Sonny,

How have you been? I hope you are feeling alright. I know things have been tough for you, but try to hold on. I’ve been remembering things lately, like your mother for example.

I also remember back then the goverment would treat us like dogs. They would tread on us. I knew how it was, not because of my age, but because of the stories I had read. Knowledge was banned, except for the knowledge that came built into us.

I had my chip removed a while back and since then I had ceased to remember most of the pertaining things of history. It cost me great effort to evolve a mind of my own again, and then to start piecing the bits and bobs of my memory back together again.

So, Gregory told me the other day that he was falling apart. It seems we are all falling apart nowadays. I haven’t been able to find a new book to read in years, and Gregory is feeling more depressed every day with the news. He really hates when the chemical injections start to kick in when he’s feeling down. It’s really annoying, you start feeling bad and the chip injects you, you’re feeling too good and it injects you again, you’re feeling like a rebel and it injects you, you’re feeling unusual and it injects you. Gregory was on the verge of killing himself yesterday but the chip altered his mood yet again, stopping him from committing such action. Not that I would care that much anyway, I mean, he is my best friend but he no longer thinks by himself.

It is ridiculously dangerous to even attempt removing the chip as when it is removed it sends out a GPS alert immediately. I had to cut my arm off, throw the whole thing in a bin several kilometres away, and run like mad. Even so, I’ve been hiding for several years now, I’m surely being searched for, you know, my arm had my DNA and stuff. It’s obvious they are looking for me. Not that they need to really look anyway, they’ve just got these readers everywhere.

I once read up on these ‘license plate’ readers they installed back at the start of the previous millennium. That was only the beginning of many changes to come. Nowadays everything seems peaceful, there are no wars, there is no crime, and the world is at peace, at the cost of the freedom of millions of people.

I wish I could go back to the old world. I mean, it’s great not seeing murder, death, suicide and violence on the TV every day. It’s great not fearing getting knifed outside your apartment in London. It’s great not losing loved ones to wars like the great Iran war in 2015, or the 3rd or 4th world war. It’s great not having to worry about the news, about the weather, about car accidents. But then again, that randomness in life was what made it particularly interesting. Now they care for everything for us, I mean, for those who have the chips. The weather is always standard, the population numbers are always the same, the amount of energy input/output is always the same, the distribution of people across planets is equivalent, it’s all bloody perfect in the end.

I wish I could get a drink of whiskey, you know, one of those Glen… Glen… oh god, I forgot the name years ago, never-mind. Maybe a Chivas would do the trick, if there only was any.

So Gregory said he’ll be stopping by today to bring me a little “fresh” milk and cheese. I better be going now son, I hope you are having a great time, don’t try to find me (not that you’d be able to leave you’re place with that intention anyway), and think not of me as a prisoner, but a free man. I hope this letter gets to you and overpowers the will imposed on you by the machine. I hope one day you acquire the power to liberate yourself. Until then, take care.

Regards,

David Paterson

No related posts.

A few hours before, Johnny had been struggling inside. Not struggling in the womb, but struggling for a purchase. Johnny was on the marketplace, looking for a seller. He had 73 good deeds, but also quite a few bad ones.

Deeds, as we know, weigh themselves out. In the end he had 5 leverage deeds… Karma. Usually new bodies cost 9 to 10 karma points, so he wasn’t able to purchase a good one.

Robert Davis was about to be a father. He was waiting aside his wife, Johanna, in Carlisle Hospital after 3 hours of intense labour. Johanna was really tense, shock in her face, red eyed, screaming.

Johnny made a decision. He chose a new body, Albert Davis. Albert was going to die in a car crash at 29, however, was going to live an enjoyable stress-free life until then. He was going to have all 4 limbs, a good looking head, blond hair, blue eyes, and a beautiful mother.

Because of Albert’s short life span, the price was only 5 quid so Johnny went for it. And so Albert was born, unknowledgeable, fearful, memories leaving him in exchange of a new life, a new chance.

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The Swig

Short Story By J. Warner. First revision by LeMiffe.

