Original Fiction: HyperTyper
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It’s like a dream. I could spend all my time in here. All I have to do is sit down and start typing. They say I was born this way; there was no avoiding this fate… for any of us.
I remember when they came for me. I was dragged from my life. The world had changed in such a rapid way. People started to “get assignments” and didn’t return to their families. They came and they plunked me in front of a monitor, smashed my fingers into the receptors and screamed at me to begin. It was more shocking than birth. Everything was so new, I didn’t know the language and I had no idea how to get around.
I closed my eyes and trembled. The soldiers loomed around me, their body’s tense waiting for action, threatening my being, pressing against my arms and shoulders in the small area. The thought, a meager whisper of fear, crossed my mind. Help. Numbers jumped onto the screen. The mindless uniforms breathed as one a sigh of relief. The aura of fear lingering around them dissipated as they filed out of the room. I was alone in the dark.
“I’m here.” A kind voice reverberated at the front of my brain. More data flashed on the screen in front of me. I hesitated and looked around the cubicle. “Who’s there?” I yelled at the walls.
“Don’t yell, just think. I can teach you what they expect of you, how to get around and how to become a good worker.” I pressed my forehead. I didn’t like this invasion of my person. It was an itch in my sinuses that I couldn’t scratch. I knew of only one way to stop it. I disengaged from the input and turned to open the door. I twisted the knob but somehow I knew what I would find. It was locked. and I knew that the stern soldiers were guards in the hall. I could hear boots clunking towards my door. They knew I wasn’t attached to the inputs anymore. I scrambled to get them on and plant my ass in the chair. As the door squeaked open, I waved to the pale face that peeked at me. He narrowed his eyes to put a little fear in me. It worked. I shook as the door closed and locked with a click.
I settled down and decided to make the best of what I had. “Ok, I’m thinking. Where am I?”
“Oh, you’re a lucky one. That happens often, newbie’s trying to leave right away. They always learn, some slowly and painfully.”
“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, just get on with it already. What am I doing here?” I thought aloud. I didn’t care about who did what. I only wanted to do what I was supposed to do and get home. I had a pang of fear. Could this other person hear my eagerness to leave? Would that endanger me? “Can you hear what I think?” I silently thought.
“No, not everything, just the things meant for communication with others. The probes put in you when you entered can differentiate what your brain is doing.”
“I repeat, what am I supposed to be doing here?”
“You’re now a hyper-typer. You will be given assignments to perform for the government. You’ve been chosen because your brain and body are healthy enough to handle the load for what they need. Your DNA makes the circuit. It’s highly complicated and I confess I don’t know all the technology for it but you were born for it. It’s your destiny.”
I knew what that whole speech meant. “What a load of crap. Who feeds you your propaganda?”
The voice laughed. “Your imagination just did. You’re the new hyper propaganda officer.”
Joy.
THE BLUE POPSICLE
My job got easier as time progressed. I learned how to shift through the data and made sure it arrived at it’s proper destination. (Me determining where that was.) I moved up in the hierarchy. Certain recruits stayed forever on the lower rungs, their bodies could handle only so much power through them. I’ve found out that any humans DNA will complete the circuit. I like to think I was born with the right stuff to do this. It soothes me enough to do my job. I can better deal with the shuttling around by the tight-lipped, faceless, neanderthals in combat boots that hover over me. They wait in the hall, the bell rings, I leave, they follow. The only sign they are human is breathing and an occasional grunt. The higher up I go, the less guards I have. Only two wait for me in the hall, but they seem deadlier than the ten that were there in the first place.
Now the informatoin shifting is like blinking my eyes. The minister of finance wanted to know where Y’s money went. I shifted a name, a word or more, a location, and he thinks that Y is the greastest example of a human ever to live. Nevermind that the money was used to buy drugs for an informant to get information. I made it look like The Force had suddenly grown a soul and helped get a learning accelarator for an underprivilaged youth. It was the sweestest shift I ever did. The national papers picked up the story and people won humanitarian awards. The big conclusion was Y got more funding and hte government looked to be the humanistic liberals they aren’t.
The higher up I go, naturally the more privalages I get. First I got a private room, then my own bathroom, then some time in the sun. Finally, I got breaks in my work day.
