One Way Ticket To Paradise
This is a short story I wrote for my Yr 12 Major Work (I hope it's not cheating to post something I wrote a long time ago...!) That was when I was going through my dystopic science-fiction phase... Good thing about it is it's not very long; I hope you enjoy it! And please, don't be precious. I know people are very wary of criticising other people's work in this community, but a little bit of constructive criticism never hurt anyone, and I think we need more of it! Often other people can see things we ourselves cannot.
One Way Ticket to Paradise
There is a piercing beep - alarming, abrupt. Then, just as abruptly, the aluminium room begins to hum and purr. The noise is somewhat comforting, as if apologising for the intrusive beep. His shoulders drop. Ah yes. This is more like it. He leans back in his armchair.
A mechanical arm descends from the ceiling, a messenger from above. What it brings is not proclamations of a long-awaited messiah. Oh no. This is much better. What it brings is a sleek silver device, similar to those worn over the eyes by comic-book heroes of a bygone age.
This is VR 3000. The latest advance in virtual reality. Wide enough to just cover his eyes, it fits over his face as if it is moulded to the very dimensions of his skull. Which makes perfect sense - because it is.
Custom fitted to your face! Durable titanium frame with 3-year guarantee! So lightweight, you won’t even know it’s there! Inlay available in stellar blue, supernova red and cosmic black!
It is certainly a catchy jingle. He begins humming the tune quietly to himself as he waits for the room to warm up. But suddenly, he finds he is not there. That is to say, he isn’t in the room any more. Well, technically he is. But he isn’t really. He is in a field. A beautiful field of lush green grass awash with lavender. The sun peeps from behind a set of expertly constructed clouds, as if Mother Nature had brooded long over them before applying the final finishing touches. The heat brushes his arm like a shy lover. The smell of the lavender makes him pleasantly drowsy. All of a sudden he wants to sleep. Yes, just sleep, just for a few minutes. “It is so lovely here”, he thinks. He sits down in the grass, and is astonished when he finds it so deliciously soft. A lazy insect buzzes in his ear and he waves it off nonchalantly. His eyes get heavy. He is going to doze, just for a few minutes…
The tiled floor is cold and unfriendly. He has woken with a start, finding himself in that grey sterilised room again. The smell of lavender seems to linger. He hears the door open. “Mr Lawson?” A stern, intrusive voice.
With as much dignity as he can muster, he picks himself up off the floor, dusts himself off, and says with a laudable effort to make his voice deeper, “Yes, Mr Dibbs?”
“The Board is waiting, sir.”
“Of course Mr Dibbs. Let’s get down to business shall we?”
The Board is as frosty as it always is, yet seemingly more so now that he has left the security of the field. They sit in perfect parallel lines, with perfectly anonymous faces that are as emotionless as androids. Mr Lawson takes his place at the head of the table and watches how the faces seem to stretch away from him like reflecting mirrors.
He wishes he was anywhere else but here - even his large empty house seems appealing by comparison. His large empty house that echoes his loneliness, his large empty house that is never warm, even in summer. For once he would much rather be there, alone.
He shuffles his papers and clears his throat as a means of exercising his authority, then places his hands palms down upon the table.
“Well gentlemen, it’s certainly a very impressive…device.” He wavers at that last word. Careless, careless, careless. He mustn’t do that again. “How does it work?”
They smirk. Such insolence! Back in his day, this was insubordination. He clears his throat again, just to keep them in line.
“That’s classified information, Mr Lawson. Only our research team knows that.”
“Well get someone up here! I deserve to know what I’m funding!”
They glance at each other. They’re nervous. He can tell.
But he is greatly mistaken. They’re not nervous. They're annoyed. What a nerve this old man has! Not only does he want to test the VR 3000, now he even wants to know how it works! Does he think he can hinder progress? They mutter to each other in whispers and decide perhaps it is best to just humour him. After all, they can’t afford for anything to go wrong at this stage. One of the anonymous faces pulls away from his place in the line, disrupting the symmetry. On his way out he seems to cast a net of embarrassed silence that descends heavily upon them. Is it just Mr Lawson’s imagination, or is it harder to breathe all of a sudden?
He glances at his watch. He takes a sip of water. He feels their eyes upon him, and in response he straightens his tie. He shuffles his papers again, frowns like he is concentrating on something dreadfully important. He glances discreetly over his important document. They are still boring into him. Then the doors click - and thank God for that. The man is back. With someone. Not quite the intellectual mastermind, sharp-dresser-type of someone Mr Lawson had envisaged. This is more of a timid, slight, unkempt sort of someone, who looks about the room like a scared animal. He walks to the front. Well, walking is not the word Mr Lawson would have used. It is more like loping. But he feels for the disconcerted loping scientist. It’s a tough audience tonight. “Good… good morning…” The scientist stutters. A promising beginning.
