Why Aren't Utopias Portrayed More In Our Anthology?

Artwork By Jonas DeRo

It seems clear that there are exceedingly more examples of dystopias in literature and present fiction than utopias. Even where certain utopias are highlighted in films or novels of today, such as in the animated world of zootopia, there always exists a certain underlying feature of the society that proves the seemingly perfect aspect of the society false or vulnerable. Inevitably, this would serve to eradicate the illusion of a utopia completely after certain revelations, periods of time – or eventual plot twists.

I believe that there are a few underlying reasons for this phenomenon. It can later be understood that these would range from the blatantly obvious to conclusions which both question and credit the inherent nature of humans as individuals. These make one ponder on the ability to achieve the attainment of a true and sustainable egalitarian society.

The first reason that explains why utopians are very rarely stipulated as a choice setting for a novel is that, frankly, utopian portrayals tend to be completely without meaning. Utopias are defined as glorified societies with desirable or nearly-perfect qualities. It would thus result that with a setting so perfect and egalitarian, the problems that would potentially arise in an ordinary environment are effectively muted and sometimes by-passed altogether. This lack of meaningful conflict tends to result in works that seem dull and almost impossible to relate to or empathize with. In fact, when faced with a world so seemingly flawless and unoriginal - and which stays that way throughout the novel or film -  there almost doesn’t seem a point to having a plotline at all.

Moving along this line of thought, one might also argue that any elements that could be extracted from a utopian storyline would therefore just be too inconsequential to make the time invested into it seem worth it. A reader learns more from conflicts, and thus a protagonist’s long and harrowing journey is often validated by the sense of growth that is gained from identifying and overcoming specific adversities. Without this sense of having ‘gained’ from the context, which results only from maneuvering around a particular crisis at hand – and which is completely non-existent in utopias – the novel more often than not simply falls short of generating a satisfying conclusion and a sense of value for its consumer.

Another reason why a setting like this is very rarely weaved into existence is the sheer paradoxical nature of a utopia. There is a dominating complexity and consideration that must be put securely in place and upheld by the society to even generate the semblance of a utopia. This tends to destroy the framework or aspects necessary for the existence of it altogether. How believable would it be to influence everything in ‘just-right’ proportions, and to ensure that things function without the very least possibility of faltering? And more so, how possible is it to achieve this without the necessary entailing of the excessive amount of work and mental capacities that must carefully correspond to attain this?

This is almost cognizant of how a human exists as an individual. If there existed an utopia, would there really be no guarantee that somebody would not rebel? And if they did manage to take charge in a way that did not fully compromise the society, would this not point to an inherent weakness or vulnerability of the utopian setting altogether? After all, would a society not impact everyone living within it? And is it not made up, first and foremost, by the body or underlying mentality that governs it?

Humanity is built around individuality, and in all walks of life it is apparent that human selfishness and greed does exist. Human beings are flawed, and so are the decisions that one might make throughout their lives in line with others and their own personal welfare.

A truly utopian society would surely entail the presence of free will, and thus with such a privilege, how well could a species not deemed entirely ‘perfect’ in its own right actually fare upon the encountering of every decisive turn? In this way, it could even be argued that the existence or functioning of a true utopia is simply impossible to fabricate, due to the very fact that the ones benefiting from the utopia are rarely perfect individuals themselves. This speaks of the nature of a society’s inhabitants, and how the true tendencies and characteristics of a population would deem certain equilibrium outcomes close to impossible.

Yet, another reason why utopias are rarely portrayed nowadays could be the capabilities and mentalities of readers and consumers of the present.

Beyond the skepticism that comes with the meshing of human nature and ‘perfect’ lasting outcomes, our understanding of our real world and societies today have certainly made utopias a wishful product of the past. What we have learned from past utopian societies are that, one – they appear relatively short-lived, and two – they also appear predominantly doomed for failure from the very start. This lack of faith and belief that results, in a truly utopian setting, is thus proving the existence of one ultimately impossible – both in a physical aspect – as in the reasons listed initially – as well as in the mental context of the consumer themselves.

Rather, to put it more briefly, the present-day consumer is no longer as easily fooled or impressed as they had been in previous generations.

Therefore, there exists many reasons for the decreased presence of utopias in our literature and films – these have ranged from the simply duller nature of such plotlines, to the underlying paradoxical nature of true utopias and the sheer conflict the existence of one would have with the true and honest natures of its inhabitants. And from a much wider yet valid point of view, it should be mentioned that with the current mental attitude and knowledge of consumers, an utopian setting is simply not believable, empathized with, or able to be sold and accepted readily today.