Prologue

Retrograde amnesia is a form of amnesia where someone will be unable to recall events that occurred before the onset of amnesia. It is caused by trauma that results in brain injury. Critical details of the physical changes in the brain that cause retrograde amnesia are still unknown. Retrograde amnesia is often temporally graded, meaning that remote memories are more easily accessible than events occurring just prior to the trauma. Events nearest in time to the accident that caused memory loss may never be recovered.

In Total Retrograde Amnesia, a person may not recall who he or she is, or their relatives, or childhood, among other things. Episodes may last up to one or two weeks.

Adam, our main character, has suffered an accident while unboarding from a bus in the center of downtown L.A.

He suffers a bout of amnesia, in which he wanders around town in a state of semi-consciousness.

SCENE I

It is early morning in Los Angeles, California, at approximately eleven a.m., and the temperature is warm, approaching 25ºC. A relatively young man, who is perhaps 25 or so years old, awakens in an old abandoned parking lot, he is lying on his side on a turf of grass. He is aroused from his sleep by a tugging sensation on his arm. The man’s name is Adam Fields, except he doesn’t remember that.

ADAM (opening his eyes and looking around): Huh? Wha- what’s goin’ on?

He sees a man of ragged appearance, with dirty clothes and an unwashed, un-shaven face, who is tugging on Adam’s wristwatch

ADAM: Hey! What the hell are you doing? That’s my watch, lay off, man!

RANDY (the vagabond): Oh, huh, wha? Hrmmph, what? oh sorry, geeze – I thought you was unconscious –

ADAM (pushing off the vagabond): Get the hell off me!

RANDY: Woah, hey dude, be calm, really sorry there –

ADAM (gets up, dusts himself off): What the – what’s going on? Who are you anyway? Where am I? (looks around, completely disoriented).

RANDY (scratching his disheveled beard): Well – err, this is, uh, pretty much an old parking lot – and you was passed out right here on the ground, an’ hadn’t been if I come along and found you here, you’da been picked up by them police–

ADAM (staring at the homeless guy in front of him): The hell are you on about?

RANDY (holds out his hand): The name’s Randy, ol’ fella. What were ye doin’ lyin’ ‘ere on the ground fer, anyway? (his breath smells of hard liquor).

ADAM (looks around again, scratching his head, coughs and clears his throat): Well – I’m not sure exactly… I mean, what day is it? I mean – where are we? I’m just – I don’t really know what happened. I just woke up here.

RANDY: Well, ya can be sure as hell we’re in Cali. Damned hot-as-hell state if there ever was any. So who are ya then? (takes out a bent, dirty cigarette from his pocket).

ADAM: I’m – well my name is — (he thinks a bit, looking confused. Suddenly, a shocked, dumbfounded look comes over his face, his eyes widening). I – I’m –

RANDY: Well?

ADAM (looks at Randy, then looks at his hands, then, holding his head in his hands stammers): I – I don’t remember my name!! I don’t know – jesus, I don’t know who I am!

RANDY (emits a strange chuckle, then starts to choke, coughs, and clears his throat): whaddaya mean, ya don’t know who ya are?

ADAM: (with a blank look on his face, and going completely pale) I don’t know. I don’t remember my name, or how I got here. I don’t – I don’t remember anything. (feeling his knees give out, he sinks to the ground, and stares at the road).

RANDY: You gotta be joking. (he lights up his cigarette, inhaling deeply.) don’t you got an ID?

ADAM (searching his pockets for a wallet, a card, anything that might tell him who he is): …ah shit, no. It appears I’ve been robbed, for christ’s sake. I have no goddamn idea of who I am, or what happened yesterday, or a week ago, or anything.

RANDY (puffs out smoke): Don’tcha know if ye have a house, ‘partment, or anythin’ of the sort? A wife? kids?

ADAM: I’ve no idea, man. Not a friggin’ clue.

RANDY (stubs out the cigarette with his shoe): Well, normally I wouldn’ help anyone out, but you can come with me if ya want. I was ‘bout to get me lunch when I gone and stumbled ‘cross ya here.