It is Mr Dibbs that speaks. “Well - Dr Nelson. Would you please grace us with an explanation of how the VR 3000 works? In layman’s terms, if you wouldn’t mind - we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the scientific jargon.” Mr Dibbs smiles mockingly. By ‘we’, he means ‘he’ - Mr Lawson. Thankfully the old man is oblivious.
“Well, er - it’s really - quite simple. It’s simply - a matter of, er - electronic - signals that manipulate - or, er- to use a better word- coax- the mind into, I guess you could say, believing - in- the simulation.” His liberal use of dashes starts to grate. Mr Lawson clears his throat. He feels braver.
“Dr Nelson, forgive me but I’m not sure I quite understand.” He pretends not to see the Board members glance at each other. Dr Nelson is perplexed. He’s not sure he can explain any more simply. A feeling of condemnation sweeps ruthlessly over him. He adjusts his glasses.
“You see, Mr Lawson - you have neurons - that carry signals, from- your body- to your brain. That’s how you feel- and taste- and basically, um, interpret. Everything. So um, what we do- is we use- electronic signals- pulses as such- to affect these neurons- trick the mind into feeling- into feeling things that aren’t there. You see?” He looks hesitantly at Mr Lawson. If he does not understand then Dr Nelson fails. How he despises failure! Comprehension dawns on Mr Lawson. Dr Nelson allows a sigh to escape.
“Yes I see now. Yes. So the lavender, and the soft grass, was all in my head?”
“Exactly right, sir. That’s it, exactly.” Thank goodness.
“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. And how close are we to putting it on the market?”
“Oh, not long at all, sir. But we need a little more time - with the VR 3000. You see - at present - you can only be - connected to the VR 3000 - for little more than ten minutes.” “Why is that?” “Well - otherwise - the, er - neurons - are overloaded - and the brain - well it simply shuts down. This causes all the, er, internal organs - to stop functioning - and the user, well…” He cannot bring himself to say it. “However our research team is - working hard - at solving this technical glitch. You see - we have - installed a fail-safe mechanism - that automatically disconnects the, er, user - from, the VR 3000 - after 10 minutes. So it is perfectly safe. We are currently working on - expanding the amount of time the user - can be, er, connected.”
“I see. Is there any way to perhaps, switch off the fail-safe mechanism?”
“Well sir - on our model - that you tried - you can. Just a small, switch - on the right, side. Very inconspicuous. Merely for research purposes. But that will be- um- removed. In the commercial model. So that it cannot- be turned off, accidentally. It will be, perfectly safe.”
“Excellent. You and your team are doing excellent work, Dr Nelson.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr Lawson stands, shakes him by the hand, pats him on the shoulder. Dr Nelson is strangely touched by this show of familiarity. He realises how long it has been since he had any human contact. So long that this miniscule sign of appreciation brings a smile to his face. They walk together to the door, and in this brief moment, a flicker of comradeship skips shyly between them; unwittingly they band together against the suited androids. Then Mr Lawson is alone again.
******
Alone, at the door to the aluminium room. It has been a few hours since the meeting, and it is dark. He can’t figure out how to turn the lights on. He fumbles in his pockets for his key card. Why does he have so many infernal pockets? He feels around the perimeter of the walls for a light switch. Even though he is perfectly safe, and what he is doing is not illegal, he still tiptoes as if he is doing something dangerous and wicked. It’s invigorating. The light fades up and into an incriminating spotlight. He glances around nervously, like he wasn’t the one who turned it on in the first place. Ah yes, here’s the elusive key-card, right where he left it. A few pushes of the buttons, and the VR 3000 is ready. “Isn’t technology wonderfully convenient?” He mutters. The door slides open, and he settles into his armchair with a deep sigh.
The alarming beep surprises him again. Again, the room begins to hum and purr, and he leans back, awaiting the arrival of his messiah. He watches how it seems to descend in front of him like The Answer To Everything. Reaching out for it, his shaking hand wavers for a second - is he worthy to enter the Promised Land? He picks it up. The VR 3000. There's the switch. His Ticket to Paradise?
The smell of lavender is intoxicating, even more so than before. He breathes in deeply. He lies down on the grass, which caresses his body as if it had missed him in his absence. He wants to just sink into it, be enveloped by it, become it. Become everything around him just so he wouldn’t have to leave again. He has never experienced anything so wonderful.
The heat makes him pleasantly drowsy. His eyes start getting heavy. I am so sick of being alone, he thinks. So sick of going home to that empty house, so tired of wrestling day after day with these androids. So tired of the whole thing. So very, very tired…
He closes his eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was Dr Nelson who stumbled upon him the following morning. He did nothing for a long time, simply watched him because he looked so very peaceful. Beautiful even. How very like a child he looked. As if he had been purged of all that is dark in this world. Nelson restored the fail-safe mechanism quietly, before dialling the number for the ambulance. As he did so, the lonely Dr Nelson felt something rather like envy.
