat posts, but you’re the most silent when it comes to supporting me? What have I done to you? Why do I feel guilty for some reason. I supported you. Why don’t you support me?
I work hard, okay. I’m trying to be somebody, I’m trying to do something with my life. Please don’t hate me or ‘be jealous.’ You have the potential to be somebody. Anybody. You can do it too.
My God I hope all of this hard work will be worth it.

The Cure, 12: Conformity Alarm

|12|

CONFORMITY ALARM



| EXTRACTED FROM NEĒREĒ TĀU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 2.3.3450 / 5:45āam |

I am trying not to, but I am beginning to panic. It is bubbling throughout my body and continues to escalate as every pixel in the sky gradually begins to brighten. This has never happened before; she has never stayed out all nīght like this. Not without letting us know. Noeāl and I pace through the house, our U-chips on high alert, synced only to hear from our daughter. If Knijä were any ‘normal’ U-man, we would have called emergencī by now.

“Maybe she just went straight from the community lot to edūcation,” Noeāl rationalises.

“Why didn’t she let us know?” I ask, raising my hands up in frustration. “She looks forward to reflect period with us! She said she would be back no later than 4āam. That was almost an hour and a half ago. Noeāl, I am scared!”

Suddenly my U-chip pings with a notify from the home lot and both of us race towards the entrance. As it slides open I turn from a state of panic to feeling utter confusion.

“Hoslū?” Noeāl and I both ask, bewildered.

“Hihi!” she says, beaming. “Goodgoodmorning. Well,” she looks up at the sky, “it is almost morning. I thought I would come over before edūcation to go over Economī revision with Knijä.”

“Wait,” I put a hand to my chest as my breath shortens. “You mean to tell us—”

“Knijä is not with you?” Noeāl finishes.

Hoslū’s face dims. “No. Why? What makes you say that?”

“She said she was with you! U-chip,” I command, “call Knijä.” All I get is a dial tone, informing meē that her U-chip has been silenced. I begin to shiver. I sit down in front of Hoslū and Noeāl.

I want to go to a place of fret and delusion, however I do not need another advert for medīcation going on my U-Record. This does not happen to anyone I know. Children do not lie to their parents. Children do not tell their parents that they are going somewhere and then go somewhere else. Children do not cause distress – there is no need to. I know Knijä is different, a fact that only escalates my fear.

“What if they took her?” I think aloud in horror. “What if they finally found out that she is different?”

We sit in silence for a few moments, allowing our mīnds to wander. It is in this brief space of time that I can feel something unusual, something that I can only describe as knowing that something awful is about to happen.

I am pulled from my thoughts by loud beeping and flashing from all three of our U-chips. The walls and windows of our multīspace alternate in flashing blū and red lights.

“WARNING!” A Synthetī voice fills the Receivers in the room and Noeāl and I cringe at the intruding noise overtaking the Receivers in our ears. “THERE HAS BEEN A CONFORMITY BREECH WITHIN YOUR FAMILY AND HOME LOT! PEĀR PROTOCOLS WILL BE PRESENT SHORTLY TO REPRIMAND YOU. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOME LOT OR YOU WILL IMMEDIATELY BE PROSECUTED!”

A projection then splashes across the Receive U-screen that forms the room’s backdrop. An image of a line of uniformed people who are all joined at the hands is presented. I recognise the image from an advert that I have seen many times before, “There is no ‘U’ in conformity!”

I am pulled away from the projection by the sound of Navīgator doors sliding open, followed by rushing footsteps and multiple pings to our home lot notify. Peār Protocols burst through the door with their weapons ready. I scream out in protest and jump in front of Hoslū to protect her.

The last thing I see is a swarm of faces lunging at meē as the sound of the first scream that I have ever uttered fills the multīspace.

 

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. The next instalment will continue this coming Monday.
Please show your support by sharing The Cure and subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

005: The Truth About You

I’ve known you since high school. We met again at your 21st birthday. We grew close because of my boyfriend. I’d stay over at your house and you’d make us dinner, baked goods, coffee. I’d slept next to you. I was the first person to buy something from your – ‘now-then’ – start up business.

I got to know you. Your life. Who you were, what you liked, what you didn’t. Your favourite flower, your favourite place to spend time, the thing you were allergic to the most. The sound of your laugh, the taste of the way you cooked your favourite dish, the scent of your perfume is imprinted in my mind. It’s there like a scar.

My boyfriend opened his heart up to you. He unlatched the hinges, allowed the door to open and you both grew closer. Because of this we did too.

Things then happened.

With you and your family. You moved in with us. We took you in and protected you. We opened our life up to you like curtains lifting to reveal a stage, and in one night you left a difficult circumstance. You “escaped.” You ran away from what you have stated to me as ‘toxic,’ and ‘painful.’

You cancelled every single one of your family members out like you were deleting words from a text message. You erased them from your mind. You told us you wanted nothing to do with them. We watched how they treated you and how you felt because of this. I listened to how disrespected you felt by them, how torn and fractured they had moulded you to be.

You then began to remould yourself. As if some miracle was beginning to blossom through the ashes, vibrancy and life and positivity began to blossom. My boyfriend dedicated his life to make you ‘become the new you.’ A new life style, a new career, a new person. Fierce, free and unashamed. Untamed, uncontrollable and unstoppable.

My boyfriend began to put every possible bit of time into creating this. Creating this person that you wanted to be.

Revolution, revitalisation, a brushstroke, an empowering cloak of scented confidence, a new shell.

Slowly I began to see life break through the ash. Colour and confidence and everything that you wished you could be.

But.

Things began to change. Things aren’t the same now. Things haven’t been the same since I lost my belief in you. I cried about you on my birthday because I lost that belief in you. I saw you loose your spark, your fight, your fire. I began to see that my boyfriend was putting in everything. The hard work, the billable hours, the time, the energy and you? You gave up. You put in nothing.

You began to put in even less. It was as if the mirage that was you began to crack, and very slowly the pieces of the person who you strove so hard to be began to fade. You began to truly fracture. This person who was once a girl who had left tragedy, who had empowered herself from within to become a woman, who had survived against all odds was shattering. 

Your life became a flame barely thirsty to keep burning. I discovered how broken you truly were when we tried to put out a hand, to help you, to try and save you and

you

did

nothing.

Minuets became warning signs. Seconds became sirens. Your own aura was a burden to yourself. Your entire being had extinguished itself. You turned your back on those who had originally helped you. You went back to the void, the despair, the darkness.

You

left

us.

You

gave

up

on

us.

You left your best friend, his boyfriend, his best friend and their two cats. You left the little family that we all created together. And, as you abandon us, you leave with us an accumulated debt of deceit and disaster and heartache that you’ll never be able to repay. You’ve charred our hearts. You’ve hurt us, and hurt him more than you’ll never know. 

And,

what’s worse is,

you’ll never change.

For us,

for him,

or for yourself.

That’s the truth about you.

I hope our pain lulls, I hope our feelings about this deplete, and I hope that the truth about you lingers within you like a scornful ghost until one day everyone knows what you’ve done, and one day everything

is

set

free.