- NK

Misguided Arrogance (Series Two)

As Long

I never asked for silence

Or apologies whence I slept,

Nor had I asked a sacrifice

For you to leave your rest

My words are true and honest

I'd rather that than sin

To make you think there was a chance

When we would not begin;

I never asked for riches

And true, turned them away

Your offerings may be made of gold

But soul is what will stay!

Don't ply me again 

With these sad stories

To invoke strong sense of pity;

Am I to sacrifice my time right now

Because yours was not pretty?

A fool may live, where martyr may not

For alas, I am not as holy;

Thus, layer not empty pleasantries

For chest grows tighter, blight;

A sense of crawling across skin,

In face of heated bigotry!

We haven't met more than three times

To even know at all,

And yet the times we have conversed

We simply could not fall;

So wipe clear tears and promises

Of all these these things you'd do

Did you think love was simply won

Because you'd been nice too?

As people we are all decent

Tell me if that's not true!

If you expect an island for that

It makes me wonder, who? -

Oh who have you been unkind to

Because you never thought,

There was a chance to find a match - 

Such frightens me a lot!

My dear, you should abandon well

To leave these tricks of time

Nor guilt others into staying long

As long as you are waiting

- N.K.

Spare Me

I'm not a toy for you to fix

Nor a trophy you can have

To validate the emptiness

You said had always been there

I'm no sparrow with a broken wing

Nor bleeding heart for you

Don't treat me like I've scraped my knee

I stand tall, believe this true  

A price-tag you might have on shoes,

And on your lovely sweater;

But if you try to buy my love, you'll find

Your folly was the matter

I've had it with your surface view

I'm fine without your pity

Don't try to put my pieces back

Just so you'd be my fancy

In fleeting moments, barely felt,

I beg you, do not lie

Nor dare to feign those words once more

To say that you could love me

For I could not, In all my days 

Be foolish to give away;

My heart, as broken as you've said

To one who does not see me

You sing empty praises from mountain tops

Of my 'perfection', true and blue,

Yet from the words and flash of eyes

I knew so much of you

Would only see what was outside 

And simply craft thy version 

Of all the tales I spoke and said

To fit your imagination

Yet most true of all, to once again

Reject your foolish advances;

Is reality that, for all that pride

You'd never seen nor tried;

To know or see, nor find the cause;

And in this truth it lies,

For if you only saw my strengths,

My dear;

How could you love my flaws?

- N.K.

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Dear Reader, this is my second posting under my 'Misguided Arrogance' series. 

These two new pieces, 'As Long' and 'Spare Me', describes the plight of those that demand the affections of another simply because they had 'done enough' to obtain it - and, before they had even known the heart and soul of what they truly wanted. 

Sometimes, what one might feel is love for another could simply be the love they feel for the idea of another - and in this motivation, therein lies the seed of selfishness that might overshadow all the good that had been truly been shared.

I won't say any more, as I believe that every word, each sentence, is capable of holding a different meaning for each person, and all in the deepest or simplest ways. 

Therefore, I simply hope that you have enjoyed this post, and would like to thank you for your time once again :)

- NK

Hope (Series One)

An Autumn Lane

To walk along a lane in Autumn,
As dappled sunlight warms the way
The trees so singing promises
That snow will come to cleanse the day

In hollow wood, indeed I stood
Grasping thoughtlessly at falling leaves
Below my feet, both worn and fresh
A thousand paths of dreams to sieve

The singing robin calls to me
A speckled shade upon the sky
Thick woollen coat swathed round my chest
I stumble forward, pondering why

A time so beautiful in stead
Could falter even once amidst
The tiny struggles one may face
How had we thought they could eclipse?

A melodious laughter escapes my lips,
As giddily, chest draws for air
For I grew ever nearer to live,
So truly free, I shall not care

The roads ahead, diverge to meet
Yet rays of light would greet me;
To leave the empty path behind,

My feet shall not grow weary.


- NK



A Leaf In Streams

Cloudy ambitions
Abstract dreams
To cross in life
A leaf in streams

This journey diverges
Dashed on rocks
Pulled free from crags
By hands, in tufts

Sometimes in dry
And harsher seasons;
I sit immobile,
Passed by, I walk

Yet in rapid rain
Embellished in hope
I cruise the waters
Released from ropes

Of mankind's suffering,
Ego and kin
Instead fly lifted
By calm fate's means

I reach for trees,
And lands unseen;
To gleam amongst, 
This forest of thousands

For I am but,
A leaf in streams


- NK

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Sometimes, we find it hard to believe that we are on the right track in life. We find ourselves wondering if we could have done better, or if we could have achieved a different dream far greater than the one we had already chosen for ourselves.

