Interpretation

by Dylan Callens

  Carl pressed his thumb against the print scanner in front of his apartment. When the door slid open, the Exoche, which was always running, spilled light across the otherwise dark room. Sounds from the robotic maid in the bathroom permeated over any background noise. Carl stepped through the entrance, triggering the sensor for the lights to promptly glow. Liam dashed straight for the plush leather couch while Carl went to the kitchen. “Want a snack?” he called out.

  “Sure. Is there any leftover dessert?”

  Carl watched translucent images scroll on the door of the fridge. First, a reminder about his appointment tomorrow at the Department of Psychology. The government mandated checkup to determine mental health was a necessity for every citizen. Carl didn’t need the reminder; August 20th was a ritual for him. The date was engrained deeper in his consciousness than his own birthday. The notice faded to a replay of the National News footage with Robiner being arrested. Carl watched the clip with as much excitement as when he saw it at the mall. When the report was done, pictures of him and Liam formed into a collage. He giggled at a picture of Liam pressing a cupcake into Carl’s face. That was Liam’s prize for winning a virtual reality shooting game. Carl threw the match so that Liam would have the pleasure of smooshing the sweet into his dad’s face.

  The pictures faded to an advertisement for a Supreme Combat fight coming up in a couple of days. Carl pressed the More Details button. Though the specifics were intentionally vague, the promise of “the match of the year” always meant that something special was planned. Carl asked, “Liam, you want to go to the fights next Thursday?”

  Liam floated off the couch. “Yes! Yes, please,” his eyes wide, not realizing that he was bouncing from side to side.

  Carl laughed as he teased, “Are you sure? There might be too much fun and excitement there for you.”

  “What?” Liam stopped in his tracks, “But I want to go! Please, please, please!”

  “I’m kidding. Of course we’ll go.” Carl pressed the Order Now button on the fridge. His seats were reserved.

  Carl wasn’t very hungry, but he took out the carrot cake that Liam wanted. It was delicious, Carl had to admit. The bakery down the street always made the best cakes, with frosting so decadent that sugar should be embarrassed to consider itself sweet. Carl cut a square for Liam. He shrugged at the slab as he started to cut a second, convincing himself that he should have one, too. He set each piece on a separate plate and poured two cups of Ocean Surge. The glass table swirled with brilliant color as it booted itself up. A menu listed options: Dinner Pong, Movie Night, Evening Music, Hardwood Surface, More Options. Dinner pong. That was always fun. A virtual piece of broccoli floated in the middle of the table with an overhead view of a jungle, complete with lions partially hidden underneath the canopy. Carl flicked the digital broccoli at a lion for practice. The beast jumped up to swallow it.

  “Come and eat,” he told Liam.

  Liam promptly came to the table. “Thanks, dad.”

  “Any time, Liam. Want to play pong?”

  Liam took a bite, nodding his approval for both the cake and the game. “Guess what, dad?”

  Carl smiled from ear to ear. “What’s that?”

  “I love you!”

  Carl continued to smile. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter 2

  5265616c6974792069732077726f6e672e2020447265616d732061726520666f72207265616c20285368616b757229

  Date: 102.359

  Booting BIOS Setup Utility v4.5.... complete

  Warning: Setting wrong values in below sections may cause system to malfunction.

  Gender Configuration: Male

  EGO Balance: 1:5

  Emotional Disposition: Normal

  Physical Disposition: Moderate-Active

  Integrated Peripherals: Micom DJD359

  Model Identifier: 4a6f73652044656c6761646f

  Save and Initialize Kernel (Y/N): Y

  Initializing Kernel... Build 7.2 rc 4 Slimy Salamander... complete

  Language: English

  Color differentiation (Y/N): Y

  Variation: Caucasian

  Age: 9

  Class: Middle

  No operating system detected. Choose OS (Y/N): N

  Randomizing OS...

  Installing Anima OS v3 stable...