I like to think I take advantage of any opportunities thrown my way, so I combined my privilages. I take my breaks in the park.
One day, I had sufficiently soaked up the green and sunlight. I drank in the colors from the flowers. There is very little color in the rooms I get or the place I work. I sat ignoring the presence of Tweedle dum and Tweedle Dee in drag. How I ended up with two of the ugliest women on The Force as guards is beyond me.
My senese tugged at my wandering mind. A man lounged on top of a hill opposite of where I sat. I didn’t register when he appeared. He must of snuck there while I was wondering where my guards had got to. They were taking a smoke behind a tree. I’m good, I don’t ever do anything. When I think too much about it, I must be a boring assignment for them.
He didn’t seem to notice me nor did he acknowledge my prescense. He looked relaxed and at ease with himself. He was young, average looking and wearing expensive clothes. Surprising that he would risk grass stains on that suit, I thought. Lazily, he sucked on a popsicle. What a greedy or hungry man, he had the whole thing in his mouth! Out popped the popsicle, revealing the most fascinating neon blue color.
The last time I had seen a color like that was at a gambling town. It had garish neon signs flashing on every street. It kept me pumped up and excited the whole time I was there. Not a bit of nature could be found in that town, all concrete and man made buildings. I crashed like a log when I went home. It was one of the best vacations I ever had.
This cold treat stood out like one of those signs. The natural greens and the muted tan of the suit faded in the blue’s glare. I began to feel like a voyuer watching the treat melt and disappear in his mouth. The man smiled as he slid the cleaned and smooth stick out of his mouth.
He got up, grabbed his jacket and shook the grass off it. He walked towards me. I was feeling a panic coming on. Had he noticed me watching him? What would the Tweedle’s in drag do if he hit on me? The last thing I wanted to do was endanger the privilages I worked to get.
I looked away from him, finding my shoes extremely fascinating. He stopped in front of me. My heart raced. I could handle my data world, I controlled so much of it. I wasn’t sure how to handle the impending doom I felt was sure to fall on my head. “Excuse me..” he said as he leaned down.
“…but your a wonderful creature. Would you like to go get some coffee?” my mind anticipated he would say.
That was never said, as he leaned over and threw away the popsicle stick. I was scrunched against the trash can blocking his way. I had scooted against it in my desperate attempt not to be Noticed. “Sorry.” I blushed, leaning away from him.
“Not a problem.” he smiled as he waltzed on by. He had a nice smile.
I got over my embarrassment while watching him walk away. I looked at the hill where he had been lounging. The memory of watching him was pleasant. For whatever insane reason, I decided I wanted to keep the stick he threw away. I wanted a token of what it felt like to be normal, expecting a man to ask me out on a date.
I got up and stretched. “Ok ladies, i think it’s time to get back to the box.” They grunted as they put out their cigarettes. I pulled out of my pocket an old candy wrapper and a bill. I quickly threw them away with the proper spaced out look on my face.
“You got some money in that trash.” Tweedle Dum pointed out. She talks! Well, it was closer to grunt, but I got the messege.
“Damnit.” I played the part out and retrieved the money. Hidden in the folds of the bill was the neon blue popsicle stick.
Back in my cubicle, I unwrapped the stick from the bill. I wanted to peek at it to steel myself for the rest of the days data shifting. On the dry side of the stick, the part meant for staying dry to hold it, was a written note. It said “C’ya again? R.”
[b]IT’S NOT ENOUGH ANYMORE[/b]
I sat and stared at the stick. My imagination hadn’t run away with me, he was flirting with me. “R.”? What did that stand for? Rebel, Ramon, Raphael, Ralph? I mused on, hoping it was Raphael, what a romantic name. Knowing my luck, it was probably Ralph. The thought that it could mean ‘Rebel’ made me grip the stick tighter. I had run across some whispering of a forming underground. I hoped it wasn’t that. Things changed so quickly for me, I still felt unsettled. I didn’t think I could handle more change, I didn’t feel I should get involved.
