Future, Daniel Sidhom

Future

by Daniel Sidhom

Lonely am I on the nights and days that conjure my remaining senses. My tears forever roll down my face, but I make no sound. I wander as lonely as a cloud, through the corridors of despair, thinking of you. It is as if being close to you was a crime, but now that I think of it, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal. The blood moon weeps for me, as I think of the agony you left me. I noticed the storm in your eyes, the heaviness in your heart and the silence in your voice, yet you never let me in. And now that I think of it, immersed in solitude for eternity, you wouldn’t know me, nor the world in which I live today. The future of this Earth taught me no more than to love it with perverse affection. No judgement, no feelings, just a sense of desire to drown my sins.

February 18th, 2060

I walked slowly into the building, my shoes clicking with every step of the way. My blonde long hair was combed neatly to the side and my moustache precisely curled. I took the elevator to the 74th floor, where my client was already patiently waiting for me. “Do come in”, I politely gestured to the man to come into my office. I sat at my desk and clicked the desk panel to reveal an online scanned document. I rotated it sideways so that my client could clearly see it. I glanced at him and patiently waited for him to finish thinking. He looked up apologetically, but I nodded, feeling his sadness. “Mr Gregorovich” I began hesitantly, “I was most fascinated with this piece of work. You tell me yourself you have experience from the past with this sense of isolation and rejection. Am I correct?” The man looked at me with his empty eyes, his mouth slightly apart twisted in some sort of discomfort. “This will be my last piece of work, yes, before I…”. His voice trailed off into the distance, as if recoiling from the poisonous experiences of his past. Once more he looked at me, his coldness cutting my heart. I reached to my left blazer pocket and took out a letter, still sealed, and handed it over to the man.

“A letter of gratitude from my director”, I said. “I will begin editing your piece within two days. The publishing expenses will be all dealt with when I speak to the board, and as for the printing, I have contacted the Sentinel newspaper agency to make the arrangements.”

The man smiled at me. “You have not changed one bit”, he said. “You’re still the most unemotional person I have ever met, even at twenty-two.”

I looked down at my trembling hands. “We may have lasted together for a short time, but let us take advantage of this opportunity. Let’s take a walk.” I stood up from my chair, switched off the hologram on the table, and opened the door.

“Of course.”

Walking through the streets of Covent Garden felt quite different. Memories of childhood hit me, and I saw myself at the age of five running around with my friends. I wondered where they would be today. Their own families, relationships, something that I could never really truly grasp. We took a walk for thirty minutes, weaving past shops and robots fixing a cobblestone pathway. The streets were abandoned, as though the man’s eyes filled this place with their emptiness. “Do you know what it feels like to be alone?”, the man asked suddenly. We stopped walking just as we reached the entrance of Punch & Judy. A feeling of uncertainty hit me.

“What is it that you exactly want from me Mr Gregorovich? Is it truly to publish your piece of writing, because as far as I can see, you still cannot get over our past?” The man smirked but had a look of disgust on his face. “I could say the same thing for you. A bright and handsome fellow at twenty-two, outstandingly educated, richer than most can ever imagine to be. Yet so alone and isolated. No family member to talk with, no wife and no children to play with. It’s a shame how pathetic you really are, living in poverty of loneliness.”

I looked at him, anger rushing through my veins. “And you live in a life of luxury as well?”, I asked mockingly. “The last time I noticed, you left your children and your wife to come to me. She committed suicide and the three children were sent away to foster care, but you always cared for her didn’t you. You were always so considerate, even with me as with her.”

The man reached for his left pocket. “No”, he whispered. “But I would rather stand alone than to be around people who don’t value me.” I should have seen the jolt of his hand. I should have noticed the silver metal gleaming in the yellow sun. The bullet pierced through my skin, propelling me backwards. I stumbled and fell onto my chest, blood starting to rush out of my mouth. The man kneeled and gently turned me over, before searching my pockets. He took my phone, my wallet and my diamond ring. He wiped the gun with a cloth, and carefully placed it next to my twitching hand. He stood up, adjusted his hat, and walked silently into the distance.

I lay there, peacefully, deep in oblivion.