| The Fallen Phoenix | 07-03-2005 03:17 PM |
This is what I did on the flight from New York to Venice...it has not been revised yet, so keep that in mind when criticizing this piece (which I hope someone does)! It isn't really completed, either...well, maybe. I am not really sure if I should continue it or not. On the one hand, I sort of like how it ends, but on the other, I wouldn't mind writing through the second season as well.
---
I am just one of the faceless, a not so rare individual here in the City of Amnesia--the city without a past. Yes, forty years ago, everyone in this city suddenly--inexplicitly--lost all memories of the past. This was not just limited to knowledge of history, the sciences, and literature: individuals lost their very identities. So what did humanity do, to somehow overcome perhaps the greatest--though it can never be truly known--stumbling block in history?
What must be our very nature: we survive. However we can.
So here we are: yet another day, a day like so many others. Another rainy day here in this City of Amnesia. Granted, one would never know it, trapped in these cursed domes all day long--yes, I do not hesitate to curse them any slower than those outside, mistakenly envious of a life that's not really worth having. Syrprised? That's certainly not one to me: no one bothers to ask us, what it is like to be unfortunate enough to be born into luxury.
I resent it, every day of my life. Quietly; no one can ever hear me. No one ever wants to. The tears keep falling, the veil remains unwavering, both working in unison today to hide the sun, a sun I've never seen. A sun I'll never see.
Nothing changes here; nothing ever will. That is the curse of the domes: that is the legacy they leave us. Never moving, never changing: perpetual stagnation, that bastard child of the idle life.
Yes my dear, the world is a lot different than what you imagined it to be. That man under the black umbrella? Another dome dweller, another faceless face to pin your trouples on. Another rich boy who doesn't know your struggle; provably never will. A boy who survives a life of luxury. A boy who despises the rain as much as you do. A boy who has no more memories than you do. A man enslaved to Alex Rosewater no less than you are.
His influence is strong in the domes: it is a suffocating grip. The Military Police are always out there, patrolling the streets. Most are less visible than others. But they are always there: at the arrogant bastard's beck and call. Protectors of the city, enforcers of the law? Rather amusing, actually. Go about your business; spend your wealth, the money that's so cold to the touch, and smile as you uphold the idle life. The guardians nod at you, nod for Rosewater, as you contribute to his city, the city he rules with an iron fist.
But you have you have your wealth, you have your domes. The garbage outside is the last thing on your mind, the ones who have never known the life of luxury.
And like any good human, you survive.
That's not quite living...
...but that's life.
***
Another megadeus arrives: at least, I think that's what they're called. These harbringers of destruction, whose only purpose--apparently--is to burden those who wallow in luxury. Every dweller knows Rosewater must watch, helplessly, as his personal army of toy soldiers fall in front of the megadeus, putting up no resistance. And we smile, secure in our knowledge that it must vex him: in the perfect paradigm of control, a variable is introduced, a variable he did not name. For once in his pampered life--the life we are always cursed for having--he can only watch like the rest of us, rich and poor.
And then the Black Megadeus arrives, and all too soon the dream comes to an end. The illusion of unpredictability is shattered into the jagged shards of reality. The savior of the poor, that megadeus may very well be; I curse it nonetheless. For so long as it exists, the idle life can never die. Once more we fall into Rosewater's suffocating control, and the paradigm of control is reestablished.
Some whisper Rosewater despises the Black Megadeus: like the foes it fells, it is nothing more than another variable he cannot control. It is a threat to his status as our only god.
...but who am I, to be bothered with the fruitless struggles of the gods? I'm just a faceless face, the recipient of a thousand people's hate and envy. I'll go on surviving this stagnant life, and I'll never see the sun rise or set. I could care less if half the city is destroyed, if the idle life must continue unchallenged. That is my only real adversary: anything telse is another distraction, a false window into the chaos I desperately pray for.
***
Michael Seebach always writes interesting news stories: I do not think there is anyone in the city who can match his skill with the pen. I don't know anyone else who can make the idle life seem so exciting, even if it is for a fleeting moment. Even if the subject is as plain and common as an irrelevant kidnapping--it happens a lot more often than you might think--his words just have the uncanny ability to embrace and drag you into a world of ink and paper.
Just a few weeks ago, he did a special piece on a failed negotiation: apparently, one Dorothy Wayneright was captured by some two-bit criminal and held as ransom. A professional negotiator was brought in, talks distintegrated, missiles were exchanged, and an android was left behind.
But of course, no story would be complete without the arrival of another megadeus. And then I really have to question whether Seebach didn't just make it all up in that brilliant mind of his.
Until I drive through the dome myself, and see the destruction with my very own eyes. They are all you can trust, in a city that cannot remember the past. Only the present matters to us, and only as we see it.