The light flashed, signaling that I needed to get to work. I stretched my legs under the desk and plugged my hands in. The now familiar tingle started up my arms. I don’t notice it past my elbows. Every minute twitch of my hands sent the data scattering here and there. Some got deleted, no one really needed to know that, some got pushed to the forefront for the papers. For me, it was a slow day.
My mind began to wander as my hands automatically pushed and pulled the information. Code words popped up, my eyes flicked on them and dismissed the unimportant ones. “Rebel”…I grabbed the article from the data stream and read the entire body of work, word for word.
“It is reported by informant of Y’s that a rebel faction is using the underground sewers for transportation of food and medical supplies illegally obtained from hospitals and grocery stores. Suggest that traps be put into garbage facilities at said places and manhole covers be welded over.”
I looked around at my cubicle. It’s grey walls, it’s shiny floor. It occured to me how restrained in my life I was. I wished I could at least have a window, however small, for some natural light. The information continued to flash on it’s way as this one article stayed in it’s own little cubicle, waiting for me to give it freedom of some sort.
My heart beat faster. I considered the freedom’s I had and how very hard I had worked at behaving to get them. I was always the sort to go out at night and stay out late. My feet tapped at the memory of the driving beats in the clubs. It’s always been hard for me to do as I’m told. I had managed to do a good job of keeping those feeling repressed.
The songs of the past wandered through my head. I got a headache, the probes didn’t like memories of art. Suddenly, I knew that no matter how much I worked, no matter how hard I drove myself, I was still a prisoner. My little freedoms weren’t enough for me, they never would be because I didn’t chose this, I was chosen. It was supposed to be my choice, wasn’t it? I was supposed to dick around until I got bored and decide to find a mate. I was supposed to have fun until the cubicle world got hold of me. No, no matter what I achieved, it would never be enough because it didn’t belong to me, it belonged to The Force. [i]I belonged[/i] to The Force. The probes induced headaches were my little reminder of that. If my mind got too far off my job, they would shove that data around. I’ve always hated headaches. I think it’s what has kept me in line so long. I really wanted to help, but I had a job to do.
I felt the wooden stick in my pocket and I breathed deeply. I was going to do it, no matter what. Data change, my hands flicked. “Y informant reports the need for more trash bins at grocery stores. People have reported overflow onto the streets but are afraid to inform authorities, wrongly thinking said stores would be closed. Manhole covers at hospitals are to be lifted and aired for three days because of the potential for explosive gases caused by rotting produce drifting down from the stores.”
I found the grocery stores manifests. I over ordered fresh produce for them so they would have an overload of trash. I slowed down trash pickup to worsen the overflow. The explosive gases explanation was brave but since it’s a bureacracy, I hoped I could get away with that little fib. Lucky for me, it worked like a charm.
Four days later I saw him on my break, eating at the same place as before. No popsicle this time. He had a sandwich. He really loved his food. He sauntered past me, smiled and gave the slightest nod of recognition.
I wondered if he knew what I had done. A pang of guilt hit me, perhaps I was making up a nefarious life for this man and just causing trouble. He threw away the wrapper and left the park.
I tried not to jump, fidget or even acknowledge the white wrapper sparkling at me. I looked around for my guards. I saw the telling trail of their cigarette smoke rising from behind some bushes. They were getting sloppy, I thought. I quickly leaned over and plucked the wrapper from the top of the garbage. It was high, thanks to me.
Back at the terminal, I unwrapped it. “Thanks. Raphael.”
My heart soared. His name was Raphael.
I shoved the wrapper into the incinarator on my way to sleep.
[b]THE HUMAN TOUCH[/b]
Damn winter, damn it! It snowed, a freak storm. They wouldn’t allow me outside. All my time was work, the hall, the meals, the bed. A nice hot bath was enjoyed from time to time.
How I missed my park. I was awarded a small skylight window through some clever propaganda shifting. I moved ever upward. Two guards must be the limit because it stayed that way. I swear they were depressed at being stuck inside. They weren’t allowed to smoke inside. They would have been seen puffing by the security in the halls. Thank goodness The Force doesn’t want my good deeds recorded for posterity.
The boredom of it all nearly killed me. Since the probes tried to keep my mind on my work, I started to play word games with the information that splayed across my screen. It became a game of word association to see how far I could sing lyrics to popular songs.