One Way Ticket to Paradise
There is a piercing beep - alarming, abrupt. Then, just as abruptly, the aluminium room begins to hum and purr. The noise is somewhat comforting, as if apologising for the intrusive beep. His shoulders drop. Ah yes. This is more like it. He leans back in his armchair.
A mechanical arm descends from the ceiling, a messenger from above. What it brings is not proclamations of a long-awaited messiah. Oh no. This is much better. What it brings is a sleek silver device, similar to those worn over the eyes by comic-book heroes of a bygone age.
This is VR 3000. The latest advance in virtual reality. Wide enough to just cover his eyes, it fits over his face as if it is moulded to the very dimensions of his skull. Which makes perfect sense - because it is.
Custom fitted to your face! Durable titanium frame with 3-year guarantee! So lightweight, you won’t even know it’s there! Inlay available in stellar blue, supernova red and cosmic black!
It is certainly a catchy jingle. He begins humming the tune quietly to himself as he waits for the room to warm up. But suddenly, he finds he is not there. That is to say, he isn’t in the room any more. Well, technically he is. But he isn’t really. He is in a field. A beautiful field of lush green grass awash with lavender. The sun peeps from behind a set of expertly constructed clouds, as if Mother Nature had brooded long over them before applying the final finishing touches. The heat brushes his arm like a shy lover. The smell of the lavender makes him pleasantly drowsy. All of a sudden he wants to sleep. Yes, just sleep, just for a few minutes. “It is so lovely here”, he thinks. He sits down in the grass, and is astonished when he finds it so deliciously soft. A lazy insect buzzes in his ear and he waves it off nonchalantly. His eyes get heavy. He is going to doze, just for a few minutes…
The tiled floor is cold and unfriendly. He has woken with a start, finding himself in that grey sterilised room again. The smell of lavender seems to linger. He hears the door open. “Mr Lawson?” A stern, intrusive voice.
With as much dignity as he can muster, he picks himself up off the floor, dusts himself off, and says with a laudable effort to make his voice deeper, “Yes, Mr Dibbs?”
“The Board is waiting, sir.”
“Of course Mr Dibbs. Let’s get down to business shall we?”
The Board is as frosty as it always is, yet seemingly more so now that he has left the security of the field. They sit in perfect parallel lines, with perfectly anonymous faces that are as emotionless as androids. Mr Lawson takes his place at the head of the table and watches how the faces seem to stretch away from him like reflecting mirrors.
He wishes he was anywhere else but here - even his large empty house seems appealing by comparison. His large empty house that echoes his loneliness, his large empty house that is never warm, even in summer. For once he would much rather be there, alone.
He shuffles his papers and clears his throat as a means of exercising his authority, then places his hands palms down upon the table.
“Well gentlemen, it’s certainly a very impressive…device.” He wavers at that last word. Careless, careless, careless. He mustn’t do that again. “How does it work?”
They smirk. Such insolence! Back in his day, this was insubordination. He clears his throat again, just to keep them in line.
“That’s classified information, Mr Lawson. Only our research team knows that.”
“Well get someone up here! I deserve to know what I’m funding!”
They glance at each other. They’re nervous. He can tell.
But he is greatly mistaken. They’re not nervous. They're annoyed. What a nerve this old man has! Not only does he want to test the VR 3000, now he even wants to know how it works! Does he think he can hinder progress? They mutter to each other in whispers and decide perhaps it is best to just humour him. After all, they can’t afford for anything to go wrong at this stage. One of the anonymous faces pulls away from his place in the line, disrupting the symmetry. On his way out he seems to cast a net of embarrassed silence that descends heavily upon them. Is it just Mr Lawson’s imagination, or is it harder to breathe all of a sudden?
He glances at his watch. He takes a sip of water. He feels their eyes upon him, and in response he straightens his tie. He shuffles his papers again, frowns like he is concentrating on something dreadfully important. He glances discreetly over his important document. They are still boring into him. Then the doors click - and thank God for that. The man is back. With someone. Not quite the intellectual mastermind, sharp-dresser-type of someone Mr Lawson had envisaged. This is more of a timid, slight, unkempt sort of someone, who looks about the room like a scared animal. He walks to the front. Well, walking is not the word Mr Lawson would have used. It is more like loping. But he feels for the disconcerted loping scientist. It’s a tough audience tonight. “Good… good morning…” The scientist stutters. A promising beginning.
It is Mr Dibbs that speaks. “Well - Dr Nelson. Would you please grace us with an explanation of how the VR 3000 works? In layman’s terms, if you wouldn’t mind - we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the scientific jargon.” Mr Dibbs smiles mockingly. By ‘we’, he means ‘he’ - Mr Lawson. Thankfully the old man is oblivious.