ADAM (muttering under his breath, shuffles along with the hobo): huh, yeah, sure man, thanks.

SCENE II

Adam and Randy have been walking around the city for awhile. Adam’s head hurts, and they are both hungry and tired. It is around six or so p.m. and they are somewhere in downtown L.A.

ADAM (occasionally glancing at street signs, stores, people): So how is it that you people live? Just lie around asking for change, dive into a dumpster for lunch, and look for a nice comfy bench to sleep on at night or what?

RANDY (peels off dirt and grime from a sandwich he found on the street): Pretty much, yeah.

ADAM: wow.

RANDY: Yeah it’s pretty tough, being unemployed and homeless an’ all.

They walk to a desolated alleyway behind a McDonalds, and Randy leans against the dumpster, lighting another cigarette. He bends into the trashcan, fumbles around a bit, and retrieves a grimy-looking bottle of malt whiskey.

He takes a swig, and passes it to Adam, who refuses it.

ADAM: Man, I’m messed up enough already.

RANDY: Suit yerself. (takes another swig).

ADAM: Yeah so, uh, how’d you become a hobo anyway?

RANDY (takes a specially long swig from the bottle): Well ah, pretty much the same ol’ story. Wife found me cheating, ordered a lawsuit, took away my house, car, everything. Turned to alcohol, lost my job and whatnot, and here you have me, seven years later.

ADAM: Well that sucks. But yeah, you were an idiot, and you kinda looked for it yourself —

RANDY (annoyed and slightly drunk, takes a swing at Adam with the bottle): HEY man, you shuddehell up man, you don’t know what you’re saying, she was a goddamn filthy –

Startled by a sudden loud crash, the backdoor of a house slamming open, they both turn to face a woman, stumbling headfirst into the street.

ADAM: What the hell–

A man, standing drunkenly in the doorway, shouts at the slumped figure of the woman.

MAN: Yeh stupid hooker! Suit yerself! An’ don’t even bother comin’ knocking on the door, I’m not letting you back in tonight! (he smashes a beer bottle on the wall, retreats into the house muttering, and slams the door).

ADAM (muttering): Goddamn friggin’ rednecks… (looks at the woman, who is sobbing on the ground) you okay lady?

The woman’s name is Anne, appears to be middle aged or a bit younger, and seems to be hurt. She looks up at Adam, standing up from the ground, and holding her hurt elbow with tears in her eyes.

ANNE (breathes deeply, and looks at them both straight in the eyes): Yeah.

Yeah I think I’m alright, thanks.

RANDY (offering the bottle of malt whiskey): C’mon lovey, have a drink, ‘s on me.

ANNE (wrinkling her nose, she declines the offer): Yeah, sorry about that, the stupid bastard. Who are you guys anyway? I mean you’re obviously destitute–

RANDY (stumbling around a bit): Jus’ unemployed, young lady. (takes another drink). An’ he’s – (pointing at Adam) – well, he don’t really have a name, doesn’t remember who he is, so ye can call ‘im whateva ya like. Right, Doug?

ADAM: Pretty much.

Anne shakes both their hands, dusts herself off, turns and stars to walk out of the alleyway.

RYAN: Hey – hey lady, hey WAIT! Where’s you goin’ off to, jus’ like that, respectable woman like yerself – at this hour (it is already nearing nightfall).

ANNE: I don’t really know! See you around!

ADAM: Hey, wait!

Adam and Randy catch up to the woman and they walk out into the crowded streets again, now lit by streetlamps.

SCENE III

Adam, Randy, and Anne are sitting at a small cheap café downtown, drinking coffee. There are neon lights and large crowds swarming outside.

ANNE (stirring her coffee): I am so pissed off. That idiot, nearly broke my nose last week –

ADAM: Why not go to the police?

ANNE (sighs): Well first off, he’s threatened to kill me. Plus I don’t really have much evidence, except for a bruised elbow, and a few bruises on my knees, and his stupid cousin works in the force – they’d never act against him.