The word ‘people’ popped up, so I thought “People are people, why should it be…” A blinding headache would stop me from going further into the the song.
The word ‘I’ flashed and I finished the line. “….I should get along so awfully.” I had to skip words here and there as they didn’t come up on the screen.
The game got more amusing and silly. The better I got at it, the more songs I could finish. I began to string the them together in a never ending attempt to keep a radio show going in my head. I tested out fairy tales, but those were harder to do as some of the words never came up on the screen. The boredom threatened to over take me so I stuck to the singing.
Once in awhile I happened onto some rebellious activities. Sometimes I thought it prudent to help by shifting information around, sometimes not. Life droned on.
Then the cold weather broke and I was allowed outside again.
I didn’t see Rapheal for weeks. I scanned prisoner reports, no mention or descriptions of him. Where was he? Did he get out of the city? Was he recruited too? Did he suffer in a cubicle as I did? I couldn’t find out, recruiting information wasn’t available to me.
I worried and scanned, my word games forgotten for the time being. I thought I picked up a tidbit of him in a travel report. It seemed he had left the city after all. There was no information about when he would be back. I was disappointed. I felt abandoned and forgotten. I didn’t shift information for the rebels anymore.
The park slightly lifted my spirits. At least I still had the sun to go to, I sighed to myself. The wetness of spring was giving way to the warmth of summer. I wondered if the smoking Tweedles would let me wear short sleeves when the weather turned blazing.
A shadow crossed my eyes. I opened them and saw Raphael. He smiled. The word game in my head started. “We all need….” The tune was interrupted by a blinding headache and I passed out.
I awoke to a strange man sitting beside me and a darkened room. My hands were sore and my arms to my elbows tingled. “What happened to me? Why do my arms hurt?” My vision cleared a bit and I looked at my arms.
They looked horrible! My fingers were blistered with the tips looking dark red to almost black. My hands were solid lobster red. The color crept up my wrists and dwindled to trails at my elbows. I started to hyperventilate. “Oh my god, oh my god, what is this?”
The man jumped. He quickly and efficiently gave me a shot of something through the IV that I finally noticed was attached to me. I felt calmer, but the questions still remained. “Thanks, but what happened to me? Please tell me?”
His face was gentle and warm. Was it the medicine’s influence or the face that made me trust him? I don’t know, I just did. “All in good time. Heal a bit first.” he said. His voice was like Raphael’s. As I drifted to sleep I wondered if he was his father.
In and out of sleeping, eating and being checked on. Finally, about three days later, the gentle man, Dr. Hammond, decided I was strong enough for a good long talk.
He walked in, locked the door and sat down. “It’s time, what do you want to know?”
“What happened to my arms?” I began.
“It’s the effect of Hyper typing. Most people last a year or so, it’s very hard on the body.” I had been doing it for a year and a half. “How had I lasted so long?” I asked him.
“I imagine you were in good condition when they took you. The near blackening on the tips of your fingers is a bad sign. The end of your “career” was near. Good thing I was with you when you passed out at the park.”
I looked at him in shock. [b]He[/b] was with me? It was Raphael there, I saw him. Hammond was about twenty years older and much shorter. He had a balding spot forming on the back of his head and a paunch beginning around his middle. “I don’t understand this, that was you?”
The doctor bit his lip. “Yes.” A nurse knocked on the door. “Lunchtime.” He looked a bit annoyed, but crossed the room to let her in anyway. “Let’s eat, then we’ll talk more.” he said as he opened the door.
It was a good lunch. The nurse walked in and presented two neon blue popsicles for desert. “Dr. Hammond is the only one who really appreciates these, but I thought you would like to try one.” she said as she handed me the popsicle.
I tried it, it was awful! The blueberry taste was overwelming in it’s sweetness. The blue dye gave it a tang that I can’t describe. Dr. Hammond quickly made his disappear. “Are you going to finish yours?” he asked. I handed it over and watched in fascination as he made it disappear.
Then it struck me. Rapheal had a popsicle like that. He ate it in the manner the good doctor ate his. What was going on?
Hammond finished my popsicle and threw the sticks away. “What did the probes do to me?” I asked right away, suspecting that he could clear up this mystery for me.