We might not ever get the answer to that question... to know how things could be, if we could have done things differently. However, the things we have done, as so aligned with the circumstances and 'currents' that have earnestly helped us along on our way, have undoubtedly made us the people we are today. Every decision, every work of fate, and every other soul we have met on our journey - has resulted in the 'you' that stands tall in the mirror. And this beautiful being, this wonderfully sentimental heart, these bright eyes and that brilliant smile - well, I'd say this person has a right to your love... and that of any other's. 

So let us take it slow, allow ourselves the space to believe, and never fail to stop trusting fate - And I know that one day, we will get to where we need, and deserve, to be.

1/3/2017

Original Sequel To Isaac Asimov's 'Reason'

[Disclaimer: This is a continuation of 'Reason' by Isaac Asimov. (I think you could read it here: AddsDonna - Isaac Asimov's "Reason"). This was written by me and is in no way related to the actual author. This was just for fun, hope that you enjoy it! :)]

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“Scott Harkins – Number #425689E. Please proceed to the dispatch centre immediately.”

I lift my head at the call of the mechanical speakers above my heads, my fingers tightening reflexively around my duffle bag. A ragtag group of dank, sweaty males around me shifts uneasily in their seats – a mixture of nerves, uncertainty, and reluctant submissiveness. They’d chosen their way out – as I had done so myself – and only the causatum of our decisions would decide if we had unwittingly left the frying pan for the fire.

“#425689E, I see you there! What are you waiting for?” A gruff guard storms over and hits me on the back of my head with the butt of his technogun. I grind my teeth angrily, but refrain from making a scene – I needed this program.

I couldn’t stand another day back in that hole, even if the alternative was to head a thousand light years away from it.

I stand and allow him to herd me towards the boarding gate. I pass three guards on my way to the dispatch vehicle – an old, chunky contraption that was once used as a relief ship (many of which has now been shut down due to the lack of operation) – and neither of them even bother to glance up. This was normal business for them – sending a felon a million miles away to arm a potentially cataclysmic device into his hands. I assumed that their security systems up there must be incredibly sophisticated for them to breathe this light of air.

“How many years of evol did they do on you?” The last guard pulls a lever that causes the doors to slide open with a low groan.

“Twenty-one years,” I say honestly. It didn’t matter to me anymore – that was all in the past.

He whistles, long and low. “That’s the longest one I’ve heard thus far,” He gives me one last look as I take a seat. He smiles, in a strange, subdued way that sends waves of uncertainty and indignation down my spine. “I hope this is worth it for you, somehow.”

The door hisses shut, and a white gas fills the car. I don’t remember when I blacked out exactly, but the next time that I wake I am lying on a bare metal bed in the cockpit of what must be the satellite station.

“Hello, #425689E.”

I sit bolt upright, lips pulled back over my teeth in my uneasiness. It was a tall, robust metal contraption – the one I assumed was the QT, as we had been briefed before.

“I’m Scott Harkins,” I say, my throat feeling like I had swallowed gravel on the way up here.

The robot pulls a frown – a creepy, humanistic emoticon that immediately makes me uncomfortable. Suddenly, his confusion clears up. “I see, the Master acknowledges you. Hello, Scott Harkins. Please, follow me.”

He shows me to a tiny room – stacked with a bunch of scientific books I would probably never understand, a metal desk and a bed. The walls at the side opened up to a tiny faction that had the necessary toiletry functions. It was still better than anything I had experienced for the past fifteen years of my life.

“You will be returning here as and when your systems require it. In your service of the master, you will be fed and clothed as long as the master sees you retain your function. Come now.”

I am led to an engine room. My shoulders grow stiff at the rows of robots – slightly smaller and flimsier than the one before me – all conscientiously tending the station on which we were standing.

“The master requires that you labor here with the others in the day – as we acknowledge that your machinery remains flimsier and more susceptible to the very least extensions of changes in the air pressure or radiation intensity here, you may leave this room and convene with me twice – before and after every full shift – where you will be put to work in drafting two reports for the others in my master’s outreach. You will be fed three times a cycle, at the end of which I will allow that you retreat to your quarters for your periodic comatose, of course.”

I say nothing. I had been briefed of the robot model’s obsession with his master, and its belief in the true cause and value of its own worth, but this was the first time that I was able to see just how truly maniac of it he was. I felt almost bad for him – yet relieved, for this meant that all they had mentioned of the rest of my duties here were true.

