We forked it

We forked the fucking currency. It all started when we forked the currency.

God, fuck. I don’t want to work today. Pass the babysuckers and their brainless oaf accessory-du-jour. I can’t stand those people.

The goggles. A ray of light shines through the kitchen… the sweep. If I can find the goggles I can make it.

When I wake up I feel naked. Not clothes-naked, but prison-naked. The type of naked where the guard makes eye contact on the john. No Monday morning Twitter, just exposure. The cold, concrete floor reminding you of what you’ve done to your life. Or at least what they think you’ve done. Putting the goggles on is like coming home.

I look right through them when I wear the goggles. Shadow people, shimmering slightly at the edges. My son Felix is a shadow person, I think. I remember the last time I saw him, off to college. The right people, what should have been a normal life. My only son. My own flesh and blood. Felix.

Damn their ads, their propaganda, their laundromats for your mind. The goggles take you home. They help you forget. Help you remember.

My toe hurts. Oh. Daydreaming again, with the goggles right next to me on the table. Typical. Sometimes I hate myself.

The lenses make my eyes whole again. I walk down the street in a torrent of shadows, carefully avoiding every one. Hopscotch for your brain. Sometimes I make eye contact with strangers doing the same. An odd camaraderie, that.

I wonder what the shadows are thinking. Do they see me? Are they doing it too? I remember a time when I could still stand it without the goggles. So many of them looking right through me, the glints in the eyes of others beaming me their pity. I didn’t belong in their world. I never have. I’m sorry, but it’s who I am.

They promised us a new world. The currencies promised us everything: wealth, peace, and a new freedom. Yeah, right. Here I am waking up on the prison john every morning, and they call this my freedom. A sick joke doing its damndest to tear apart my insides. All I can remember now is hate. How stupid we all were.

I feel the bump of a shadow passing too close. Shit, I gotta watch myself. These damn things hurt. We used to live with these shadows, all day and every day. We all thought they were just like us. How wrong we were.

We had to fork the currency. They gave us no choice. Blacklisting our accounts, pushing us to the edge of poverty and death, sucking every last piece of our soul those damn shadows. Out of the shadows, chants of “racist rapist racist rapist” FUCK them. A play, to control the monetary system, from which we had no social immunity. How could we not see it coming? It was so obvious.

That’s OK, we would have done the same to them. Give us five years and we would have done the same to them. We hate each other, so why do business?

I’m about ten minutes away from the plant. The plant. My true home. The only place I feel safe without the goggles. We understand each other there, work the same Earth, all to feed our kind. It gives us purpose, it gives us hope, and for that we are all brothers in this crazy circus.

One country. One country. What a fucking joke. There are at least two countries here. Two economies, two school systems, two worlds. They talk only through the shadows, shimmering at the edges. Meatspace… what can you do.

Please God, let me just get to the plant. Please God, please.

We don’t do business anymore. So why would I read your perverted signs, or let you indoctrinate my kids, cut into me when I’m sick, drive me around when I need it, or bag and grow the frickin food I eat. We are not the same, they and us. We don’t believe in the same truths. And we sure as hell don’t see the same world now, if we ever have. We’re better off apart. Always stronger, better off apart. Even if they weren’t shadows we’d see right through each other. That’s just who they are, transparent.

Once we forked the currency, the goggles came. To us, they are sick and perverted. To them, we are scourges on this Earth. We cannot coexist without the goggles. The goggles make us stronger, give us life. The goggles help us forget, and the goggles help us remember.

God, it’s pretty out. I’m looking at the ad for a tactical flashlight. I need that, hell I can’t even find my own goggles anymore. My goggles catch me eyeing it and place the order.  Our shops, our currency, always.

Something’s not quite right. The handle of the flashlight starts to bulge. I don’t know what a “shake weight” is but I sure as hell don’t like the purple dripping down the ad like a slime or the text that’s coming with it. It still looks like a flashlight. But there’s no bulb, only darkness.

An involuntary shiver that rocks me to its very core. It’s hot out but my brain can’t help itself. God that hurts.

I look down. A crowd of people, but not my people.  Not my people. And no shadows. What the f

My blood pressure is rising.

My doctor warned me about this, told me to wear the goggles as prescribed.

I am damn it. I am. I am.

Deep breaths. A face in the crowd. Is it my son? I can’t tell. It looks like his hair, but it’s been so long. Brown hair, wavy, worn short. We always joked about his hair.

The damn goggles. Broken. Useless. I don’t get it, we made them right here. Right in this city, right here.

A stranger at the back of the crowd. Is that all I have left? The shadows repulse me. Like some creatures of the night. Piercings, markings, exposed skin. That’s not what people look like.

My only fucking son. Is that my son? Felix?

I have to get to my son. I push across the shadows. They grunt angrily but don’t seem to see me. I have to find my son.

I’m finally here. Where did he go? Was he ever here? I yell and cry but nobody gives me a glance. It’s a hive, this city. I hate this place.

Was he ever here? Is he real? I’m not even sure anymore, it’s been so long. I can’t take it anymore. I hope they can’t see me crying. I’m going slowly insane.

And then, just as soon as it started, my captivity ends. They are just shadows again. The warmth fills me, and I can start to breathe. I’m with my people now, I know my people.

Two countries made into one. Like an amoeba, a virus reproducing inside your body. Damn it, of course we forked the currency. How could we not have forked the currency.

There’s a dull pain in my chest. I know it’s for Felix. I’m sorry, Felix. I love you. I really fucking do, with all my heart. I’m just too weak. I hope you can forgive me, and I hope in your own way you understand. The sins of your father.

Finally, the smell of peat. Spice on my nostrils, I love it. The plant.

I’m home.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *