by Isis Grimalkin
There once was a little boy, who lived in a place at the edge of time and space, and yet not so very far away. The world then and there was a very different place, with towering spires of steel, everything being made of metal and synthetics, and mechanized factories regurgitating dismal smoke, everything was automated so that it was no longer necessary to do anything any longer, except keep the machines running. There was even such a gadget as a biagitor which was something like a cross between a sidewalk, a billboard, and a conveyor belt so that there was no longer any need to walk around. In fact, people hardly did anything anymore, as there was a marvelous invention called the omnitel which was something like a three-dimensional television with scent, sound and light organs attached.
This little boy was quite strange, and very different from the other children of the day. He would walk backwards on biagitors to get “exercise,” as he called it, and all the adults tried on and on to explain to him that there was no such place as Exercise and, even if there was, one certainly couldn’t get to Exercise by walking in the same spot. But he insisted he could, and no one could persuade him otherwise, so on he went misusing the biagitors. Naturally, the boys parents were worried about him, as they had not a clue as to where their son got these strange ideas, and – ask any child – all parents are for is worrying.
When it was mandated that no longer should history lessons be given in the schools, the little boy came home crying. His parents were utterly perplexed, as why should any child be upset over less schooling? In fact, the boy did very badly in school. He hated math and the sciences, and, curiously, his mind always seemed far, far away, as if it were in another world. He was tortured and humiliated by his classmates for his eccentricities. One day he had beaten his fist on the concrete of the schoolyard, screaming that there were no “flowers”. Well, no one had any idea what flowers were, as all plants had gone extinct aeons ago, and rightly so, as factories made much more nutritious food than that which could ever be grown. The other children gathered around teasing and calling names, and some of the more adventurous students dared to toss books at him. Needless to say, the boy was promptly taken to the school psychologist, where he babbled on and on about a thing called a phonograph, and he made examples of how to turn the crank so as to wind it up.
The psychologist grew very excited at the inventive imagination of the boy, but asked, “Why turn a crank when there is electricity?”
The little boy made a face as if he were about to cry. “Because turning a crank is doing something,” he replied in the high, asexual voice of a young child, in between chokes of air.
“But nobody needs to do anything anymore!” The psychologist explained tenderly.
“But in the past, people did lots of things…they walked places and made things and they did things. Lots of things,” he said, “like picnicking.” He finished triumphantly.
“And what is picnicking?”
“It’s where a bunch of people put food in a basket with a lid and walk to a place with lots of plants to have lunch!”
Such activities long been forgotten, the psychologist began to wonder. “Where did you hear about picnicking? Not on the omnitel. Who told you about this?”
At this, the boy fell silent.
His parents came to get him from school in the flycar and they took him straight home. On the way, he didn’t say a word. In fact, he didn’t even move. They carried him to his bedroom and set him on the anti-gravity mattress. He laid there, eyes blank as words. His body laid immobile, patient as space.
The next morning the boy’s mother and father came into his room to check on him when the ready-all machine announced an error in his morning hygiene routine. Indeed, there was an error, as the boy was still in bed, with the same blank look set about him.
“Come on, up, up you go.” The father said as he heaved the boy to his feet. The boy’s body stood for a moment before falling nearly to the floor. His father caught him and set him back on the bed. “Dear, I think you’d better go on and send a message to the doctor.”
Dr. Tyrannosaurus, the family physician, came, and except for catatonic immobility, the boy was fine and breathing. He proceeded to do a complete physical, measuring the boy’s heartbeat and blood pressure levels, and a mental, too, including neurotransmitter and electric activity levels. Regardless, everything was quite level on all levels. This was when the doctor found a strange looking object clutched obscenely in the boy’s hand. It looked to be a small, clear plastic sphere, only constructed of some material more delicate than plastic which glinted chromatically in the light. The boy’s knuckles had paled to a light shade of green from clasping it. The doctor pried the object lose, wrenching backwards the boys fingers. The doctor immediately slumped over, face expressionless, glass sphere in hand, and the boy awoke, quite thoroughly startled, and looked around. Moments later, the doctor released the sphere and gasped, eyes wide as the Atlantic. The boy gingerly gathered the sphere into his coat pocket.
Clearing his throat – “Ahem. May I see you in another room?” The doctor questioned with eyes so wide they almost threatened.
“It appears to be some sort of relativity time-distortion device, however, on the matter of its workings…I have entirely no idea.” He pronounced gravely.
The boy’s parents were silent.
The doctor continued, “The boy’s health problem appears to be entirely psychological, no doubt as a result of that thing. As I said, I have not a guess as to the nature of the device, let alone what further damages it may still produce in the boy…” He trailed off.
The boy’s father marched, without word, to the boy’s room.
“Give it to me.”
The boy shook his head no.
“I said, ‘Give it to me’!” He growled as he twisted the boy’s arms around, snatching the glass sphere and holding it high above his head. Guttural protests emanated pitifully from the child’s voicebox. The boy’s father threw the fragile thing against the poly-carbon resin wall. Shatter. Tears in the strange boy’s eyes.