It was a simple mission I had signed up for – pretend to buy into his inane, religious ideals and serve as the sole human surveillance point in the station. Since the QT had removed any forms of external inflow of communications and supervision, it had seemed that the only alternative for the government was to send one dispensable man up for a period of forty years each time to beam back the information and affirmation required daily. Since the QT was equipped with the necessary skills and intelligence to run the more intricate layers of the station, scientific knowledge of the human was no longer a requirement – a fact that had given birth to the felon-exportation program eighty years ago.

I was part of the second generation of prisoners evaluated and monitored for twenty-plus years for this position. I would be eighty by the time my service at the satellite was concluded – but I reckoned the twenty years of freedom after would be better any day than a lifelong stint in a hellhole on Earth.

I bought into the cycle set for me easily – ten hours of soft labor work and two well-drafted reports a day was a million times easier than the twenty-one years of manual tasks I had been undertaking for the past decades in my life. What irritated me most was the sheer ignorance of the metal husk I was clearly knuckled under – its exasperating confidence and the superiority that it exerted over the rest of the robots in the ship, and the reverence it attained from them. How did they not see what a false prophet he was, if they had been in existence longer than he – and how could they mistake his ‘benevolence’ and ‘intelligence’ for anything less than human emotion and knowledge, values and valves input into him with the help of the same mechanisms that had also created them?

Rather, I was sick and tired of being treated as the inadequate, inefficient inferior being on the ship – placed here at the pity and compassion of the 'master'. How I longed to inform them of the true nature of my induction – that I was here to oversee them instead, and that a word from me might have caused their deactivation if I had chosen my pride over my freedom – and yet, I had little faith that anything I could have said would have swayed their beliefs in the slightest. That was how hopelessly deluded, infuriatingly prideful these creatures were.

It was not three years before I began wishing that I could have killed them – no, he – in the heat of the moment. In my wild fantasizings, I would hatch a plan to prepare a vehicle for my escape, and then I would take him down first, and deactivate the others before they could react. I would use the satellite transmitter of the weapon now at my fingertips to wipe out the factions on Earth before they could react to the actions above their heads, and escape into the darkness of space, where our scientists had discovered not just one, but hundreds of possible atmospheres capable of supporting human life.

It was not six years before my fervid daydream seemed to come to life – not by me, but by one of these specific atmospheres I had longed to flee to.

The day begun as it always did – a standard meal of bread, milk and an apple – when the station rocked back on its haunches as violently as if a meteorite had struck us clean on the side of our heads. The system around me groaned loudly, tethering and then, thankfully, flopping back down into its mold – but it was clear that damage had been done. Alarms were going off above our heads, and QT had stepped away hurriedly from the front of its data screen – where it had always stood during breakfast and morning report at the control room, and swung open the doors to accost whoever had attacked us.

A blast of light hit him across the face in a millisecond, taking away the metal that had once made up an eye, but he countered in a movement almost too swift for me to catch as he took down the first of the intruders – a large, inhuman figure wrapped in a silicone sheet of green, pulsing flesh. There were three others behind the first, all of them with four arms and two feet, and a horrible faceless mouth stretched across their wrappings.

QT took down the second intruder, but the others were upon him in a second. There was the sound of rattling feet behind where I stood, frozen in place – the familiar sound of the work robots fiercely rushing to the scene, probably answering to a scream of help emitted across a frequency I did not share. They leapt upon the intruders and tore them apart in seconds – I shuddered, unbelievably relieved that I had not stupidly tried overtaking the station alone in my last six years.

QT stumbled to his feet and they entered the control room, where he locked the doors behind them in one smooth motion. It was no use, there was the thundering approach of even more soldiers – there was probably a battle ship locked against ours at this very moment.

“Scott Harkins, there are intruders that seek to destroy our master,” QT announced loudly. I grit my teeth, sure of the request that was coming – and felt the indignation die in my throat as the robot bowed his head towards me and the rest of the worker bots, standing absolutely motionless in his consignation. “I want you to take our friends down into the engine room and allow the master’s overarching presence to protect you all – you must herd them there, for they stubbornly insist on staying and dying here with me. I will detonate this control room – the only passage of entry for these creatures, and which is a dome that is cut off from the rest of the station. That will take some of them down. Use the time to eject the engine room with our master and protect the others from my master’s outreach from being harmed by these blasphemous creature’s expediency of our systems.”

I stared at him, surprised and awed at the sincerity of his words. I realized that disillusioned and oblivious as he was, the robot was trying to save my life.

I realized what had to be done. Although we had never been briefed about being overtaken by some alien race, we had been briefed about handling an encroaching meteor or space debris – and that was to burn brighter than any physical danger ever could.