A few days later, Seebach released his greatest--and most controversial--news article to date. It was an editorial that did the unthinkable--it challenged our very means of survival. He asked unanswerable questions: questions about life, the Underground, the past, memories, fear, and Truth. It was all rather profound, and it really had me thinking. Perhaps humans are meant to do more than simply survive...
Maybe there is a single Truth floating about in the sea of our dreams and fears.
But even if there were...I could not help but be drawn back to the real truth, the only reality I have ever known.
The life of survival will just go on, the idle life of luxuries I have always been able to afford but never once desired.
Staganation will continue, and Rosewater's perfect paradigm will go unchanging.
A reporter's incessant questioning will never part the stormy veils and let the sun rise. I will walk back into the rain under my black umbrella, and meet the curses that await me.
That's what it means to survive on the other side of life.
***
It wasn't long until my favorite distraction was no more. Michael Seebach never wrote another article, and he disappeared like a faint memory. I don't think anyone really notices he is now gone: the stagnant life marches on, and nothing has changed. The days run together like a flowing stream, each successive hour no different than the last. Oh, there are a fair share of incidents: a megadeus will appear, Rosewater will flinch, and the Black Megadeus will lay it all to rest. Nevertheless, the cycle continues unbroken.
Until one day...one glorious day, that I am convinced will never come again.
The winter arrived rather quickly this year. It had certainly snuck up on me, but I cannot say I ever really noticed the seasons this year. The only true sign that a new new season was upon us was the snow that replaced the rain: another cog in the machine that is a perfect paradigm of control, of stagnation.
My feelings of apathy were hard to shake, even for Heaven's Day. Like may of my fellow Dome Dwellers, I had no significant other: rarher ironic, as I am sure there is little else most of us can do. But apathy gripped me, an event not so uncommon for the rich. And why not? Nothing ever changes, the sun never rises, Rosewater's grip never loosens. The idle life never goes away for us, however much we wish it would.
And no one cares for the faceless faces. Why, then, should we treat anyone else any differently?
Despite the all-too-familiar apathy, and the idle life that never changed, it was a Heaven's Day to remember. A mysterious tree took root in the Central Dome: a massive, green, and living tree. It was actually quite a sight: I know I will never see anything as grand, as pure, ever again.
It was no sun rise, but it was as close as we will ever get. It might not have been enough to end a lifetime of stagnation, but it brought a moment's respite.
For a single, glorious day, my life was not so idle. The paradigm was not so perfect. The faces not so faceless. A sun did not seem so deep in our memories...
It was a story from another side of life...
A side I had not seen before, a side I have not seen since.
But a side that lives on within, nevertheless.
---
I am just one of the faceless, a not so rare individual here in the City of Amnesia--the city without a past. Yes, forty years ago, everyone in this city suddenly--inexplicitly--lost all memories of the past. This was not just limited to knowledge of history, the sciences, and literature: individuals lost their very identities. So what did humanity do, to somehow overcome perhaps the greatest--though it can never be truly known--stumbling block in history?
What must be our very nature: we survive. However we can.
So here we are: yet another day, a day like so many others. Another rainy day here in this City of Amnesia. Granted, one would never know it, trapped in these cursed domes all day long--yes, I do not hesitate to curse them any slower than those outside, mistakenly envious of a life that's not really worth having. Syrprised? That's certainly not one to me: no one bothers to ask us, what it is like to be unfortunate enough to be born into luxury.
I resent it, every day of my life. Quietly; no one can ever hear me. No one ever wants to. The tears keep falling, the veil remains unwavering, both working in unison today to hide the sun, a sun I've never seen. A sun I'll never see.
Nothing changes here; nothing ever will. That is the curse of the domes: that is the legacy they leave us. Never moving, never changing: perpetual stagnation, that bastard child of the idle life.
Yes my dear, the world is a lot different than what you imagined it to be. That man under the black umbrella? Another dome dweller, another faceless face to pin your trouples on. Another rich boy who doesn't know your struggle; provably never will. A boy who survives a life of luxury. A boy who despises the rain as much as you do. A boy who has no more memories than you do. A man enslaved to Alex Rosewater no less than you are.
His influence is strong in the domes: it is a suffocating grip. The Military Police are always out there, patrolling the streets. Most are less visible than others. But they are always there: at the arrogant bastard's beck and call. Protectors of the city, enforcers of the law? Rather amusing, actually. Go about your business; spend your wealth, the money that's so cold to the touch, and smile as you uphold the idle life. The guardians nod at you, nod for Rosewater, as you contribute to his city, the city he rules with an iron fist.
But you have you have your wealth, you have your domes. The garbage outside is the last thing on your mind, the ones who have never known the life of luxury.
And like any good human, you survive.
That's not quite living...
...but that's life.