X

 

The Cure, 11: TAODAP

|11|

TAODAP

| EXTRACTED FROM SÅVJE SINGKŪ / THE RESTRICTED SECTION /

DOOR 022 OF EDŪCATION LOT 0497 OF 81SUB / 2.3.2450 / 5:03āam |

I hover at the entrance with my colleagues behind meē, all of our eyes on Knijä. Everything has gone to plan perfectly and I can only hope that the rest of our journey will run as smoothly.

“Now, I understand that you are not a doctor,” I say to her as I step into the Restricted Section, “but you do not necessarily need to be one to qualify. Especially not you.”

“Your voice,” she says, her tone sounding sceptical but her posture whispering trust, “it’s familiar.”

“You are very clever, Knijä,” I praise her, smiling warmly down at the girl who is going to change everything. “I am Dr. Såvje Singkū. I am the one who fused you.”

“The one who falsely fused meē,” she corrects. I can clearly hear the humanity in her voice. Confusion, anxiety, hurt. Light and shade and all sorts of colours.

I instantly navigate the conversation to suit her. “Your reaction is warranted, Knijä.” I bend down beside her. “Trust meē, I have had my fair share of injustice due to Peār too.”

She shuts the encyclopaedia firmly, holding the book tightly between her palms. “Well, if you were kept in the dark for 16 years, wouldn’t you feel the way I do?”

I glance back at my colleagues and then nod. “I would, and we apologise for that.” My voice is soft; my intentions are pure.

“I don’t need you to apologise.” Knijä stands. “I just need answers.” She looks meē directly in the eyes. “Why has it taken so long for you to tell meē the truth?”

“A fair question,” I nod cautiously. “It has taken this long,” I say slowly, in my most reassuring voice, “because, as we all know too well, Peār monitors every square inch of Metravā.” I want to put a hand on her shoulder. I want to take the pain out of her eyes that I see so clearly behind her contacts. “If we had moved any quicker, you would have ceased. We would have ceased and all this would have been for nothing.”

“How long have you been in the building?” Knijä’s eyes narrow. “You could have come earlier. I have been waiting for you for 16 years.”

“We have been here since the beginning of reflect period,” I explain. “The moment you entered the edū space we silenced your U-chip and any Receivers in the building so you could learn about us in private. We just wanted to give you a chance to absorb at least some of our information before we met. How have you found our work?”

“Enlightening,” she rationalises.

“Ah, a word I have not heard uttered from a single U-man,” I tell her. “But you are not U-man, are you, Knijä?”

“No. But then, you already knew that,” she stares blankly up at meē.

“I hope you know you can trust meē.” I put my hand out to her. “We are here to make a difference. We are here to give you answers. So let us go.”

“Where?” she rightly questions.

“Well, to your home lot first and then on to much more exciting things.”

She stares at my simple palm, so unlike her real one. I can see the question in her eyes: am I U-man or human? Her head turns to the side. Perhaps she sees meē as both. I can see so much wonder behind the adjustments that we have provided her with. I can see so many possibilities in what she can bring to our world. Not a moment later, she takes my hand.

 

–

| EXTRACTED FROM SÅVJE SINGKŪ /

MINOR TRANSIT LANE 0035991 OF 81SUB / 2.3.3450 / 5:33āam |

I sit opposite Knijä in our private Navīgator as it speeds along independently. She looks over at meē and projects so much curiosity that it practically beams off her in waves. My other colleagues sit in rows behind us as the blur of 81Sub speeds past us.

“TAODAP began hundreds of years ago, as you discovered in your time reading.”

“The U-files are touchable,” she comments.

“Yes, they are made out of paper which, when collated, form a book, or in our case an encyclopaedia.”

“I like it,” she affirms. “I prefer it to the pixels in the air that can change with one little swipe.”

“I prefer it too,” I say smoothly, feeling a bond between us already. “Humans used to have many other things on paper and in books, long, long before our time.” Sky textures have begun the brightening process. I admire each square patch of pre-encoded Synthetī as they brighten one after the other.

“Who began TAODAP?” Knijä asks meē.

“If I am honest,” I lean forward, “I am not entirely sure. We receive all of our information from Agent 00, a completely anonymous but faithful trustee. As you can imagine, it is very much an ‘off the grid’ alliance with Peār monitoring watching our every move.”

At that exact multīsecond, as if to mock us, a large Peār billboard sign flashes past. I see Knijä’s face darken and I take her hand and squeeze it. A daring move, but I feel it’s necessary.

“No one understands.” Her forehead creases and her lips thin. So unU-man. “To live amongst this perfection, to be a part of something that I don’t understand.” Putting her hands to her face, she asks loudly, “Why have you done this to meē?” She almost laughs in a fit of anger and frustration. “Just tell meē, why meē?”

I am taken aback by her forwardness, but I do not fear her. She is natural and organic; she is free and unfiltered. She is everything they fear. “You were selected at random,” I say delicately and I see the disbelief in her eyes. “There was no other way to do this.”

I am uncertain how Knijä feels about this. Her expressions are varied and so complex that they are hard to decipher.

“I know you want answers, but there is only so much I can tell you. I will do my best, however, to answer what I can.”

She sniffs back what I can only assume is Waterlite from her eyes and nods.

“For as long as I can remember I have wanted to help people. It is ingrained in meē, I suppose. I began my career as a doctor back in my birth sub, 27Sub. As I am sure you know,” I say, a little unsettled, “everyone is assigned their mandatory at the age of 25. Being mandated to be a doctor is of the highest privilege but also requires a great deal of sacrifice. Thirteen long years of edūcation and then another five years of interning. Forty-eight sometimes 72-hour mandatories, thousands and thousands of hours of gruelling study and then the life-sealing pledge.”

“I’ve heard of the pledge,” she comments. “We’ve learnt a great deal about it in edūcation.”

“I would imagine so. The pledge is a contract that must only be entered into wholeheaārtedly. It begins before interning, but after all our studies. It was the thing that changed my life as I knew it.”

I can already see her half-expecting what I am about to tell her. “As a doctor in Metravā, we are given the responsibility of fusing, and with that comes many questions that we are not allowed to ask. These include questions about injustices, that are out of curiosity or that are about any unusual thoughts. So many things spawned in my head as a young intern once I witnessed my first fusing and I could not verbalise any of them.

“My mentor was a part of TAODAP, an allegiance for doctors who were opposed to the injustices that we had to witness due to our profession, and she referred meē to the allegiance just before she was mandated for the End Station. I did not take her up on her invitation until some years later, however. TAODAP is the one and only organisation that is against Peār and we are here to begin the revolution.”

I already know what she is going to say before the words leave her lips.

“I’m a part of it,” she blankly states. “I’m a part of the revolution.”

“Yes,” I say, reassuring her. “It began when I fused you, Knijä, and it all ends now.”

 

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. The next instalment will continue this coming Monday.
Please show your support by sharing The Cure and subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

Thursday Thoughts: 004, Hurt, Health and Hard Work

Hello there! ^_^ Welcome back to Thursday Thoughts. Let’s get straight into it, shall we?

 

hurt. 