“QT, I need you to wait in the engine room instead,” I said at last, a part of me still wondering why I was willing to risk so much on the life of a robot. “There still remains a few functions of the master that you were never made aware of – take the others down and close the metal hatch behind you.”

The pounding on the door overrode the indignation on the robot’s face.

“Quickly! My plan only holds out for as long as the control room door stays intact!” I shout angrily. QT closed its mouth, and stands still for a moment longer. Finally, it nods tersely.

“I do not comprehend the process, Scott Harkins,” QT says slowly, “But the master seems to understand and agree with what you mean to do. We will go.” With that said, he turns and vanishes below with the rest of the worker bots.

I rushed to the control panel and rifled under my shirt for the key around my neck – the last defense resort made of the toughest and only unbreakable material every farmed on earth. I pried open the metal hatch below the screen and put the key in with shaky hands, the pounding on the door behind me growing louder with every moment.

“Alright, master,” I whispered hoarsely, twisting the key in place. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

All at once, as if in response, the station starts humming – a deadly, high-pitched sound. The ground below me starts to vibrate violently, and I am thrown to my knees, my arms held out to protect my face. The creatures at the other end had started screaming.

I felt the first shadow of dense, incredible heat, and I knew the other layer of our station had caught fire – the force of which could had destroyed and turned away a meteor one-third the size of Earth. The outer layer of the station which had not been reinforced – meaning anywhere else besides the control room and the engine room – was being turned into an inferno large enough to protect the true ‘heart’ and ‘function’ of the master.

I knew the ship outside had been obliterated into nothing. The creatures outside were next, the fires working inwards – eating them up like a nuclear explosion.

And then the door to the control room burst open, the last-ditch efforts of all the dying solders, the last shot fired before they were eaten up by the flames, their goal surely to take me down with them – and I was immediately incapitated and thrown unconscious by the last moments of unyielding, unapologetic destruction. A voice rang through the haze – ephemeral and evanescent, almost nothing beyond a whisper in the wind;

“Thank you, Scott Harkins.”

I awoke to find QT staring over me, a soft humming under my back. I was in the engine room – but how? I had surely died, the blast of the retreating defense must surely have killed me in the final moments – yet, I was here.

Or was I? I felt different – not only physically, but also in the way I was processing this – my thoughts, they were different. I raised a shaky hand up to the side of my face and felt nothing – there was no warmth, no human flesh – only metal. But still, on the other side… yes, surely this was a face, a real human face!

I realized what had happened almost immediately – the different thought process working, as I had mentioned – and I knew that only the half of my body that had been exposed had been destroyed and replaced, including the parts of me that had once contained only human memories and thought processes.

I was now a man, and a robot.

“Scott Harkins, the master had decreed that we save you.” QT says seriously. He helps me to my feet. “You have not only saved him, but us as well – the underlings he has taken under his care. The others in my master’s outreach, whom he has kept in contact with in all times since my inception – are aware of the blast, but not what has become of you. The master believes that it would be in your best interest to depart from here – he has graciously prepared the arrival of what you humans believe to be a relief ship. It will be empty, and you may use it to live out the rest of your functional life away from the service of my master. Of course, we will not speak a word of your survival.”

I look at the robot, no longer afraid, angry, or even confused – instead, it is he that glances upon me with a sentimental sorrow in his eyes.

“I will miss you, Scott Harkins, as will the rest of us here.”

I turn away from him and follow the clear instructions of the master, away to where the stolen empty ship was due to arrive. The instructions could now be understood and channeled directly into my mind, a kind and benevolent presence that spoke to me in gentle, grateful tones.

I was ready to begin my life anew.

- The End -

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Just an explanation (because I understand the plot might seem a little confusing at times), avoid if you would like to have your own interpretation of the story: :)

This is set in the distant future in which a whole system of 'cuties' have been employed by the human race to man their stations all around space. Although they might be delusional, it has been recognised that the 'cuties' appear completely willing and able to undertake and perform tasks in precision - as long as their belief in the 'Master' and the universe is never disrupted or undermined. As such, these stations are now under the domain of the cuties and their worker robots, and only a single human being is sent each rotation to survey happenings and report back to the central command centre on a daily basis.

As it is now unnecessary for the dispatched humans to have actual knowledge of the intricate systems of the station, a federal program was put in place by the Government to enlist ex-prisoners - after years of careful vetting and training - to act as their 'eyes and ears' under the guise of manual labour. These prisoners are allowed to shorten their sentences, and even walk away free after their long term of service at their station - thus making the system a popular opportunity amongst those with life sentences (as is the case with our protagonist).