RANDY: Why not just leave him?

ANNE: I’ve tried that. Just once. I have nowhere to go to… he took me in a few years ago, I was on the streets. I have no family or friends. He’d find me sooner or later anyway, like he did last time. (she looks out the window to avoid looking in their eyes).

ADAM: Let’s get out of here.

They walk out into the streets again, Randy is hungry so they go down an alleyway to search in a garbage can.

ANNE: So, why haven’t you gone to the police yet, since you lost your memory and everything?

ADAM (shrugging): I don’t know. I just thought well, you know, why give a damn. I’ve heard of cases like this – I’ll probably just recover my memories soon, I hope. I’ll probably just go and turn myself in soon though, and they’ll find out who I am sooner or later, contact my family, etcetera. The initial shock has passed, anyhow.

RANDY (biting into a moldy chicken sandwich): mmmfhhmm. What’s identity worth anyway. We’re all just the same.

Out of the darkness, a loud voice suddenly startles the three of them.

MAN’S VOICE (shouting): WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?

ANNA (shrinking back behind the dumpster, whispers) oh my god, its him.

RYAN: whaddahell ya want? (shattering his whiskey bottle, he confronts the other drunken man)

MAN (approaching Anna): What do you think you’re doing? Who the hell are these idiots anyway? You’re coming home with me right now.

ANNA (walks toward the man, whose name is Mark, crying softly): Please don’t hurt them, Mark. They were just trying to help. I’ll go with you now.

MARK: Yes you are, but not before I’m done with this idiot. (he starts walking towards Randy, who is holding the broken bottle in his hand, menacing Mark)

RANDY (shouting): Well, come on then ya fag!

Mark raises his fist to deliver a punch straight to Randy’s jaw. It hits full contact, sending Randy reeling down to the ground.

At this point, Adam, who was hiding in the darkness, jumps out and cracks an empty bottle on Mark’s head. He shouts in pain, reels around, blood flowing down his face, and grabs Adam in a choke-hold. He holds him on the ground, beating him, until Adam becomes unconscious.

Epilogue

Adam awakens the next day in a clean, white hospital room.

He starts with a shock, rising violently from his bed, and gazes around him.

Everything seems blurry, but slowly comes into focus.

There is an older woman he barely recognizes, who has dozed off on a chair next to his bed. She reacts when Adam wakes up.

“Oh my god, you’re awake, finally!” and leans in to hug him. She smells so familiar… Mom?”

“It’s me honey. I heard… You have no idea how we’ve been worrying about you.”

I remembered who she is, Adam thinks. Perhaps it will all start coming back to me now.

“What happened?” he asks. Then, the reality of what happened hit him. He tries to leap out of bed – “Oh my god, Randy! And Anne – what happened?!”

The woman – he remembers her name now, she is his mother, Jacqueline. She frowns.

“Well – no one really knows what happened. Some guy found you in an alleyway, unconscious, broken glass and blood everywhere, and dragged you here, left you in the emergency room. I’m very sorry Adam…”

Adam. That was his name…

“But what happened to Ryan and Anne?”

“Who are they?”

“A homeless guy… and this woman, we were helping her – and her husband or whatever he was, he came looking for us. I was trying to help…”

Adam starts to doze off from reality again. Everything seems fuzzy. He tries to stay awake, but can’t.

Jacqueline leans back in her seat with a sigh, opens the newspaper she was reading when she dozed off.

On the front page, there is a story about a possible homicide that went on the previous day.

Man identified by the name of Mark Campbell, found dead in his apartment, on Blanker street in downtown L.A. on Thursday morning, at exactly 6.05 a.m. Neighbors reported hearing violent activity from his apartment just few minutes before that, and a gunshot going off. Apparently, there had been a struggle with a certain woman he was living with, of whom no information, neither her current location, has been found. The only fingerprints on the gun were his own. Police and private investigators assume there was a struggle over life-and-death, and the gun might have accidentally gone off, killing Mark. An investigation is still underway.

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