Without going into too much detail, or becoming sloppy or emotional, this week has been a cluster of really yucky feelings. I’m feeling overwhelmed professionally when I sit at my desk and I have to plan out the days/weeks/months to come, the finances involved and the list of things to do.

(Being productive/organised and diligent when it comes to meticulously planning out things helps though.)

I think what gets me feeling this way is that it’s all on me. Everything, from what bags I decide to buy for the book launch, to what the final, final product looks like. It’s such a crazy feeling, but it’s also something I love and something I decided specifically for this project.

Personally, I’ve been hurt these past couple of weeks, but this week in particular it really escalated. I don’t really want to go into too much detail, (it’s not deserved anyway), but I think it just goes to show that people change, people move in and out of your life and just when you think someone can’t hurt you, life decides to test you!

On another note though, work (T2) is amazing. I’m working a little bit more now, with wonderful people, and I’m so thankful that I get to go somewhere everyday and share cups of tea with amazing people. I’m also so lucky to have a true and dependable close knit of people in my life.

That’s whats important. That is what will mend all that negativity.

health.

On a more positive note, I’ve managed to shed twelve kilos over the past couples of months. By simply cutting out carbs, sugar, processed foods and exercising as much as I can! I’m honestly super proud of myself, especially considering how hard it was in the beginning, and I’m going to strive harder for more results! I can’t explain how good I feel now, and how good it is to be active and moving and seeing the results. I’m going to move forward with this and try even harder to see myself stronger, healthier and even more happier than I am now!

hard work. 

I just received the final professional proofread version of The Cure, and it’s literally just under three months until the launch. Eeeep. Three. Months. I’m beginning to freak out, but then again, I also too have to relax. Self preserve and actually just take each day as it comes (in terms of life in general). I’ve got a plan, I’ve got a list and I can do this. I’ve got this.

Yep, I do.

But… not without you!

Thank you so much for reading my thoughts this week, and thank you for choosing to spend your time here, on my lil’ website!

X

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
Please show your support by subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

The Cure, 10.1 + 10.2: The Restricted Section

|10.1|

THE RESTRICTED SECTION

(PART ONE)

 

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU / COMMERCIAL LOT 231 /

OPPOSITE EDŪCATION LOT 0497 OF 81SUB / 2.3.3450 / 3:19āam |

I sit outside, opposite the edūcation lot, readying myself to enter at my own risk. My body is itching with constant bursts of anticipation as I recall the conversation that I had with Ms. Arīka earlier todaāy.

I’m finally going meet someone involved in the organisation that has been sending my deliveries. My mīnd is swimming with the most incredible sensation. It’s radiating so much that my U-chip is pulsing feverishly, much like it would if it was synced to Peār. Right now I wish I could take something that would pacify meē because I’m barely containing myself. I try to breathe calmly, in and out.

The lot is dark, usual for 3āam, but something is different. The saān dimmed just under three hours ago and will rise again in another three. 81Sub is usually quiet, unless a U-man or U-mans happens to walk past, but there’s a strangeness in the air that elicits an unusual fear in meē. Unknowingness. I let the word sit on my tongue and spread through my body. I’m uncertain and unsure.

I’m not at home with my parents, savouring the few hours that we have together. Instead they think I am with Hoslū at a recreation lot and that I’ll be back shortly. I couldn’t tell them – something inside meē whispers that this is my journey to experience. That, and they’ve always been unsettled by my difference. It’s unsaid, but I know. I’ve scrolled through my memorī files enough to be aware of this.

“They will meet you during reflect period,” Ms. Arīka had said. “If you want to know the truth to our history, go to the Restricted Section. Door 22 on the left. Use your U-chip to enter.”

“What will I find there?”

“The truth. Everything that I cannot say. You will finally meet our organisation.”

I’m sitting on a community lot bench that is opposite the edūcation lot, the Synthetī mūun atop of meē and shining its pale streams of generated light all across 81Sub. I look up at the newly programmed sky and wonder if it’s filled with eyes or ears. Will Peār be able to see meē enter the edūcation lot when I’m not supposed to by just the simple touch of a button?

I stand up and, without racing too fast or walking too slow, I make my way to the entrance of the edūcation lot. I step across the alert space and it notīfys the doors to open as if I’m meant to be here. The edūcation lot doesn’t light up like normal though and most likely won’t due to there being no teacher or Peār Protocol here to switch everything on with their authorised U-chip. I breeze casually past the glass doors and walk into darkness.

I count as I walk past the doors. 7, 8, 9. This is what I’ve been waiting for all my life: real answers. Not just half finished explanations about who I am and how I’m different. I’m ready to know the purpose. I’m ready to know my purpose.

14, 15, 16. I hadn’t heard of the Restricted Section until todaāy. It’s an odd concept – most edū files can be accessed on the Edū Tab from my U-chip. Everything we can possibly want or need is there, so I wonder what in the Metravā could they be hiding?

19, 20, 21. Door 22. The door indicates that this section is now the U-file Hub, the physical storage space for all the edū files. Nothing about Door 22 is unusual. Thin little numbers above the door indicate its position but, aside from that, it’s like any other door in the edūcation lot. I release a quick little breath before positioning my U-chip over the control pad beside the door.

Swiping my U-chip, there is a Synthetī ping that hums from inside the room before the door slides to the left, revealing the most peculiar room that I have ever seen in my life.

I step inside and the door slides shut behind meē.

 

 

 

|10.2|

THE RESTRICTED SECTION

(PART TWO)

 

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU / THE RESTRICTED SECTION /

DOOR 022 OF EDŪCATION LOT 0497 OF 81SUB / 2.3.3450 / 3:29āam |

Soft light begins generating above and casts delicate shadows on what is in front of meē. The Restricted Section is large and filled with neat rows of shelving with the most bizarre objects meticulously arranged on them. With a brief glance around the room, I put my hand forward and go to pick one up. If anyone were going to stop meē they would have by now. The thing is heavier than I imagined, weighing down both my palms. It’s some sort of rectangle shape with a thick covering. Inside are touchable files that are organised together. The first page is entitled “The Encyclopedia of Nū Earth: The Transition from Human to U-man – Printed 2982.”

‘Nū Earth’. It fills my mīnd like a U-vid playing in my head. I feel the connections lighting up – Earth was before Metravā, so therefore humans came before U-mans. But if I’m human then that means that humans still exist. Right?

I pluck the rectangle objects from the shelves and begin stacking them around meē, creating a fortress of knowledge that I’m thirsty to absorb. My U-chip misreads my needs and pings meē a notīfy to the nearest Well or Nutrī Dispenser. “Stay extra hydrated with Waterlite’s new revolutionary formula: Waterlite+ Advance, rich with restorative minerals and a fresh new taste! Order it from your U-shop todaāy!” I swipe the advert away and command my U-chip to turn to Study Mode.

I sit down and consume as much as I can in the time I have. I examine each book cover-to-cover, taking notice of the word TAODAP printed on the back of each object. Each ‘encyclopedia’ is like another key to the many locks that hide the truth of who I am. For the next hour or two I read on.