“Well, er - it’s really - quite simple. It’s simply - a matter of, er - electronic - signals that manipulate - or, er- to use a better word- coax- the mind into, I guess you could say, believing - in- the simulation.” His liberal use of dashes starts to grate. Mr Lawson clears his throat. He feels braver.
“Dr Nelson, forgive me but I’m not sure I quite understand.” He pretends not to see the Board members glance at each other. Dr Nelson is perplexed. He’s not sure he can explain any more simply. A feeling of condemnation sweeps ruthlessly over him. He adjusts his glasses.
“You see, Mr Lawson - you have neurons - that carry signals, from- your body- to your brain. That’s how you feel- and taste- and basically, um, interpret. Everything. So um, what we do- is we use- electronic signals- pulses as such- to affect these neurons- trick the mind into feeling- into feeling things that aren’t there. You see?” He looks hesitantly at Mr Lawson. If he does not understand then Dr Nelson fails. How he despises failure! Comprehension dawns on Mr Lawson. Dr Nelson allows a sigh to escape.
“Yes I see now. Yes. So the lavender, and the soft grass, was all in my head?”
“Exactly right, sir. That’s it, exactly.” Thank goodness.
“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. And how close are we to putting it on the market?”
“Oh, not long at all, sir. But we need a little more time - with the VR 3000. You see - at present - you can only be - connected to the VR 3000 - for little more than ten minutes.” “Why is that?” “Well - otherwise - the, er - neurons - are overloaded - and the brain - well it simply shuts down. This causes all the, er, internal organs - to stop functioning - and the user, well…” He cannot bring himself to say it. “However our research team is - working hard - at solving this technical glitch. You see - we have - installed a fail-safe mechanism - that automatically disconnects the, er, user - from, the VR 3000 - after 10 minutes. So it is perfectly safe. We are currently working on - expanding the amount of time the user - can be, er, connected.”
“I see. Is there any way to perhaps, switch off the fail-safe mechanism?”
“Well sir - on our model - that you tried - you can. Just a small, switch - on the right, side. Very inconspicuous. Merely for research purposes. But that will be- um- removed. In the commercial model. So that it cannot- be turned off, accidentally. It will be, perfectly safe.”
“Excellent. You and your team are doing excellent work, Dr Nelson.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Mr Lawson stands, shakes him by the hand, pats him on the shoulder. Dr Nelson is strangely touched by this show of familiarity. He realises how long it has been since he had any human contact. So long that this miniscule sign of appreciation brings a smile to his face. They walk together to the door, and in this brief moment, a flicker of comradeship skips shyly between them; unwittingly they band together against the suited androids. Then Mr Lawson is alone again.
******
Alone, at the door to the aluminium room. It has been a few hours since the meeting, and it is dark. He can’t figure out how to turn the lights on. He fumbles in his pockets for his key card. Why does he have so many infernal pockets? He feels around the perimeter of the walls for a light switch. Even though he is perfectly safe, and what he is doing is not illegal, he still tiptoes as if he is doing something dangerous and wicked. It’s invigorating. The light fades up and into an incriminating spotlight. He glances around nervously, like he wasn’t the one who turned it on in the first place. Ah yes, here’s the elusive key-card, right where he left it. A few pushes of the buttons, and the VR 3000 is ready. “Isn’t technology wonderfully convenient?” He mutters. The door slides open, and he settles into his armchair with a deep sigh.
The alarming beep surprises him again. Again, the room begins to hum and purr, and he leans back, awaiting the arrival of his messiah. He watches how it seems to descend in front of him like The Answer To Everything. Reaching out for it, his shaking hand wavers for a second - is he worthy to enter the Promised Land? He picks it up. The VR 3000. There's the switch. His Ticket to Paradise?
The smell of lavender is intoxicating, even more so than before. He breathes in deeply. He lies down on the grass, which caresses his body as if it had missed him in his absence. He wants to just sink into it, be enveloped by it, become it. Become everything around him just so he wouldn’t have to leave again. He has never experienced anything so wonderful.
The heat makes him pleasantly drowsy. His eyes start getting heavy. I am so sick of being alone, he thinks. So sick of going home to that empty house, so tired of wrestling day after day with these androids. So tired of the whole thing. So very, very tired…
He closes his eyes.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was Dr Nelson who stumbled upon him the following morning. He did nothing for a long time, simply watched him because he looked so very peaceful. Beautiful even. How very like a child he looked. As if he had been purged of all that is dark in this world. Nelson restored the fail-safe mechanism quietly, before dialling the number for the ambulance. As he did so, the lonely Dr Nelson felt something rather like envy.