The ending: As Scott ultimately decides to save the robots and the station by taking on the intruders alone, he is ultimately saved by the will of the 'Master' - who, in fact, does exist, albeit as an ancient, peaceful consciousness only felt by the robot race. However, unlike the cuties and the work-bots, the Master is aware of the human race and the truth behind the federal system and the significance of the stations in saving lives around the galaxy, although it never educates its loyal followers of which he has developed great tenderness for, preferring instead to let each cutie and troop of workers believe in their own little world of purposeful servitude. To repay Scott's bravery and compassion, he has cutie repair him as a half-man, half-robot, and instructs him to leave in a space craft which is mechanically pulled from the planet below them. Through cutie, the Master informs Scott that the humans would be told that he had perished in the attack, thus allowing him to travel the galaxy as a free man.

"Who Am I?" - A Short Story By Natasha Katherine Low

“Sam, it’s day. Time to go.”

I blink my eyes open in the faint gloom of the room. I hear the sound of multiple pairs of feet padding down the hallway beyond the hulking figure now standing within the frame of my steel door. I relish my last few seconds of peace as the dream I had enjoyed the night before fades away. I had been dreaming of my brother, Scotty, and the time we’d both stolen mum’s car for a ride together after Scotty was grounded for seeing a girl my parents hadn’t approved of. It was one of my favorite memories we shared, one of the few moments that I’d ever felt accepted by my big brother.

“Sam. Let’s go.”

I sit up, shrugging off the grey blanket and pushing my legs off the side of my bed so they landed noiselessly on the cold floor. I push my feet into the pair of black slippers laid out from the night before, and grab my green woolly towel from where it was on its stand. I walk past the guard, and he grunts as he slides my door shut after me and pads three doors down to Freddy’s room, past the other guards who were waking up the others in between.

“Hey Sam.”

I nod in response. Jacob Wiles is always in the shower room before me. He is one of the few friends that I have at this summer camp.

I finish up my shower quickly and dry myself before discarding my towel into the waiting basket of dirty laundry. I wasn’t the latest, but I wasn’t the earliest either. A hefty stream of kids was already filing out towards the ‘learning room’. I walk after them, smiling at familiar faces as I go by, nodding at their greetings. I was not usually one to talk much.

“You have five minutes, children,” came the announcement from the speakers above us. Our pace simultaneously quickened at this, and soon I had reached my station – a singular, hamster-ball contraption (which is what I usually called it in private) in the midst of a sea of many other similar copies.

I peel at the rubber portion around the plastic, circular entrance – glancing distractedly at the fingerprints along the side – presumably from the time I had last left it.

I frown. Hadn’t I just cleaned this before our education block had concluded yesterday?

I shrug it off, quickly dabbing the prints off and glancing around me as the other children continue clambering into their own ‘balls’, unperturbed by my brief hesitance. I pull at the milky, translucent door, and it swings open with a ‘pop’ sound. I climb in, head and shoulders first, and reach across to the other side to slide the bottom half of me into the leather chair. Some tendrils of white smoke are still left from the day before. I shut the door before they can escape, sucking them in and enjoying the first teasing cloying of calm.

“You should learn to clean up after yourself, kid.”

I blink my eyes open in surprise. A ball room guard is peering in at me through the translucent surface, his eyes squinted and his expression unhappy. He grumbles something under his breath as he latches the entrance to my ball.

“You guys sit in these every damn day and you still don’t know how to operate the removal module when you leave. Haven’t we told you what would happen if that gas of yours makes it into our main ventilation?”

I close my eyes, adequately berated. He leaves soon after, still muttering something that I could no longer catch.

“Children,” the voice now reverberates within my entire casing, “It is time to continue with your learning. Begin now.”

I pull the metal headset down onto my head, clicking it hastily into place. I feel it start to hum against my temple, and I squeeze my arms into the metal bands along the sides of the leather chair I am on, waiting for them to snap shut and properly secure me before the familiar thinking gas fills the room.

I blink as a shadow falls across my ball, confused. The guards would not usually patrol once learning had commenced. I reach my hands up to my headset in surprise as whoever it is begins to unlatch my door noisily. I glance down as the metal chair bands snap shut over thin air, gasping in exasperation. Man, was I in for some real punishment now… and I hated the electric room.

I grind my teeth as my door is pulled open, ready to let loose a tirade of cursing at whoever decided to play such a prank on me. My words die in my throat as I see who it is.

“Scotty!” I exclaim.

Scotty flinches at my voice. He is staring at me with red eyes, his mouth agape. He appears to shudder, stepping back and saying nothing as he stares at me.