  Syncing with kernel parameters... sync complete...

  Briggs-Meyers personality profile: INFP-A

  Extracting Personality: Introvert.... 75%... Intuition... 31%... Feeling... 47%... Perceiving... 13%

  Initialization Event: D

  Normal

  Randomized abuse

  Recovered from severe illness

  Traumatic event

  Spousal death story: A

  Vehicular accident

  Randomized disease

  Crime related

  Never married

  Experimental Parameter Type: E

  Severe Inferiority Complex

  Violent tendency over pet peeves

  Dual reality

  Insomnia

  N/A Control Group

  Experiment Name: Winston, Carl, B

  Complete Install (Y/N): Y

  Completing Anima OS v3 install to Winston, Carl, B...

  Testing Micom DJD359... Failure...

  Try again (Y/N): Y

  Testing Micom DJD359... Success...

  Install Complete. Activate now (Y/N): N

  Subject must now be activated from main console. Goodbye.

  Chapter 3

  Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. (Einstein)

  A fluffy white cloud billowed from behind the building where Carl worked. Meanwhile, in the courtyard where Carl and Dan ate their lunch, the Exoche ran a steady stream of advertisements. Usually, Carl would pay attention to them, but the clouds provided more entertainment today. The clouds were curious, morphing from one inkblot test to another. First, a bunny, then a horse’s head, then the cloud swirled around into a question mark.

  Dan saw that Carl drifted away. “It’s supposed to be another perfect day. On the news they said that it’s some kind of record. All these nice days in a row.”

  Carl turned his head to acknowledge Dan. He nodded, “Yeah, I heard that too.” Carl shifted his focus back on the cloud, as it rolled into the shape of a hand.

  “Is everything okay with you?” Dan asked. “I saw you all bent out of shape at the arcade.”

  Carl shifted his body so that he sat squarely across from Dan at the picnic table where they ate their lunches. Carl took a bite out of his sandwich and chewed, as if he was chewing away at his own thoughts. He didn’t want to tell Dan about the false memory. Dan might laugh at the idea. Or worse, he might think that Carl was becoming an Untruther. The idea was ridiculous, of course. The memory was nothing more than a phantom brought on by the headache – if it could be called a headache. It was more like a jarring shock that sent his mind and body reeling for a few seconds. Growing up, Carl would get those blinding flashes once in a while, but that was the first time a migraine triggered a false memory.

  He smiled a rubbery grin at Dan. “Yes, of course. I just had a cramp,” he lied, “You know what that’s like.”

  “Must have been a bad one for you to kneel like that.” Dan examined Carl’s smile, making sure he was being genuine. The way that Carl pulled his lips high and squinted his eyes was satisfactory for Dan.

  “It was. It went away quickly, though.” Carl took another bite out of his sandwich, amused by the way Dan examined his face. He didn’t really understand why Dan was so concerned about what happened at the arcade. Carl guessed that this is what friends did, worry about each other. They were friends, after all. Even if it was only at work. Everyone else at InformaCorp, most of whom were in the courtyard eating their lunches, were merely colleagues. His co-workers seemed unexceptionally nice. But no one ever exchanged more than a passing pleasantry. In this world, Carl noted, that was the norm. People co-existed and little more.

 
Except for Dan. He could talk to Dan. Their conversations were never serious, though, today being the exception. They usually talked about the Supreme Combat fights or something that their sons did. Once in a while, they would talk about work. Today, Carl saw that Dan was concerned for him. This new discovery made Carl sad that soon Dan would be gone, back on the road for his job. He was a travelling salesman for InformaCorp.

  Carl mused at the cloud, now in the shape of a robotic constable. He looked across the courtyard to compare the formation to the seven foot tall chunk of reinforced carbon fiber standing proudly at its station. The machine’s head scanned from side to side, ensuring citizen protection. The similarities, even in color, were unnerving. Dan followed Carl’s gaze back up to the sky, trying to figure out what Carl was staring at.