***
Another megadeus arrives: at least, I think that's what they're called. These harbringers of destruction, whose only purpose--apparently--is to burden those who wallow in luxury. Every dweller knows Rosewater must watch, helplessly, as his personal army of toy soldiers fall in front of the megadeus, putting up no resistance. And we smile, secure in our knowledge that it must vex him: in the perfect paradigm of control, a variable is introduced, a variable he did not name. For once in his pampered life--the life we are always cursed for having--he can only watch like the rest of us, rich and poor.
And then the Black Megadeus arrives, and all too soon the dream comes to an end. The illusion of unpredictability is shattered into the jagged shards of reality. The savior of the poor, that megadeus may very well be; I curse it nonetheless. For so long as it exists, the idle life can never die. Once more we fall into Rosewater's suffocating control, and the paradigm of control is reestablished.
Some whisper Rosewater despises the Black Megadeus: like the foes it fells, it is nothing more than another variable he cannot control. It is a threat to his status as our only god.
...but who am I, to be bothered with the fruitless struggles of the gods? I'm just a faceless face, the recipient of a thousand people's hate and envy. I'll go on surviving this stagnant life, and I'll never see the sun rise or set. I could care less if half the city is destroyed, if the idle life must continue unchallenged. That is my only real adversary: anything telse is another distraction, a false window into the chaos I desperately pray for.
***
Michael Seebach always writes interesting news stories: I do not think there is anyone in the city who can match his skill with the pen. I don't know anyone else who can make the idle life seem so exciting, even if it is for a fleeting moment. Even if the subject is as plain and common as an irrelevant kidnapping--it happens a lot more often than you might think--his words just have the uncanny ability to embrace and drag you into a world of ink and paper.
Just a few weeks ago, he did a special piece on a failed negotiation: apparently, one Dorothy Wayneright was captured by some two-bit criminal and held as ransom. A professional negotiator was brought in, talks distintegrated, missiles were exchanged, and an android was left behind.
But of course, no story would be complete without the arrival of another megadeus. And then I really have to question whether Seebach didn't just make it all up in that brilliant mind of his.
Until I drive through the dome myself, and see the destruction with my very own eyes. They are all you can trust, in a city that cannot remember the past. Only the present matters to us, and only as we see it.
A few days later, Seebach released his greatest--and most controversial--news article to date. It was an editorial that did the unthinkable--it challenged our very means of survival. He asked unanswerable questions: questions about life, the Underground, the past, memories, fear, and Truth. It was all rather profound, and it really had me thinking. Perhaps humans are meant to do more than simply survive...
Maybe there is a single Truth floating about in the sea of our dreams and fears.
But even if there were...I could not help but be drawn back to the real truth, the only reality I have ever known.
The life of survival will just go on, the idle life of luxuries I have always been able to afford but never once desired.
Staganation will continue, and Rosewater's perfect paradigm will go unchanging.
A reporter's incessant questioning will never part the stormy veils and let the sun rise. I will walk back into the rain under my black umbrella, and meet the curses that await me.
That's what it means to survive on the other side of life.
***
It wasn't long until my favorite distraction was no more. Michael Seebach never wrote another article, and he disappeared like a faint memory. I don't think anyone really notices he is now gone: the stagnant life marches on, and nothing has changed. The days run together like a flowing stream, each successive hour no different than the last. Oh, there are a fair share of incidents: a megadeus will appear, Rosewater will flinch, and the Black Megadeus will lay it all to rest. Nevertheless, the cycle continues unbroken.
Until one day...one glorious day, that I am convinced will never come again.
The winter arrived rather quickly this year. It had certainly snuck up on me, but I cannot say I ever really noticed the seasons this year. The only true sign that a new new season was upon us was the snow that replaced the rain: another cog in the machine that is a perfect paradigm of control, of stagnation.
My feelings of apathy were hard to shake, even for Heaven's Day. Like may of my fellow Dome Dwellers, I had no significant other: rarher ironic, as I am sure there is little else most of us can do. But apathy gripped me, an event not so uncommon for the rich. And why not? Nothing ever changes, the sun never rises, Rosewater's grip never loosens. The idle life never goes away for us, however much we wish it would.
And no one cares for the faceless faces. Why, then, should we treat anyone else any differently?
Despite the all-too-familiar apathy, and the idle life that never changed, it was a Heaven's Day to remember. A mysterious tree took root in the Central Dome: a massive, green, and living tree. It was actually quite a sight: I know I will never see anything as grand, as pure, ever again.
It was no sun rise, but it was as close as we will ever get. It might not have been enough to end a lifetime of stagnation, but it brought a moment's respite.
For a single, glorious day, my life was not so idle. The paradigm was not so perfect. The faces not so faceless. A sun did not seem so deep in our memories...
It was a story from another side of life...
A side I had not seen before, a side I have not seen since.
But a side that lives on within, nevertheless.
