Simulated

Someone had pissed all over the side of the florist’s shop in Prince’s Street and it smelled horrendous. The only reason I knew it was piss is because it invaded my nostrils with such zeal that I almost lost my balance. I quickly walked away. People were walking strangely today, as if they had forgotten where they were going. I glanced at my wristwatch, 18:52, and paused to wipe dirt off of its face. Sighing, I accelerated my stride and turned the corner onto the place where I had worked for seven and a quarter years. “Don’s Place” had always been an awful name for a bar, because it could simultaneously be a mafia hideout and a crappy bistro. Why the enigmatic name for somewhere you want people to frequent? At least the weather was pleasant, I thought. It was one of those days where the sun bakes everything in its sight, beaming down on you as you try and recall if you have sun cream in the aloof compartment under the stairs. The temperature had really accentuated the smell of urinal fluid that still lay guest to some unfortunate passer-by on the side of the florist’s shop. I was wearing my uniform to work, but you could probably have guessed that. As I slipped in through the door, making sure to smile at the semi-attractive but actually fairly gregarious and interesting girls that always sat near the dartboard, I threw my rucksack into our communal staffroom that always reminded me of a cupboard and fastened my apron on. Some of my colleagues were already serving on the shop floor. I’m not even going to tell you their names because they are even less remarkable than me, and I’d actually forgotten half of them. I walked out from the backroom to see the bar as I had seen it so many times before, the stereotypical bar front with a clutter of people scattered in groups at differently sized oak tables. The wallpaper was maroon and cracked in several parts, but held a warm and inclusive feeling. A permanent scent of lager had been doused across the room for years and I had grown so accustomed to it I had to think about it to smell it. My first customer approached me, one of the regular girls her eyes twinkling as she ordered a vodka. I wonder who pissed on the florist’s shop.

‘Nothing interesting ever happens to me’ is the worst cliché because it tests the perception of what people find as interesting. Being alive is pretty interesting to dead sperm cells. Having your own place to live is amazingly interesting to a child (“And you can have your music at full blast?!”), and in general I’ve always thought that people who say that are just intellectually incapable of empathy. But as I was serving a guy who looked as though he’d just pulled a needle out from his arm fifteen minutes ago, I thought about that cliché. Interesting how the mind can contradict itself so quickly when met with mere discomfort. I smiled at the guy as he clutched his tankard, he frowned reproachfully and stumbled away. Seriously though, where is my life going? I’m a relatively smart bloke, my qualifications say differently but you need to be smart to live idly in an area like Chicago. This city was rife with scoundrels, criminals and any other name a verbose scholar could come up with (You can probably tell I’m not a verbose scholar). Moreover, I’d spent so much of my life doing things that I didn’t want to, not out of stoicism or a want to improve oneself but for lack of guidance and drive. How do you go from being an average Joe to someone who enjoys life? This question plagued my mind almost every day. I had settled for mediocrity for the simple reason that I wasn’t ambitious enough, and this is why my life hadn’t been interesting. Heck, for the past couple weeks I’d started forgetting some of the happiest moments in my life!

I was 2 hours into my shift when the news broke. It was loud, but not in volume, more loud in subject. Poeticism aside, the TV that rested in the top corner of the room reclusively was turned on abruptly by one of my co-workers. This was strange as it was only ever put on when there was a big football game or a politician was doing something interesting. The latter was the reason this time. Everyone in the room gradually cast their interest towards the television.

“I’m standing here, in the capital city of our beloved country, with The President!” I glanced up when this was said. The President barely made social appearances, a lower bureaucrat usually made any announcements. Why was he now standing beside a smartly dressed news reporter, glaring through the TV screen and into my brown eyes? It felt as though he was talking directly to me.

“As you will most likely know, The President doesn’t regularly talk to people like me” the reporter awkwardly laughed, and the cringe worthy feeling was palpable in the bar. The President held his thousand-yard stare.

“However, he reached out to us here at DBC to address the nation!” The reporter’s voice was high pitched and annoying, and it was noticeable that he was irritating The President. They were filming outside in Central Park, and it was snowing heavily. It seemed impossible that we could be in the same country with such different current climates, the snow was thick and falling fast, covering the ground in a milky white blanket that seemed to stretch on forever. By this point everyone in the room was watching the screen.