  “That’s good,” Dan said, giving up on the cloud.

  Carl’s attention snapped back to Dan. “I didn’t think that you were here this week. You aren’t scheduled back until next Thursday.”

  “My deal fell through, so the company brought me back here to debrief before going to Columbia. I leave again on Friday.”

  Rubber-grin queued, Carl said, “Life of a traveling salesman, I guess.”

  “It sure is,” Dan replied, his eyes squinting through the smile too much. Carl had always thought that Dan’s squint was exaggerated. Like he was trying, rather than letting it happen, resulting in deep, shar-pei’d crevices. Everyone’s smile was different, Carl supposed.

  Dan checked his watch. “I better go. I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

  “Sure. Talk to you later.”

  Dan gathered his leftover lunch and walked towards the building but turned before he was too far away. “Make sure you get those cramps checked out. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  “Will do,” Carl called back. Dan disappeared inside the building, leaving Carl to further contemplate the clouds. He craned his neck upwards one last time when a loud squeal shot through his head. He could have sworn the sound came from the Exoche, but no one else seemed to be bothered. The azure sky melted into a grey abyss, while the rolling cumulus formation dissipated into thick smog that hung just above his workplace. The building, a testament to neo-modernist design, faded. The solar-paneled windows disappeared, replaced by old, chipped glass. The outline of the building, an impressive, yet illusive, Mobius strip reformed itself into slabs of dilapidated concrete. Decades of filth clung fast to the structure. His eyes followed a weathered corner to reveal chunks of concrete and brick splattered along the ground, like an ancient ruin being discovered for the first time.

  Carl rose from his seat, reaching towards the rubble, as if he wanted to gather the remnants in order to save the pieces from its grave. He muttered “What is this?” into the courtyard, while running his eyes along dried-up asphalt veins that bled dead weeds.

  The squeal in his head grew louder. Carl cupped his hands over his ears, but the sound was coming from inside of him. He doubled over, grunting at the pain. “No, this is wrong,” he mumbled, “All wrong.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, trying to manage his pain. Finally, the sound began to subside; a whisper took its place. The voice came from behind him. The words were lyrical, familiar. It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born, and was always his treasure and pride.

  Carl swung around, tripping on the edge of the picnic table, belly-flopping to the ground. He rolled onto his back to see who was singing; only the azure sky with the rolling cloud, which Carl could have sworn was laughing at him, stared back.

  Rising to his feet, Carl noticed how his colleagues in the courtyard were all frozen statues. They stared at him. The robotic constable rolled towards him on its tracked wheels. “Citizen, are you okay?” it asked in a feigned expression of concern. Carl’s blank face alarmed the robotic constable more. “I repeat, is something wrong, citizen?”

  Snap to it. Quick, before someone decides for me. “Yes. Yes, everything is fine, officer.”

  The robot scanned Carl. “You have a rapid heart rate. Please calm down, citizen.”

  “Just a cramp, officer. You know how we get those, sometimes.”

  The robot waited. “If you need further assistance, I will be close by.” The machine rolled back to its home position.

  “Yes, I will. Thank you.”

  The robotic constable went back to its designated spot and continued surveillance. The machine could see three hundred sixty degrees, so Carl knew that he had to look calm. He pushed the incident to the back of his mind as best he could by thinking about his son. Forcing the corners of his lips upwards, the rest of the expression came back naturally. He shrugged to the center of the courtyard and announced, “Just cramps, you know.”

  That disarmed the audience. People smiled back at him. Everything went back to normal.

  * * *

  All government buildings had the same swooping design to them. A ninety degree corner didn’t exist inside or out. The towers looked like an hour glass reaching high into the sky with a superfluous spiral along the outside wall. The spiral came to a point at the top and created an optical illusion where the building looked to be in motion at all times. Depending on how light hit the reflective corkscrew, sometimes the building appeared to slide downwards, while other times it drilled into the sky.

