After Apple-Picking
The last thing I remember was The Engineer darting towards me, his fist raised. Instinctively, I raised my hands to protect my head, forgetting the sword by my side. Then the blow connected, and it all went black.
I opened my eyes to see myself looking down at me. I reached to touch that face expecting glass, only to touch flesh. I tried to sit up, but the searing pain kept me on my back. Then, the doppelganger plugged a tube into the base of my skull. It was a courtesy for those who woke up first to help with the “download.” I looked around to see thousands of the same bewildered expressions wearing the same hospital gown and sitting on the same hospital bed. Like me, are me, they, we, shivered as the memories started flushing in, answering the questions at the tip of our tongues. This place used to be a football stadium until The Scientist repurposed it into a two-level Thunderdome. Currently, we are in The Restoration Chamber, and directly below is where I met my end a few seconds ago, The Execution Field.
There was a buzz on the giant screen above us, and the image of another me in a lab coat appeared.
- So, #3995, what do you see yourself doing in the future? – He asked, and the camera panned to a bed a few paces away from me.
- I will be an engineer, just like Dad.
- Excellent! – The Scientist pressed a button labeled “Success.” A door slid open at the end of the hall. – And you, #3996?
- I’m going to accept Big Bro’s offer and work at his company. – Another “Success.”
- Great!
- I’m going to be a doctor. – This one followed Mom’s wish.
- Me? A policeman! – Of course, one of my childhood dreams. I was fascinated by their uniforms.
- Tour guide.
- Ambassador.
- Professor.
One by one, the door opened for them. Alas, it was my turn.
- #4002, you’re not answering. – He knew it was me.
“A writer.” – I said. He paused. He smiled. I knew that smile well. The one I saw in the mirror when my father would hit me. He would beat me and beat me without regard for how bloody and broken I was. Again and again and again… And then he would laugh and laugh and laugh…
And laugh.
He would only praise me when I laughed along with him. But all I could muster was a smile. I did not know it would be better to run away. The world was so big, and I was so small.
That was how I lived. That was how all of us in this room, lived, until that day when he wanted me to inherit the construction company. That was when The Split happened.
- Garbage. – The Scientist shrieked; his hand slammed the “Failure” button, and the ground swallowed me.
- You okay? – I asked.
- I’m fine. What are you?
- I’m The Musician. – I hesitated. – Sorry.
- There’s no reason to apologize. I’m glad you’re here. I’m The Writer. – I helped him up, as the gate on the other side of the field opened. The ground in front of us was littered, with more “us,” more “Failures.” Soon they will be collected, their memories wiped, and sent back to The Restoration Chamber.
- Do you think we’re ready? – I asked.
- We can always try again. – He answered.
Silence laid viscous and heavy as The Engineer stepped out from the shadow. Whenever we were in doubt, we looked at The Engineer. He may have the same oval face as the thousand corpses here, the same black hair. and the same bang that obscured our eyes like a sheepdog, even the same scar at the upper corner of our left eyes from the time we tried to become a pirate. But those cuts and bruises that littered his body, those we did not have.
Then he charged at us, like he always does. Millions of times before, that was enough to crush our heads, or immediately incapacitate us. Sometimes, The Scientist would provide us with weapons, perhaps he enjoyed seeing us struggle or some other means. We have never managed to even scratch The Engineer. This time, however, we were ready. After all, practice makes perfect.
We picked up the swords and arranged ourselves according to the plan, with me in front and The Writer some distance behind. My companion was down on one knee, his hand on the pommel of a sword as if to show sympathy for the hulking figure that was fast approaching, his step crunched the bones and flesh underneath. The Engineer was within reach now with his jackhammer of a fist raised, expecting to claim another victim. It descended with such force that the air was split in two.
A loud bang as the ground broke open under the impact, and a snap of wood.
It hit no one. We have tried this before, of course. Different alterations, different angles, taking into account everything from The Engineer’s weight, his speed, the energy behind his punch… even where each of us would die to slow him down so the survivors had a chance to evade his initial attack. Now, The Engineer would turn around for me, to finish the job, and expose his vulnerable neck.
- You buffoon, above you! - The Scientist shouted over the intercom.
The idea came from Tom and Jerry. The words emerged from the Writer’s throat, a growl that forced its way past his teeth and lips, as he was sent skyward, leveraged by the bo staff we have hidden underneath the bodies.
- Not this time.
With a stab, The Engineer’s head dropped like an apple, his eyes wide, and I caught a glimmer of appreciation.
- It’s time to free #1.
“For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.”
(After Apple-Picking – Robert Frost)