 

_

“The Technology Resistance Period proved to be the most destructive era in Earth’s history. As pollution and consumerism grew faster than predicted, Peār reigned as the sole manufacturer for technology in 2701. Consumers panicked, fearing that there would never be enough technology for everyone. This ultimately led to the Second Great Depression. The economy plummeted and poverty and disease reached new heights. Those that survived the Second Depression, still reeling with loss and devastation, rebelled against technology, refusing to trust anything synthetic or artificially produced in fear of what it could do to their race further. Thus they declared war on Peār.” (Maiūs, P. (3430) Resistance Through the Ages, Revised Edition. p. 985).

 

 

“The Introduction of the U-chip was marketed to mass media in 2754 and was pitched as a revolutionary piece of technology that promised a brighter future for Earth, being ‘a cure from all that we have perceived incurable’.

The U-chip had its first fusing at 7:51āam in 2755 in Nū New York, a substantial sub that was a part of Earth. The world did not react as anticipated, rebelling and dubbing the moment “The Nū Nazi Era.” Hundreds of thousands of people were killed in riots that went on for weeks after the first fusing.

Three years later, on the 17th of Uarmaārch 2758, the world leaders were conferenced to announce the official date of the “Death of the Earth.” Their speech declared that Earth was no longer sustainable or fit for humans. According to scientists, Earth would be uninhabitable to humanity within a century. Plans then surfaced of a world relocation that would be taking place in the near-distant future.” (Viaāsyl, S. (2999) Fusing for Thought. First Edition. p. 29).

 

 

“In 2806, all Government bodies, political leaders, the United Nations, mass media, pop culture idols, current celebrities, scientists and professors avowed an alliance with Peār. In 2810, the Government instilled a law of mandatory fusing to all humans and passed The Bill of Mandatory Fusing of the U-chip at Birth. Any human who declined fusing was refused entrance to board shuttle transport to Metravā, and would therefore remain on Earth. In 2822, the Great Move was enacted and for the next 17 years, fused humans travelled from Earth to their newly restructured world that is now known as Metravā.” (Mīrci, C. (3234) Nū World Politics: Corruption and Control. p. 402).

 

_

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU / THE RESTRICTED SECTION /

DOOR 022 OF EDŪCATION LOT 0497 OF 81SUB / 2.3.3450 / 5:02āam |

Drowning in these words, my privacy is shattered when I hear the door slide open. I gasp in panic and drop the object I’m holding. I look back towards where I’d come from and see a group of figures looking at meē with intrigued eyes through the doorway.

“Do not worry, Knijä,” a familiar female voice says. “It is finally time. Welcome to the truth. Welcome to The Allegiance of Oppressed Doctors Against Peār, or,” she chuckles a little, “TAODAP for short.”

 

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. The next instalment will continue this coming Monday.
Please show your support by sharing The Cure and subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

Thursday Thoughts: 003, Dear Myself a Year Ago Today

Dear Myself a Year Ago Today,

Well, aren’t you about to go on the craziest of journeys! If you haven’t thought it already, your life is going to be tipped on its’ head in a year. Things are about to get crazy. You’re struggling right now, with staying at Uni, with your job, and the decision of taking that meaningful and risky step to pursue your dreams. You’re trying hard, so hard to make your blog happen, and little do you know that you’ll be putting in even more work into everything in the months to come.

You are going to take the risk, and do something you never thought you would do. In a few months you’ll be happier and more fearful about things that you ever thought you could be. You’ll rip yourself from your comfort spot and throw yourself smack bang into crazy and confronting and new. And, you’ll grow to love it.

You will be publishing your first book! You will have a different job, and you will respect yourself (not that you didn’t before) but more so now because you’ve done what you always wanted to do. You’ve taken the step to becoming the person that you’ve always wanted to be. Me.

Things will still be tough, but nothing will ever happen, especially not success, unless you try harder.

Big things are about to happen, and you mustn’t get sidetracked by the people who you’ll loose as a consequence. There are people out there who don’t want you to succeed, and because of that there will be loss. But that’s okay, because people grow and change and things aren’t always meant to be.

You are so much more happier, and you’re every bit bitter because of it.

I’m so proud of you!

X

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
Please show your support by subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

The Cure, 09.1 + 09.2: A History Lesson

|09.1|

A HISTORY LESSON (PART ONE)

 

| EXTRACTED FROM HOSLŪ NEĪU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 28.2.3450 / 11:28ppm |

Like most people, I wait all daāy for reflect period. I enjoy edūcation, however reflect period is unstructured, unscripted and freeing. During edūcation, we spend the entire daāy absorbing information like empty vessels and then relay the information we have learnt. Reflect period has so many different forms, with many different ways of spending it.

Todaāy, I have decided to visit my best friend Knijä. We met in pre-edūcation and ever since meeting her I cannot imagine my life without her. Knijä looks like everybody else but she is not like everyone else. That is what I like about her. She does not give meē the same answers, she does not always talk about the same thing.

Over the years our conversations have changed from the light-heaārted chatter of children to something much deeper, deep in a way that she tests what she can and cannot say in front of meē. I have had my U-chip ping angrily in my ear, alerting meē that the conversation I am participating in is not Peār Approved. It is so exciting. This has only happened a few times, not enough for anyone to become suspicious. We have since found a way to stop syncing my U-chip and can now have complete conversations without Peār knowing what we are saying.

I ping the Tāu’s home lot to notīfy my arrival, Knijä’s maāther opening the door almost immediately after.

“Hihi, Mrs. Tāu! It is so wonderful to see you!”

“Hihi, Hoslū,” Mrs. Tāu greets meē warmly. “It is lovely to see you too. Please come in.”

I come into the multīspace and am welcomed by the tranquil sounds of a Synthetī Waterlitefall accompanying a visual on the Receive U-screen that backdrops the room.

“Noeāl should be home very shortly,” Mrs. Tāu says before instructing the Receiver to lower the music. “Would you like to stay for late meal? We would love to have you.”

“Of course, Mrs. Tāu!” I say with a burst of happiness. Late meals with the Tāus are the best. There is always laughter and happiness and, sometimes, with the assistance of Knijä’s special U-chip, the Nutrī Dispenser produces an extra allowance of after-late meal snack for us all.

“How about you go fetch Knijä. She should be in the wellroom.”

I nod and travel down their hallway and turn to the right.

“Knijä?”

The wellroom is the first door on the left and I open the door.

I stop. My body jolts and I step back, falling into the now closed door. I cringe at what I see. This is not Knijä. It cannot be. Is it? No.

“Hoslū!” it alarms at meē.

It sounds like Knijä, but this … thing is not familiar. It certainly is not U-man. I look closer, squinting my eyes to focus on its features. It is leaking from its eyes, its body is vibrating.

“Hoslū it’s meē,” it falls to the ground. “Knijä.”

 

–

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 1.3.3450 / 5:57āam |

Hoslū now knows about meē, but it’s okay.

The moment she opened the door to the wellroom, my heaārt leapt up from my chest and into my throat, every nūron in meē singed with alarm. Not only did Hoslū see meē without my mask but she also saw meē in my most raw state: without my U-chip on.

