Fiction: Group 4
Subject 2047
Buddhist Sin Tak College, Wong, Yuen Kei - 16, Fiction: Group 4
ello. Who’s there? ... Oh, you again. Any more ‘tales’ you want to tell me? Be quick…Yes,
I’m working, since 8. So don’t worry, I’m experienced with packaging now. No accidents
should… What? No! It’s perfectly legal since the government passed the law in 2040…
Please don’t pull my leg. My armclock clearly says ‘19/1/2045’…No, they didn’t pass that law in 2007 nor
passed that in 2014… No, the colour doesn’t exist. They. Don’t. Exist… Alright, I’m hanging up. Bye.”
I slammed the phone back into its slot, finally breathing in some air. I was a bit startled to see Manager
standing next to me. I staggered a bit and made no sound.
“Salut…tations. Great Man…nager,” I stuttered.
“Her again?” Her eyes reflected the icy glimmer of the lone light bulb up the ceiling.
“Yes, Manager. With the same repetitive speech.” I quicly replied.
“I see that she lacks medication,” she stroked the shiny tip of her cane. “I’ll be sure to tell the doctors to
issue more potent ones.”
“With much appreciation, Manager.” I bowed.
“Go back to work. Now.” I ran towards my workplace through rows of white neon lights. Crisp sound
of dense footsteps echoed through the narrow hallway, yet the sharp sound of her cane is unmistakably loud,
piercing through all voices into my ears, my mind. I sprinted through the aligned rows of colleagues and
conveyor belts until I found the only empty spot at the edge of the room.
“Quick! Grab one of those monkeys and start checking their functionality.” One of the workers spoke
in hushed tone.
I looked at the workers beside me, and quickly followed them. Test solar panels. Reboot A.I. system.
Insert program. Hands covering eyes? Checked. Hands covering ears? Checked. Hands covering mouths?
Also checked. Done. Test solar panels…
…Phew. Finally. The conveyor belts stopped transferring monkeys. That means I could stretch my
twitching hands and move my head to the right, and with precise rhythm and angle between the
gastrocnemius muscle and hamstring, hands tied behind like a lock, I marched with hundreds of others to
the main entrance of the factory, where we jogged back to our homes nearby. Training you to be fit, they
said, for increased agility and flexibility for examining more tedious products. I'd said too much. Or I knew
too much.
Why would they be wrong? As the Dementia had said, persistently in her “speech”, constantly
interrupting my rightful job. Being an exemplary factory worker was not only the desire of mine, but also
the desire of others, and others to come.
And you would have this overwhelmingly elegant boulevard to jog on. Yes, I admitted there’s only one
path, quite narrow, with invisible barriers to seclude us from the Outsiders. But it’s fine. I loved watching
the fiery leaves spiralling down the maple tree, the crimson rose bushes along the countryside houses, with
snow shimmering with cardinal tint from the oval sun. Skyscrapers erected far beyond, touching the cerise
clouds, adorned by levitated vehicles. It’s when you reflected and meditated on the gracefulness of life. In
this world full of wonders and factories, this, was my aspiration.
This, was my dream.
And I’d achieved it.
Yet that day arrived, so suddenly, so unforeseen.
The day that my mother died, her death report imprinted in my dream before I awoke.
I exited my cryogenic pod, stepped out mournfully, then jogged to the factory, with the flowers beside
seemingly dead and sky dimmed.
I had never seen my parents, nor expected them to be dead
I reported to the Manager’s Office in haste.
”…have to. There’s no choice but to…” I heard whispers in anxious tone.”…my job here to tend
to…can’t afford to stop Them this time…”
I knocked. The whispers stopped.
“Come in.”
“Yes. Great Manager.” I marched in.
“H