  Carl loved to visit the building. The interior design changed every year to emphasize the government’s changes in its artistic programming. The plaque in the lobby announced this year’s motif, Interpretations: A look back to the old for new inspiration. May we stand grounded in our rich history so that we move forward with confidence.

  The grand entrance showcased paintings side by side. A neo-futurist named Jon-Jon reinterpreted Van Gogh’s Chair. The original looked peaceful in its sadness when placed next to Jon-Jon’s version – a chair hacked to bits with an axe thrown on top. Underneath, the title, Chair of Untruth, made its message and social value immediately clear. Carl preferred Jon-Jon’s painting. It resonated with his contempt for Untruthers.

  Carl continued down the concaved corridor, then back out to a reception area. Once at the help desk, he approached the clerk. “Hello. It’s my psychology day,” he said.

  The clerk looked up. “You must be Mr. Winston. This way, please.” She led Carl down another hallway. Carl wanted her to move slower so that he could admire the art on his left. He could only gather a quick peak at something called The Absurd, which looked like a robot made out of junk. A few steps further, a double helix spun overhead, throwing off multiple colors. After only a moment, it dissolved into nothingness.

  “This one is called Illusion,” the clerk told Carl.

  “Why Illusion?”

  “I’m not sure,” she confessed, “I guess it has something to do with the way it disappears.”

  Carl didn’t find her explanation satisfactory, but he couldn’t come up with one of his own. Regardless, any thought of Illusion was quickly wiped away when Carl saw a prototype for the new XT-500 motorcycle. It had all the glowing trim of its predecessor, except the back curved around higher, pushing the driver forward in permanent racing mode. The machine was designed for one thing only: excessive speed. A placard read: Tim Hunter’s next generation bike. Built for the expedient capture of Untruthers. This machine is capable of speeds over 450 mph. Carl brushed his hand against the seat; it felt slippery, until a vacuum drew his hand inward. The soft cushion formed itself around his flesh, suction-cupping his palm in place. Carl couldn’t move his hand.

  The clerk laughed, “You’re not the first person to do that.” She pushed a button on the console. “The bike holds the driver in place so the person won’t go flying off.”

  Carl chuckled, “That feels really strange. My hand is a bit numb.”

  “That’s because there’s enough suction to keep two hundred pounds on it. Impressive, isn’t it?” the clerk asked with her toned arm stretched out towards the open exam room door.

  Carl followed her slender line into th
e room.

  She said, “As required, I must list off the instructions, even though I’m sure you’ve heard them before.”

  Carl nodded.

  “First, take a seat in front of the console. When you are ready, press begin,” she said, script memorized. “Once you begin, you will not be able to leave for any reason, including a restroom break. If you must go to the restroom, do so before you start. You are not allowed any food or drink during the exam. This examination should take you approximately ninety minutes to complete. Do you have any questions before you begin?”

  “No. No questions.”

  “Then you may begin when you are ready.” The clerk shut the door.

  The room was bleached of any personality. Brightly lit with white all around, it looked sterile enough to perform surgery. A single arm chair and the corresponding white kidney-shaped desk were the only items to be found. A large, green, virtual button faded in and out on top of the workstation. It read: Begin. Carl took a deep breath then pressed the button.

  Red light shot up from the console, scanning Carl’s face. A familiar woman’s voice said, “Identifying.” Carl couldn’t tell where the voice came from. The test was always accompanied by that voice and Carl imagined it was some recorded message from a media personality working for the Department of Psychology.

  When the scan completed, her voice continued, “Hello Carl Winston. Thank you for your participation in this program. In the first section of your yearly assessment, please state the first thing that comes to your mind when you see an inkblot image appear on the console. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  When the first image scrolled on the screen Carl said, “A mask.” Another appeared, “Two people kissing something,” then another, “Fairies dancing. An explosion. A bat. A crown. Two birds perched on a tree. Top view of a motorcycle. Some kind of monster. A burger.”