My reaction was unU-man. My knees weirdly vibrated, my voice shook and I fell to the ground. I did something I know no one else would ever do. Waterlite leaked from my eyes. Maybe not all that unusual for a human but definitely for a U-man. It wasn’t blū or cold, it was clear and burning. The Waterlite slid down my cheeks as I pleaded for Hoslū to understand, to never tell anyone else, to accept meē.

She did. She does. Relief coursed through meē as she dropped down in front of meē and, without even thinking, she wiped the Waterlite from my face and smiled. “I do not care what you really look like. You are my best friend, Knijä, and I would never betray you. I am sorry for scaring you! It is all going to be okay, I promise.”

It was after that that Mūm walked in. She was initially petrified. It took a while for her to pacify but, after a few hours and once Dād had come home, we all talked about it and eventually laughed. I didn’t even have to put my adjustments back on. A terrified moment turned into one of the most content and peaceful memorīes that I will ever have: sitting and eating late meal with my mūm, my dād and best friend, laughing, chatting and existing without a mask.

Hoslū has many questions, but she understands that she just needs to accept this reality as none of us have all the answers. She’s left to get ready for edūcation and I’ve come back into the wellroom to begin blending in.

“I am proud of you,” Mūm says to meē in the doorway, coming up to meē and putting a hand on my shoulder. “You have got a good friend in her and it has made meē realise how awful we are.”

“Awful? What do you mean?”

“We have been hiding you,” she admits. “The real you.” She tucks a long black curl behind my ear. “Knijä, you are beautiful and I am so sorry that we have hidden you away.”

My U-chip is connected but if it wasn’t, I know I would be leaking Waterlite from my eyes again.

 

–

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 1.3.3450 / 11:51āam |

Hoslū and I are sitting outside during a brief intermission between classes. Teenage U-mans are already walking to their classes but Hoslū and I have decided to remain seated in the atrium.

“Everyone’s so … directional,” I try to find the words. “So organised, so efficient. Finish one class, go to the next.” I watch them as they line up in perfect rows, waiting to enter their next class. “Every single student is on their U-chip, their U-screens over their face like a barrier. No one’s socialising or smiling or laughing. Not that U-mans do much of that anyway,” I sigh hopelessly. “I should stop thinking.”

“No, do not!” she says eagerly, tugging my arm. “I love that you think for yourself. I wish I could do that more.”

I notice that the large Lite Plant in front of meē flickers and, within a multīsecond, changes from a lush green into the colour of a hot burning flame much like the ones that sometimes flicker throughout our house in glass cylinders. Then, the surrounding Lite Plants follow suit, the entire atrium lighting up as the Synthetī leaves switch to a stunning amber. My skin begins to prickle due to the noticeable shift in the weather.

A sea of pre-programmed advertī pop up and echo everywhere: “Season 3, Autumn1, is now in its first stage. With the five-degree drop in weather, order your Autumn1 clothing from your U-shop now. Remember: blend in by not standing out, todaāy!”

“Ahhh, Autumn.” All negativity is suddenly gone. “My favourite season.”

“I love Winter2,” Hoslū admits. “The scarfs, the allotted daāy off, the Synthetī snow—”

“—That never falls to the ground?” I screw up my face. “That disappears before we can touch it? That’s only in the sky? I do like the annual daāy off though.” I grin, before turning quiet. I feel my cheeks burn and quickly snap my eyes down to my hands on the table in front of meē.

I’ve caught his attention as he’s picked up on meē staring at him for longer than is normal.

“What is it, Knijä?”

“Klaiūs,” I admit. I peek over in his direction again. He’s smiling and waving at meē.

I know Klaiūs appears to look like everybody else, but he is different. He has a trueness, a realness to him. From the moment I looked into his eyes it was as if he was staring into my soeūl. It was both terrifying and beautifully overwhelming. I know it’s naïve to think that Klaiūs actually is any different, he looks so similar to the boy beside him. But he is. He isn’t like everybody else, I know it. He doesn’t stare at his U-chip all daāy. After all, he noticed meē. He actually had his eyes on something other than his U-media. Meē.

“How beautiful is he?”

“Knijä,” Hoslū hushes meē, quickly tapping into her U-chip settings. She slides the option ‘sync on’ in the other direction, turning it off and giving meē a little wink. “If only we were not pre-encoded to have an assigned partner.”

“Yeah.” I watch him walk away. “If only we were given a choice.”

“Well, do not worry about that now.” Hoslū stands, the Synthetī bell ringing the moment she’s up. Right on time. “We will get to all of that when we are 25.”

“Yeah, can’t wait!”

Hoslū and I join the queue with the rest of the students, lining up for lesson 05: History. Each student swipes their U-chip on the tiny piece of technology at the door, minusing an exact amount of currencī from their credit. History classes are the most expensive of all classes but, through our communication, the doctor insists that I attend these classes and, admittedly, I do love them.

Ms. Arīka is the only teacher that I like. She stands at the front of the edū space with a mass of information spread out on the enormous Edū Screen behind her. Hoslū and I sit inside our Study Pod and smile knowingly. Klaiūs’s Study Pod is directly in front of ours.

“I cannot believe that this class is mandated to have Peār Protocols,” Hoslū whispers across to meē. The two entrances, one on the left and the other on the right, are policed by the constant cloud of two stern looking Peār Officials. We’ve always wondered why, but Ms. Arīka never worries or gets anxious about them so I try to do the same.

“Alright, 257,” she addresses us, swiping her U-chip on the control pad on the table in front of her. “I have silenced your U-chips and class can now begin.”

I press open my U-chip and my finger hovers over the U-bar. I press the Edū Tab, it taking a multīsecond to load, connecting to the Edū Portal in front of meē. My U-chip’s pixels disappear as I’m now solely connected to the screen in front of meē. The room dims and silence permits.

Ms. Arīka gently clears her throat, glances left to right, and begins.

 

 

 

|09.2|

A HISTORY LESSON (PART TWO)

 

| EXTRACTED FROM CHIRBŪ ARĪKA /

EDŪCATION LOT 0497 OF 81SUB / 01.03.3450 / 12:10ppm |

Although I wish to not feel this, anxiousness floods throughout meē as I stand in front of the edū space. No one will know the truth, not my students, nor the Peār Protocols who are a permanent fixture within my edū space. History is the most useful resource according to Peār, and I do not disagree. It is not hard to image what someone would or could do if they found out the real truth of our history.

“Alright, 257,” I address the young faces staring at meē, swiping my U-chip on the control pad. “I have silenced your U-chips and class can now begin.”

And now I lie. I will retell the story that I have been coached with in my edū modules. The wording needs to be exact, not a single inflection or word can be out of place. I will, however, add one sentence into this lesson that will hopefully make it so something like this never happens again. We will rebel. We will join the real cure.

“Todaāy is a very special daāy,” I announce. “We will be learning about the broader history of our lifeform.”

Study Pods instantly light up with pending questions and thoughts. The students are always able to think more when their U-chips are silenced. “I can see that you have many questions, but todaāy will be a lecture. There will be time for questions soon.”

I swipe my chip again and a timeline presents itself.

