Written by Ann Farmer
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Here’s yesterday’s instalment. Today there are some shocking revelations by the caretaker and by Moonbeam – read on …
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The Caretaker continues: ‘I would recommend the rubbish chute for a quick, clean and – nearly – painless exit. A final exit.’
‘But I want to exit the building, not life itself!’ London protested. Then a cold fear clutched his heart. ‘Hang on a minute – is this – is this why I never see anyone – over a certain age? I mean, I know they offer the unfit the right to die if they’re suffering from some incurable disease, like the uncommon cold, or ringing in the ears – but -’ The horrible, terrible truth hit him. ‘This is the reason they all disappear, isn’t it?’
‘Of course it is. And I help them.’
‘You help them? Is this some kind of sick joke?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Certainly not. I help them out. And I can help you out too.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m the Caretaker – and I can take care of all your troubles – all your fears – all your loneliness. Just look on it as a kind of anti-ageing treatment – the most effective kind.’
‘Thanks,’ London said sarcastically. ‘But it just so happens I want to live.’
The other shrugged. ‘Really? Whatever for? It’s up to you of course – if you want to suffer. It’s your choice.’
London shook his head and stumbled out of the Utility Room, his head in a spin. Was this sinister individual a spy – a double agent, sent to trap him into betraying himself? Perhaps this sort of encounter always happened before someone ‘disappeared’. Did they escape? Or did the Caretaker ‘disappear’ them? He seemed to be trying to get people to kill themselves – but was he following some sadistic impulse of his own – or was he working for the Representatives? London felt as if he didn’t know anything anymore; but he did know that he needed to get a grip on his emotions, or the healthnsafety monitors would detect his mood change and refer him for a therapeutic intervention. Which might very well involve being sent straight back to the Caretaker.
It was a whole week before he ventured out from his work station again. He had been turning over one question in his mind, day and night, night and day, without ceasing: was there any point to anything? Because if there wasn’t, he might as well accept the Caretaker’s offer of ‘help’ – and make his final exit.
Of course, he also thought about Blue Eyes – but if they could never be together – could never touch, or even speak – really, was there any point?
After a few turns of the Atrium, trying to suppress his irritation at the periodic healthnsafety updates, and the mini-lectures on population and the environment by Sir Douglas Atterbury; the exhortations to loyalty, zeal, industry, by the Representatives; the uplifting sermons of the Eternal Guardians, assuring them that the sun would come out tomorrow, yadayada – London slipped away and descended again to the lower level, as if drawn by some invisible, magnetic force.
He managed it without attracting any notice, and was silently congratulating himself on the success of the manoeuvre as he pushed open the door to the Utility Room. Now all that was left was to screw up his courage and carry out that fateful decision – do the deed – take the plunge. In his present circumstances, the only possible course of action. And then he saw her.
She was opening the hatch to the rubbish chute, just as he had made up his mind to do – but his first reaction was to cry ‘Stop!’
She carried on as though she hadn’t heard him, and he leapt forward and dragged her back just as she was about to launch herself down the chute. She was shaking violently, and her blue eyes were brimming with tears. ‘Let me go!’ Her voice was choked with sobs. ‘There’s – there’s just no point…’
It was his turn to shake as she voiced the silent despair with which he had been wrestling for the past week. But for some insane reason, he found himself saying: ‘No – no – you’re wrong! There is a point! Listen to me! Life is worth living!’
She caught her breath, looking up into his eyes. ‘Do – do you really think so?
Even though he didn’t think so, he nodded; because he wanted it to be so. ‘Yes – yes, I do,’ he said; then: ‘You’ve seen him, haven’t you? You’ve seen the Caretaker! And he put it into your head that going down there –’ he jerked his head towards the rubbish chute ‘- was the only sane thing to do!’
‘In a world where everyone is mad,’ she said in a low voice, ‘yes – yes, it makes sense.’ And once again she glanced towards the open hatch, her blue eyes taking on that familiar, terrible blankness.
Alarmed, he gently turned her face towards him. ‘Life is worth living,’ he repeated.
‘But you don’t understand!’ She began to cry again. ‘I’m one of those mistakes of nature! He explained it all to me – why I feel so different – why work isn’t everything to me – why I – why I want to be – a mother –’
‘A what?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘A female progenitor. They used to be called mothers – they felt love for their children -’
‘Love?’ Now he was really stumped.
‘It was what men and women – males and females – used to feel for each other. They “fell in love”.’
London nodded. No wonder he’d felt as if he were falling when he first saw her, even though he was standing still. It was all beginning to make sense! ‘And after all,’ he murmured, ‘if there is hate, there must be love.’
‘Then they had children,’ Moonbeam continued, ‘and they loved them too – yes,’ she added, seeing his baffled look, ‘they had more than one child.’ She paused, then stumbled on: ‘The Caretaker, he explained – they created us to be equal – just like males – to want only to work, work, work – nothing else – they created us to be sterile – but a few of us, we’re different – we came out of the breeding programme all wrong – we’re a variant – the sort that can have children. But if they catch us, they’ll make sure we can’t have them. They say it’s not natural –’
He grabbed her hand. ‘But nothing could be more natural!’ He took a deep breath. It was now or never. ‘Someone told me – no, not the Caretaker – about how things should be.’
[What will London and Moonbeam do? Find out in tomorrow’s final instalment!]
Photo by mcamcamca 
Thank you Ann. I don’t want to die either – not yet.
I hope there really is some other way out of the building for the hero and heroine.
The ‘work’ done in the work station is still puzzling me.
It’s as if homo sapiens has become just a cog in some gigantic machine.
Compulsive reading but somehow very prescient.
Interesting thought/text came to me as I read that, Ann. “Love one another, as I have loved you.”
Followed by the song title “Love changes everything.”
Thanks for sharing.
Yes Michael D but Mohammed came later and talked as though he knew better than Jesus. Of course there have been many false interpretations of Jesus’ message throughout the Centuries. Cultural Marxism is one example of those around now.
Doesn’t it suggest that Satan really does exist.
Yes, Pauline. It is the norm to know better. Ego demands it. It dwells in the attitude expressed by ‘I’m right, you are wrong. Get over it.’ It isn’t just a modern day attitude either.
SATAN. His Snares , Devices and Goal. An excellent 16 page Booklet. Available From. BPB.52A. WILSON STREET.LONDON.EC2A 2ER.
So The Great Dragon Was Cast Out, That Serpent Off Old, Called The Devil And Satan Who Deceives The Whole World, He was Cast Out To The Earth, And His Angels Were Cast Out With Him. The Revelation. Chapter 12 Verse 9.