He looked at the floor in deep thought. “I’ll be blunt with you as you seem to be doing well. They are a biological device inserted in your head.” I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. I figured that part out already, thanks guy, I thought. I decided to let him lecture on, whether I already knew what he was saying or not. Maybe I would pick up something new. He continued.”They monitor the workers like a slave master with a whip. They keep you happy and in line with hallucinations.”
“What kind of hallucinations?” I asked. This bit of information was something I hadn’t figured on but possibly would explain a lot.
“Well, anything that will keep you happy. Say, someone might like fancy shoes but the Force isn’t going to take them shopping. The probes will let the person think they are wearing high heeled shoes.”
“But, would that person just wake up one day and suddenly have high heeled shoes? I think that would cause people to wonder if they were going nuts or not.”
He sighed and bit his lip. I could tell he was searching for the right words. “The probes are an ingenious piece of bio technology. The rebellion has finally finished a study on them …” I interrupted him with a kick. I knew that he had a hard time staying with the subject, I had overheard the nurses complaining about it. “Stay on the topic, how do they keep you from noticing the real things from the hallucinations?” I asked.
“They just do.” he shrugged. “It’s different for each person. The one hallucination all workers share is the guards. The way the guards look or act, even the number of them, differs from person to person. The Force just doesn’t have the manpower to guard all the workers personally. The probes do a good job. They keep your mind on your job with individual means of torture and delight.” My eyes glazed over as he droned on.
The probes caused hallucinations of guards? The ugly smoking Tweedle sisters were hallucination? What kind of mind do I have anyway? I started to laugh at it all. It was ridiculous, silly and insane. Tears started to stream down my eyes as the absurdity of it all crashed down on me. The thoughts I had were numerous. How much freedom did I actually have? Was the skylight a hallucination? How about my private room? The park? Was I still hallucinating? I stopped laughing and started crying.
Dr. Hammond stopped talking as he watched me break down. He reached out and patted my shoulder to soothe me. “There, there, it’s Ok.” I felt the warmth of his hands through my paper clinic gown. I realized it was the first time I had been touched by another human in eighteen months. I hugged him, careful of my damaged hands. He let me sob on his shoulder. He was real.
[b]WHAT ARE YOU UP TO NOW?[/b]
Now I do propaganda for the rebels. I got to teach myself how to type with a keyboard and send faxes.
Dr. Hammond showed me my queen probe. She resides in a jar of alcohol at a rebel lab, a small little leech like creature that controlled all the probes in my body and was the voice that guided me in the beginning. He said it was the thinnest queen he had ever seen. I apparently gave her quite a workout with my little word games. She was constantly trying to keep me working. But the words were my work, she got very confused and exhausted. She didn’t know wether to give me pleasure or pain. I like to call her Blondie when I talk of her because she still seems to have a confused look on her leechy face. I killed her in the park, it was the last straw for her. My techniques have been useful for others.
I really don’t know what was real and what wasn’t. I try not to think about it because like the doc says, it could keep me up at nights.
I love the room I work in. It has a real window with real sunshine. I can put anything I want in this room. I can type all day if I choose to. It’s all my choice now. I can quit and come back as much as I want whenever I want. I was fated for this life of decisions. We all were.
THE END (or beginning for me, whatever)
[ 24-02-2002: Message edited by: Praxilla ]
[ 09-03-2002: Message edited by: Praxilla ]
[ 09-03-2002: Message edited by: Praxilla ]
LOL, cool story, Praxilla! [img]images/smiles/icon_smile.gif[/img]
Reminds me of some places I’ve worked.
Wow!
Cool story. I like your writing style, it’s quite laid back and easy to read. the twist at the end was very cool :-)))
*BUMP*
I added a bit called BLUE POPSICLE. I think I’ll get this sucker finished sometime, heh. I’ll keep bumping to let you know. [img]images/smiles/icon_smile.gif[/img][img]images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif[/img] i really liked this and will definitely want to hear the rest of the story [img]images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif[/img]
I haven’t had much time to read the stories on this forum, but I got around to reading yours, Praxilla, and it is really pretty good. That’s a nice suprise ending to the first segment.