“There are three major periods you need to know,” I instruct. “The Technological Revolution, The Technological Resistance and The RevolUtion. U-mans have existed for roughly a thousand years, marking the beginning of The RevolUtion. Before our time, devastation and pollution ruled a planet that was once known as Earth. Riddled with disease, famine and poverty, Earth was inhabited by a race that we have little information on. The information that we can find on this species suggests that they were savage, unkind and predisposed to disease and bacteria.”

I look down for a brief moment, before continuing on in my most natural voice. “As a former doctor, I have studied this ancient species and they are inbuilt with some of the most deadly pathogens to have ever existed. Nevertheless, the U-man was created.”

I have caught her attention with the word ‘doctor’. The Peār Protocols have not batted an eye, most likely believing that I am warning the students, not trying to enlighten one of them. “The U-man was the cure,” I lock eyes with her, “a solution to the war, violence and the destruction of what was once had. The cure saved us,” I say, my insides screaming at the injustice. “We are the cure.”

I perform for the rest of the lesson. I watch the lights on each Study Pod dim as the questions from each student simmers and their thoughts are aligned with what Peār expects them to think. I explain the period (without ever mentioning the word human) where the world suffered with adapting to technology and the self-destruction that came as a consequence. Peār created the U-man as the solution, a means to an almost impossible end. I act and I suppress questioning, lying in the hope that this will soon be changed.

I had hoped that when the class ends Knijä would come up to meē and she does. The Edū Screens have dulled and the Peār Protocols have left for their mid meal. Knijä looks like any other student in the edūcation lot. I know she is not.

“Ms. Arīka?” she asks, her voice dense with intrigue.

“Yes, Knijä?”

“Am I able to speak with you for a moment, if it’s okay?”

I look at her closely and notice the slightest difference to her eyes. A patch on her arm where the cream given to her by our organisation has not effectively concealed her uneven skin tone.

“Of course, Knijä. What would you like to discuss?” I sit in front of her and glance at an old object called a ‘paperweight’ that bares the Peār logo residing on my desk. I was informed once by one of my colleagues that the Peār icon was modelled from a thing called fruit, something that was eaten before Nutrī was developed.

She glances at the paperweight and then to meē.

“You mentioned in your lecture that you were once a doctor?” she asks and I can see both fascination and fright in her eyes.

I nod at her. “For almost 30 years. I have always been devoted to history, however.”

“I’m not sure if you know her,” she leans in, speaking so low that her whispers are barely audible, a U-chip would not have been able to pick her up, “but do you know a Doctor Singkū?”

I wait for a moment to see if either of our U-chips pulse or ping but everything remains calm.

“I do,” my cheeks lift in a small smile, “and it would be within your best interest, Knijä, to return to this edūcation lot tonīght and head to the Restricted Section in the U-file Hub. Door 22.”

“Tonīght?” she gasps. “During reflect period?”

“Yes,” I instruct her. “Tonīght you will uncover the truth of our history,” I say. Her eyes grow wild with eagerness by the multīsecond. “It is time that you met our organisation, Knijä. It is time that you get some answers.”

 

 

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. The next instalment will continue this coming Monday.
Please show your support by sharing The Cure and subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

 

The Cure, 09.1 + 09.2: A HISTORY LESSON

|09.1|

A HISTORY LESSON (PART ONE)

 

| EXTRACTED FROM HOSLŪ NEĪU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 28.2.3450 / 11:28ppm |

Like most people, I wait all daāy for reflect period. I enjoy edūcation, however reflect period is unstructured, unscripted and freeing. During edūcation, we spend the entire daāy absorbing information like empty vessels and then relay the information we have learnt. Reflect period has so many different forms, with many different ways of spending it.

Todaāy, I have decided to visit my best friend Knijä. We met in pre-edūcation and ever since meeting her I cannot imagine my life without her. Knijä looks like everybody else but she is not like everyone else. That is what I like about her. She does not give meē the same answers, she does not always talk about the same thing.

Over the years our conversations have changed from the light-heaārted chatter of children to something much deeper, deep in a way that she tests what she can and cannot say in front of meē. I have had my U-chip ping angrily in my ear, alerting meē that the conversation I am participating in is not Peār Approved. It is so exciting. This has only happened a few times, not enough for anyone to become suspicious. We have since found a way to stop syncing my U-chip and can now have complete conversations without Peār knowing what we are saying.

I ping the Tāu’s home lot to notīfy my arrival, Knijä’s maāther opening the door almost immediately after.

“Hihi, Mrs. Tāu! It is so wonderful to see you!”

“Hihi, Hoslū,” Mrs. Tāu greets meē warmly. “It is lovely to see you too. Please come in.”

I come into the multīspace and am welcomed by the tranquil sounds of a Synthetī Waterlitefall accompanying a visual on the Receive U-screen that backdrops the room.

“Noeāl should be home very shortly,” Mrs. Tāu says before instructing the Receiver to lower the music. “Would you like to stay for late meal? We would love to have you.”

“Of course, Mrs. Tāu!” I say with a burst of happiness. Late meals with the Tāus are the best. There is always laughter and happiness and, sometimes, with the assistance of Knijä’s special U-chip, the Nutrī Dispenser produces an extra allowance of after-late meal snack for us all.

“How about you go fetch Knijä. She should be in the wellroom.”

I nod and travel down their hallway and turn to the right.

“Knijä?”

The wellroom is the first door on the left and I open the door.

I stop. My body jolts and I step back, falling into the now closed door. I cringe at what I see. This is not Knijä. It cannot be. Is it? No.

“Hoslū!” it alarms at meē.

It sounds like Knijä, but this … thing is not familiar. It certainly is not U-man. I look closer, squinting my eyes to focus on its features. It is leaking from its eyes, its body is vibrating.

“Hoslū it’s meē,” it falls to the ground. “Knijä.”

 

–

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 1.3.3450 / 5:57āam |

Hoslū now knows about meē, but it’s okay.

The moment she opened the door to the wellroom, my heaārt leapt up from my chest and into my throat, every nūron in meē singed with alarm. Not only did Hoslū see meē without my mask but she also saw meē in my most raw state: without my U-chip on.

My reaction was unU-man. My knees weirdly vibrated, my voice shook and I fell to the ground. I did something I know no one else would ever do. Waterlite leaked from my eyes. Maybe not all that unusual for a human but definitely for a U-man. It wasn’t blū or cold, it was clear and burning. The Waterlite slid down my cheeks as I pleaded for Hoslū to understand, to never tell anyone else, to accept meē.

She did. She does. Relief coursed through meē as she dropped down in front of meē and, without even thinking, she wiped the Waterlite from my face and smiled. “I do not care what you really look like. You are my best friend, Knijä, and I would never betray you. I am sorry for scaring you! It is all going to be okay, I promise.”

It was after that that Mūm walked in. She was initially petrified. It took a while for her to pacify but, after a few hours and once Dād had come home, we all talked about it and eventually laughed. I didn’t even have to put my adjustments back on. A terrified moment turned into one of the most content and peaceful memorīes that I will ever have: sitting and eating late meal with my mūm, my dād and best friend, laughing, chatting and existing without a mask.