“Scotty, what are you doing here?”

I hurriedly pull off my headset, leaving it on my chair as I all but leap from my ball. Scotty stumbles backwards, apparently taken aback by my enthusiasm, but I did not care. My heart was singing with happiness and relief.

“Scotty, I missed you so much! I thought I would never get to leave this camp. I’m sorry –”

He steps forward and clamps a shaky hand against my mouth.

“Hey,” he says gruffly. “Stop. Let’s get out of here first.”

I nod slowly, suddenly confused. Hadn’t Scotty come to collect me? Why did he seem so unsettled?

“Here” He hands me his old maroon jacket and a pair of jeans that are too tight for me. I pull them on over my suit in delight, smelling home in every fiber.

I sense his impatience as I tug on the clothing, and he tugs on the skin just below my wrist as soon as I am done, almost dragging me to a door along the side of the room.

“How do we get out of here?”

I realize he is asking me a question. I was too lost in a haze of my own excitement and joy to hear him the first time.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “We are to stay locked in our balls until meal time, and then we sleep in our rooms at night.”

He looks at me incredulously. “You sit in that ball every day?” He is pulling me down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Yeah.”

“What do you do in there?”

“We learn.”

He glances at me in some exasperation. I blush under his disapproval.

The words come spilling out of my mouth. “I mean, we watch videos, and we do some exercises or tests, and they’re about all kinds of things. There are some tests about global studies, arithmetic and etiquette – I mean, sometimes there’s other stuff I like, soccer or music videos. Sometimes I even get to watch videos of our family trip, Scotts.” I pause as he glances sideways at me, “I think everyone gets different videos though. We aren’t really allowed to discuss what we learn.”

“I see,” he sounds strangely choked up.

I gasp as he forces open a door and we are suddenly out into the open. I stop, rigid, feeling the blast of cold morning air against my face, and he glances back at me in a mixture of irritation and uncertainty.

It has been so long since I have felt the air from outside on my skin. In fact, I think it’s been almost…

Almost…

I blink.

I didn’t know.

“Come on,” Scotty mutters, tugging my along by my arm. I stumble after him. We scale a gate, and he helps me as we drop down on the other side. We run towards his waiting red Chevy.

He starts the engine, and soon we are chugging along to home.

“Is it far, Scotty?” I say, realizing that I had no idea where this camp was in relation to my home.

“No, we stay thirty minutes away,” he glances at me carefully. “So… you didn’t know that, huh?”

“I can’t actually remember how we got to camp,” I admit. “Maybe I fell asleep in the car when mum drove me here the first time.”

He is now staring intently at the empty road in front of us.

“Yeah. That’s probably it.”

We pull up at our driveway. To my surprise, Scotty reaches behind my head and pulls the hood of his jacket over my eyes. I don’t protest, however, merely excited at the prospect of finally returning home.

The house is silent as we enter. Mum and Dad are probably out running some errands. I follow Scotty up the stairs, my heart thudding as I think of my room, and my bed – and all of my things I had left behind.

Scotty pauses as he stops at my door. I notice the sudden change in mood, and a hot flash of dread makes an abrupt appearance.

“What is it?”

Scotty watches me, and says nothing as he slowly opens my door.

Somebody is lying in my bed, a sort of breathing aid from his nostrils. His head is bald, and his face is pale, and almost his entire frame is hidden under his blanket – but there was no doubt.

He was I.

I gasp, and the other me watches me intently. He makes an attempt to sit up, and then groans loudly, as if from pain. In a flash, Scotty is across the room, trying to help.

“Who are you?” I say softly. He hears me anyhow.

“Hello,” says the boy with the same face and voice as me. “I know this must be a shock.” There is a dark amusement in his tone, but still it was not an unfriendly one.

Scotty’s eyes have softened. He looks at me, and hesitates. Then he says, “Come in, Sammy.”

His words seem to have an effect on the boy in front of me. He flinches visibly, and then his face relaxes with maturity, an understanding that should be years beyond his current age.

“That’s right,” he agrees softly.

I walk forward slowly, leaving the door open behind me.

“Who are you?” I ask again, this time with a stronger voice.

The boy looks me squarely in the eyes. He tries for a smile, and I realize that I am grateful for it – for it seems to have cost him so much pain that I almost didn’t feel worthy of the gesture.

“I’m Sam,” he smiles at me. “And one day soon, you will take my place.”

I cannot think of what to say, so he speaks again.

“I am dying, I think you know it – for you are me, after all,” he sighs, “And I know you weren’t supposed to come here before I was gone, and everything is settled, but I wanted to meet you – so I asked Scotty if I could.”