New part posted…
IT’S NOT ENOUGH ANYMOREIt’s going somewhere, honest! heh. [img]images/smiles/icon_wink.gif[/img]
FINISHED! bwa hahaha! whew!
I really liked this story, Prax! It was a thoroughly engaging premise, freshly done. I think you should do a lot more writing, I’m definitely a fan.
I finally finished reading your story, Praxilla. Sorry it took so long, I just have a lot of reading assignments and have just had the time to read a chapter of online fiction every few days. [img]images/smiles/icon_confused.gif[/img]
I loved it! Especially the part about the queen probe. The ending was good. I am really impressed by your talent and imagination. [img]images/smiles/icon_smile.gif[/img]
It plays on real-life fears of an oppressive government, the teshnological oppression of free will, and manipulation of public sentiment with propaganda. It’s also a great metaphor: We all have probes in our brains-the force that holds us back, prevents us from doing all the things we think of doing. Sometimes it’s for our own good, sometimes it’s inhibiting us needlessly.
One last thought: was it inspired by the Ditto leech neuron project that was in the news a few months ago? ‘Cause that’s what it reminded me of.
quote:
Originally posted by DalekTek790:
I finally finished reading your story, Praxilla. Sorry it took so long, I just have a lot of reading assignments and have just had the time to read a chapter of online fiction every few days. [img]images/smiles/icon_confused.gif[/img]I loved it! Especially the part about the queen probe. The ending was good. I am really impressed by your talent and imagination. [img]images/smiles/icon_smile.gif[/img]
It plays on real-life fears of an oppressive government, the teshnological oppression of free will, and manipulation of public sentiment with propaganda. It’s also a great metaphor: We all have probes in our brains-the force that holds us back, prevents us from doing all the things we think of doing. Sometimes it’s for our own good, sometimes it’s inhibiting us needlessly.
One last thought: was it inspired by the Ditto leech neuron project that was in the news a few months ago? ‘Cause that’s what it reminded me of.
*whimper* I just wrote out a well thought out, lengthy, explanation about different books I’ve read (Fahrenheit 451, Animal Farm, 1984, and Man of Two Worlds.) I talked about how I had diabetes caused by pregnancy and how it’s hard to think when the blood sugar gets low. Which leads to the headache and can’t think idea from the story. Plus children screaming, it acts on the nerves, I tell ‘ya!
I mentioned two college classes I took, statistics and a nutrition class. They taught me to look at studies and statistics with a judging eye. (another form of propaganda)
I talked about how my subconscious probably has a lot to do with the stories that come bubbling out. It was so well written. WAHHH!
[img]images/smiles/icon_sad.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/icon_mad.gif[/img]Then I hit post…and went over my smilie alotment. double wahh. Backspaced, and it was all gone. *double whimper*
And the irony of prapaganda and oppression can’t help but hit me. LMAO! That’s just silly.
I really appreciate the comments and thoughts. Thank you. Hopefully, more ideas that rumble around at the back of my head while the daily buzz of life goes on will come out to play.
[edit] to answer your question about ditto leech. Nope, never heard of it. Got a URL? I’d like to read more. I was thinking, what’s gross and easily placed in the head? Without displacing, or being heavy? Worms. I used queen worm because if there were probes throughout her body, that’s just so borg-like. And then they would have to go through a big operation to take them all out. I didn’t want that, so I made them biological because the smaller ones could be absorbed into the body and easily placed in them. Less scarring, making it impossible for the dead bodies to be autopsied and the truth be known. The Queen one was larger and base of operation, so taking longer to go away. That way, I didn’t have to go into gore, or deal with burst eardrums, although that might not have been so bad, realistic at least. Naw, didn’t want to go there. Maybe another time. As a matter of fact, I feel a story bursting to be told.
I’m flattered and jumping for joy that folks read this and thought about it and enjoyed it.
*subconscious says* Be seeing you. 😉
[ 22-03-2002: Message edited by: Praxilla ]
quote:
Originally posted by Praxilla:
Got a URL? I’d like to read more.
quote:
Originally posted by DalekTek790:
[img]images/smiles/icon_eek.gif[/img]
Freaky, man, just freaky! thanks for the link.
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