Hoslū has many questions, but she understands that she just needs to accept this reality as none of us have all the answers. She’s left to get ready for edūcation and I’ve come back into the wellroom to begin blending in.

“I am proud of you,” Mūm says to meē in the doorway, coming up to meē and putting a hand on my shoulder. “You have got a good friend in her and it has made meē realise how awful we are.”

“Awful? What do you mean?”

“We have been hiding you,” she admits. “The real you.” She tucks a long black curl behind my ear. “Knijä, you are beautiful and I am so sorry that we have hidden you away.”

My U-chip is connected but if it wasn’t, I know I would be leaking Waterlite from my eyes again.

 

–

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 1.3.3450 / 11:51āam |

Hoslū and I are sitting outside during a brief intermission between classes. Teenage U-mans are already walking to their classes but Hoslū and I have decided to remain seated in the atrium.

“Everyone’s so … directional,” I try to find the words. “So organised, so efficient. Finish one class, go to the next.” I watch them as they line up in perfect rows, waiting to enter their next class. “Every single student is on their U-chip, their U-screens over their face like a barrier. No one’s socialising or smiling or laughing. Not that U-mans do much of that anyway,” I sigh hopelessly. “I should stop thinking.”

“No, do not!” she says eagerly, tugging my arm. “I love that you think for yourself. I wish I could do that more.”

I notice that the large Lite Plant in front of meē flickers and, within a multīsecond, changes from a lush green into the colour of a hot burning flame much like the ones that sometimes flicker throughout our house in glass cylinders. Then, the surrounding Lite Plants follow suit, the entire atrium lighting up as the Synthetī leaves switch to a stunning amber. My skin begins to prickle due to the noticeable shift in the weather.

A sea of pre-programmed advertī pop up and echo everywhere: “Season 3, Autumn1, is now in its first stage. With the five-degree drop in weather, order your Autumn1 clothing from your U-shop now. Remember: blend in by not standing out, todaāy!”

“Ahhh, Autumn.” All negativity is suddenly gone. “My favourite season.”

“I love Winter2,” Hoslū admits. “The scarfs, the allotted daāy off, the Synthetī snow—”

“—That never falls to the ground?” I screw up my face. “That disappears before we can touch it? That’s only in the sky? I do like the annual daāy off though.” I grin, before turning quiet. I feel my cheeks burn and quickly snap my eyes down to my hands on the table in front of meē.

I’ve caught his attention as he’s picked up on meē staring at him for longer than is normal.

“What is it, Knijä?”

“Klaiūs,” I admit. I peek over in his direction again. He’s smiling and waving at meē.

I know Klaiūs appears to look like everybody else, but he is different. He has a trueness, a realness to him. From the moment I looked into his eyes it was as if he was staring into my soeūl. It was both terrifying and beautifully overwhelming. I know it’s naïve to think that Klaiūs actually is any different, he looks so similar to the boy beside him. But he is. He isn’t like everybody else, I know it. He doesn’t stare at his U-chip all daāy. After all, he noticed meē. He actually had his eyes on something other than his U-media. Meē.

“How beautiful is he?”

“Knijä,” Hoslū hushes meē, quickly tapping into her U-chip settings. She slides the option ‘sync on’ in the other direction, turning it off and giving meē a little wink. “If only we were not pre-encoded to have an assigned partner.”

“Yeah.” I watch him walk away. “If only we were given a choice.”

“Well, do not worry about that now.” Hoslū stands, the Synthetī bell ringing the moment she’s up. Right on time. “We will get to all of that when we are 25.”

“Yeah, can’t wait!”

Hoslū and I join the queue with the rest of the students, lining up for lesson 05: History. Each student swipes their U-chip on the tiny piece of technology at the door, minusing an exact amount of currencī from their credit. History classes are the most expensive of all classes but, through our communication, the doctor insists that I attend these classes and, admittedly, I do love them.

Ms. Arīka is the only teacher that I like. She stands at the front of the edū space with a mass of information spread out on the enormous Edū Screen behind her. Hoslū and I sit inside our Study Pod and smile knowingly. Klaiūs’s Study Pod is directly in front of ours.

“I cannot believe that this class is mandated to have Peār Protocols,” Hoslū whispers across to meē. The two entrances, one on the left and the other on the right, are policed by the constant cloud of two stern looking Peār Officials. We’ve always wondered why, but Ms. Arīka never worries or gets anxious about them so I try to do the same.

“Alright, 257,” she addresses us, swiping her U-chip on the control pad on the table in front of her. “I have silenced your U-chips and class can now begin.”

I press open my U-chip and my finger hovers over the U-bar. I press the Edū Tab, it taking a multīsecond to load, connecting to the Edū Portal in front of meē. My U-chip’s pixels disappear as I’m now solely connected to the screen in front of meē. The room dims and silence permits.

Ms. Arīka gently clears her throat, glances left to right, and begins.

 

 

 

|09.2|

A HISTORY LESSON (PART TWO)

 

| EXTRACTED FROM CHIRBŪ ARĪKA /

EDŪCATION LOT 0497 OF 81SUB / 01.03.3450 / 12:10ppm |

Although I wish to not feel this, anxiousness floods throughout meē as I stand in front of the edū space. No one will know the truth, not my students, nor the Peār Protocols who are a permanent fixture within my edū space. History is the most useful resource according to Peār, and I do not disagree. It is not hard to image what someone would or could do if they found out the real truth of our history.

“Alright, 257,” I address the young faces staring at meē, swiping my U-chip on the control pad. “I have silenced your U-chips and class can now begin.”

And now I lie. I will retell the story that I have been coached with in my edū modules. The wording needs to be exact, not a single inflection or word can be out of place. I will, however, add one sentence into this lesson that will hopefully make it so something like this never happens again. We will rebel. We will join the real cure.

“Todaāy is a very special daāy,” I announce. “We will be learning about the broader history of our lifeform.”

Study Pods instantly light up with pending questions and thoughts. The students are always able to think more when their U-chips are silenced. “I can see that you have many questions, but todaāy will be a lecture. There will be time for questions soon.”

I swipe my chip again and a timeline presents itself.

“There are three major periods you need to know,” I instruct. “The Technological Revolution, The Technological Resistance and The RevolUtion. U-mans have existed for roughly a thousand years, marking the beginning of The RevolUtion. Before our time, devastation and pollution ruled a planet that was once known as Earth. Riddled with disease, famine and poverty, Earth was inhabited by a race that we have little information on. The information that we can find on this species suggests that they were savage, unkind and predisposed to disease and bacteria.”

I look down for a brief moment, before continuing on in my most natural voice. “As a former doctor, I have studied this ancient species and they are inbuilt with some of the most deadly pathogens to have ever existed. Nevertheless, the U-man was created.”

I have caught her attention with the word ‘doctor’. The Peār Protocols have not batted an eye, most likely believing that I am warning the students, not trying to enlighten one of them. “The U-man was the cure,” I lock eyes with her, “a solution to the war, violence and the destruction of what was once had. The cure saved us,” I say, my insides screaming at the injustice. “We are the cure.”