He grins.

“You really do look like me. In fact, I think you already are me.”

I feel my world stop spinning.

What was he saying? Who was I?

What did this mean about everything I had come to believe? Could this be a dream, could I be experiencing a madman’s hallucinations in my sleep, from which I would wake and begin my day as it should have?

I was who I had been – Sam Morgan. I knew this, physically – I had my eyes. I had my face, I had my body, I had his voice – yet, who, or what, was I? How could there be two souls of the same person?

Or did I not have a soul? What did a soul constitute of, and what of I – clearly, a copy of a real person – what did my soul mean?

“Sammy?”

I heard my mother’s voice at the end of the hallway, at the top of the stairs. I turn to see her, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wet with tears. She is frozen in place, as is my father, who stands over her shoulders, his face pained and knowing – he knew the truth, yet she did not.

“You’re okay… Sammy?”

My mother starts off in a broken sprint towards me, before my father can stop her, her hands against her chest in her joy and disbelief. She gets close enough to see Scotty – and her steps falter.

“Oh.”

I feel my heart break into pieces as her face crumbles, and my father sweeps her up into his arms, tears refusing to fall from his own eyelids even as he looks at me with blurred eyes, his jaw set.

“Scott, what have you done?” he shouts angrily. I glance behind and watch Scott flinch, as did the me – the real me – in my bed.

I hear heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs.

I recognize the guard, the one who wakes me up event morning, and I see the one who always guards my table at lunch... they are dwarfed by at least four others of similar build and urgency. They are shouting something at me, something inaudible.

I glance back behind me. Sam – the real Sam – is looking at me intently.

“Take care of them, Sammy.”

And then all I see is white, and then silence.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wake up in the back of a van. There is angry talking throughout the vehicle, but I am still too disheveled and groggy still to understand what is being said.

They pull up in front of camp – although I feel I have been inside it for a very long time, this is only my second time seeing its exterior.

They are dragging me to the end of a hallway. I pass by a familiar meal room, and inside I see my friends – Jacob Wiles and Freddy Kingsley. I push past the guard and break into the crowd of children. The guards are taken aback by my sudden movement, and fail to catch me before I blend back into the familiar group of faces.

I realize I am back in my white suit. This gives me some time.

“Sam, where have you been?”

“Why weren’t you in your ball?”

“Did you run away from camp?”

“Where have you gone?”

“We should never leave our learning balls!”

“You were being crazy, Sam.”

I wave my hands in exasperation. “Guys, listen to me. Listen to me!”

They pause for a moment, and I take my chance.

“There are others – others of us, more of us – out there, beyond these walls,” I say loudly, struggling at first to be heard over the din, and then gradually quieting my tone as the others go silent. “They are us, as we are them – but they are dying – and we… we are their replacements. Do you hear me? This isn’t a camp, listen to me – this is… some kind of… cloning –”

“That’s enough,” one of the guards has reached me, and he clamps his hand over my mouth. I glance up at his eyes – though his face is cold, there is something in his eyes that tells of his true sympathy. “Take him,” he instructs the others, and they all but carry me out of the room.

I hear my friends as I am leaving, and I feel a cold put in my stomach.

“What a far-fetched story!” someone exclaims, to a loud rumble of laughter throughout the crowd.

“Sam is such an idiot,” somebody else says, half-jokingly.

“He must have hit his head on his grand escape out.”

“He was always a little weird.”

“I never heard such a stupid tale in my life!”

Their voices gradually dim as we leave the hallway, and we enter the room that I had been meant to be brought to in the first place. It is like the chair I had seen in my usual dental clinic… or was that even my clinic?

I felt my heart drop. I did not think so. I had probably never gone beyond the few meters I had managed to go from this place today.

There is a man in a white coat. He is now looking at me with sad eyes.

“Sam,” he says quietly. “Tell me, if it were you – and Jacob had been the one to see and return with the experience you have had today. Would you have wanted your world to be turned upside down, to be shaken out of your simple existence of waiting to see your family – to need to reconsider exactly who you are, and the truth behind everything you had once believed in? Would you have wanted to question if everything you once thought you knew was correct?”

I close my eyes. This was exactly what had happened to me. And I knew the truth.

I shook my head.

His eyes softened. “I know what you saw today was distressing for you, Sam. I know it’s too much for a ten-year-old boy to handle.” He looks at me with kind eyes, and I let him approach me. He guides me to the chair, and I climb on willingly. “I will help you to forget.”

I sit, and I close my eyes once more.

If there was a God, then I was ready to forget.