“I pass you on to the man himself!” The President gripped his microphone and cleared his throat as the reporter grinned and sidestepped, ensuring he was still in shot.

“My fellow American’s. I am addressing you today, in a speech that has been rehearsed tenfold times and has proven more arduous to write than you could ever imagine. However, I am here today asking for your time on this snowy day, to inform you of something that will change your life”. A couple of the people in the bar laughed, but others gestured for them to be quiet. ‘Life changing’ wasn’t something you heard every day.

“Humans have existed for thousands of years, and we have evolved greatly over this time. We have become more complex in so many different aspects, and as each year rolls by we continue to improve and create. But is there a limit to our progress; can we plateau? Although you may think that we can always continue growing, there is a limit. Think about it, everything must stop at some point? We as humans are too modest too believe that we have limitations but it is true, and has always been true. We believe we are the strongest creatures ever, because we are the strongest creature we have ever came up against. If you are doubtful, it proves what I’m saying. We hate accepting we can’t do something.”

Everyone in the room was silent by this point; what was going on? I had been expecting a tax increase or even at worst a potential war, but The President was rambling on about existentialism for what had been a few unusual minutes. I flicked my eyes around the room and everyone else seemed confused, we were united in our puzzlement. Even the news reporter appeared slightly baffled and uncomfortable, but hey, at least his Mom would be proud, meeting The President made for something.

“This may not make sense, but if you think about it carefully it does. I am just going to say it. Your entire life has not existed beyond five years, because everything you have remembered or even remember remembering was created artificially and implemented into your heads. Essentially, your lives have been simulated for five years and you are all technically, five years old. Everything you have done up to this point has been carefully monitored and analysed for the human races benefit. We have placed you all in different situations that will test how you cope under different pressures and how humans can improve and become stronger. If you think I’m being untruthful, try and remember your first day at school. Thirty seconds ago, as I was speaking, we removed all your previous memories. Try and remember your first day at school!”

The news reporter had turned a colour that made him perfectly blend in with the snow. By this point it was hard to hear what was being said on the screen, as everyone in the bar was either shouting or crying. I was trembling, and desperately trying to remember my first day of school. But it wasn’t there. There was nothing there when I thought about it, and the more I tried to think about it, the angrier and more enraged I became. How could there be nothing there? It was similar to how a blind person doesn’t see the colour black; they just see nothing. You can’t even comprehend it, and what I was doing was trying to recall a memory that existed of nothingness. My sight became blurry and that salty tears leaked from my eyes in a dash of frustration.

“You each were created and full human memories and consciences five years and two months ago. If you are believed to be forty-eight, you began existence at the age of forty-three. Anger is normal and expected” he finished quickly. I was surprised the cameraman hadn’t dropped the camera yet, but he was probably shell shocked. What do you do if you find out your existence has merely been a science project? Your family, relationships, passions, worries, fears all meaningless and governed by an entity that you serve unknowingly? I drove my fist onto the countertop, wincing in the instantly regretted pain. I had worked here for seven years though, I was sure of it. Thoughts were bouncing around my brain so quickly it was hard to catch one and think about it. Someone threw a glass at the television screen but it only chipped it, making The President’s face appear cracked in a crude sort of way.

“You are rightfully angry, I wouldn’t expect anything different. However, I ask you not to seek vengeance or attempt to revolt against us. As you could probably guess, your simulation is being discontinued and this is the reason we are informing you. You have three hours left” and as he uttered those last words he disappeared from sight, like a hologram. I gasped and dropped a glass, it shattered into hundreds of transparent pieces. By this point I was shaking more than I ever had before, startled by what I had just heard. How can my entire life have been a fallacy, the construction of someone else? I ran out into the street, forgetting my responsibilities whilst sprinting into the boiling sun. If nothing had ever existed, in my life, then nothing else mattered. I pushed my way past a group of crying students and continued on my path. What should I do?  I only has three hours of life left, with a lifetime of things left to do.