I perform for the rest of the lesson. I watch the lights on each Study Pod dim as the questions from each student simmers and their thoughts are aligned with what Peār expects them to think. I explain the period (without ever mentioning the word human) where the world suffered with adapting to technology and the self-destruction that came as a consequence. Peār created the U-man as the solution, a means to an almost impossible end. I act and I suppress questioning, lying in the hope that this will soon be changed.

I had hoped that when the class ends Knijä would come up to meē and she does. The Edū Screens have dulled and the Peār Protocols have left for their mid meal. Knijä looks like any other student in the edūcation lot. I know she is not.

“Ms. Arīka?” she asks, her voice dense with intrigue.

“Yes, Knijä?”

“Am I able to speak with you for a moment, if it’s okay?”

I look at her closely and notice the slightest difference to her eyes. A patch on her arm where the cream given to her by our organisation has not effectively concealed her uneven skin tone.

“Of course, Knijä. What would you like to discuss?” I sit in front of her and glance at an old object called a ‘paperweight’ that bares the Peār logo residing on my desk. I was informed once by one of my colleagues that the Peār icon was modelled from a thing called fruit, something that was eaten before Nutrī was developed.

She glances at the paperweight and then to meē.

“You mentioned in your lecture that you were once a doctor?” she asks and I can see both fascination and fright in her eyes.

I nod at her. “For almost 30 years. I have always been devoted to history, however.”

“I’m not sure if you know her,” she leans in, speaking so low that her whispers are barely audible, a U-chip would not have been able to pick her up, “but do you know a Doctor Singkū?”

I wait for a moment to see if either of our U-chips pulse or ping but everything remains calm.

“I do,” my cheeks lift in a small smile, “and it would be within your best interest, Knijä, to return to this edūcation lot tonīght and head to the Restricted Section in the U-file Hub. Door 22.”

“Tonīght?” she gasps. “During reflect period?”

“Yes,” I instruct her. “Tonīght you will uncover the truth of our history,” I say. Her eyes grow wild with eagerness by the multīsecond. “It is time that you met our organisation, Knijä. It is time that you get some answers.”

 

 

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. The next instalment will continue this coming Monday.
Please show your support by sharing The Cure and subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.

 

The Cure, 08: Human

|08|

HUMAN

| EXTRACTED FROM KNIJÄ TĀU /

HOME LOT 2807 OF 81SUB / 28.2.2450 / 11:31ppm |

 

This is meē. The real meē. This who I am.

I’m human and I hate it. I have ever since Dād told meē the name of what I am.

I’ve never seen anyone without light blonde hair or blū eyes, let alone someone with dots all over their skin and body. The cream corrects every difference, changing my appearance entirely. I have, what they’ve explained, ‘freckles’ coating my cheeks and, oddly, one in between my index and middle finger. My parents are mandated to fill out monthly reports for the doctor and whatever organisation that she is a part of. When they made news of my ‘freckles’ it was an incredible discovery.

“Why is that?” I remember asking Mūm after they received a touchable file addressed to them.

“It is odd, they explain,” Mūm says, looking up from the piece of paper, “because they have always believed that freckles came from real saānlight exposure.”

“But our saān is Synthetī,” I say, my mīnd racing. “Where do my freckles come from then?”

“Apparently they are inherited,” she says, glancing at her own skin. “Freckles are also genetic.”

While these discoveries scare my parents, they eventually pacify just like any other U-man once their U-chip refreshes from syncing or updating. Their emotions and reactions dissolve as if they are a Vitī Supplement that has been added to Waterlite. But despite being neutralised, nothing is ever forgotten.

I quickly realised that something as simple as a miniscule dot on my face, my body or in between my fingers is dangerous. Dangerous because I don’t refresh and nothing is ever clear.

I press my fingers through my tight dark ringlets and blink many times at the colour of my eyes. If U-mans are metaphorically comparable to the sky, as we’re taught in class, then I’m comparable to a Lite Plant. A hideous, un-Metraviān, stupid Lite Plant. I have long tangled black roots that spill down my forehead and brown eyes, the colour of soil, the kind that is encoded in Summer2. I detest this secret. I wish more than anything to just belong, to be a U-man, even though I would detest the compliance and limited mindset that would come with it.

My whole life has been a continuous struggle to stay in line, to perform and to make sure that I don’t stand out. But I do and my differences are staring back at meē. Dark hair, dark eyes, spots and discoloration. I’m the odd one out, the incorrectly programmed patch of sky.

A memorī opens up on my U-chip and I see myself reflected in my maāther’s eyes.

“I can’t go back there.” I’m 13 years old. “Everyone stares at meē. They know, they know, they must.”

She wants to make it all better but she doesn’t know how. “They do not, Knijä, honestly. How could they?”

“How can they not?! Even with the adjustments I barely pass as a U-man.” I spit the world out in disgust, despite desperately longing to be one. I want perfection, to not have to worry. To fit in. To comply. “I can’t go back to edūcation, I just can’t.”

“My sweet, you have to.” My faāther’s voice, reassuring and soothing. He takes my hand. “You are stronger than this.”

The memorī shuts down as a yawn escapes my mouth. I’m tired. This is one of the many things that can’t be ‘altered’ or ‘fixed.’ Sleep.

Every daāy I close my eyes and I don’t open them for extended periods of time. It worried my parents when I would doze off as a baby. My eyes would close and wouldn’t open again. They would entertain meē, provoke meē and talk to meē to keep meē awake. The more it went on, however, and the older I got, the more we all realised that it is something that I need to do in order to function properly.

“I cannot fathom it,” my Dād says in another memorī, his concerned face flashing on my U-screen. “You have done it since the daāy we brought you home. You would shut down for minutes at a time. Now it is for hours. It is getting worse, Knijä.”

“It’s been explained over and over again, Dād,” I say. My patience is thin in the memorī, but my voice attempts to remain cool. “This is something that I need. I’m human, I’m not like you. I can’t live the same as you do.”

I now sleep for two to three hours a daāy during reflect period, if I can, but I fear that it will increase as time goes on. I’m growing wearier more easily and I know that three hours is not enough.

This is only one small problem that’s part of a larger, much more complex equation: meē. I close my eyes and shake my head. I look away from my reflection and wonder when I will get my answers.

I hear voices rising. Mūm and Hoslū. They’re coming down the hallway. My breathing sharpens, my stomach tightens. My shaking hand races for the cream to re-cover my skin. I tug the cap of hair on my head, shoving the tendrils of ugly hair underneath.

“Knijä?”

She’s going to see. She’ll be terrified of meē.

I can hear my heaārt in my ears. I can feel my lungs in my throat.

I’m not going to make it in time.

The door slides open.

 

The Cure will be published in full on Monday the 15th of August.
The Cure is written by J. R Knight, illustrated by Paul Ikin and edited by Kayla Marie Murphy.
The first 15 instalments of The Cure will be published week by week on The Knight Life. The next instalment will continue this coming Monday.
Please show your support by sharing The Cure and subscribing to The Knight Life. Enter in your email via the right hand side for desktop users, scroll down for mobile/table users.