The Sixth Day
Campbell McCraken, Year 12
From the moment I was born, I was destined for greatness, every one of my cells acutely optimised for perfection. ‘A marvel of genetic engineering,’ as they say, but who isn’t these days? Why wouldn’t they be, when their parents can simply trade in God’s dice for a perfect child without even the need for a second mortgage. Growing up, I was constantly reminded of the future I would be a part of; a world without infections and diseases, without famine or drought. This was indeed the future, but of a different variety. When the world’s top geneticists cracked the code of the human genome after decades of studies, it seemed like the start of a global apostasy the likes of which the world had never seen. The first of those treated were seen as gods among men; living longer, jumping higher and thinking faster than any human before them… That was a long time ago.
There are no gods anymore, only a society oversaturated with the promise of a better tomorrow. Humanity’s been watered down to the point where purchasing the latest in physical and mental ability is a standardised part of any birth. Though people aren’t born, not anymore. No, people are produced, a true by-product of the capitalist experience, no longer able to be separated from their materialistic lives. I was given the name Chase Beck, two words that would be associated with all facets of existence for the remainder of my life. But there is no Chase Beck, nor is there a humanity for him to be a part of … Humans fail. These days, the only thing holding people back is the mile-high barrier walling off the city that the government calls protection. They try to construct this façade of a utopia, convince us of our purpose, but I’ve never known who I am, only who I’m supposed to be. I suppose it’s this same line of thought that convinced some guy to place a bullet in my parent’s heads, not that it makes a difference. All I know is that I don’t belong here and that my only way out is via that truck rounding the corner of Graham and Stephan.
From the ditch I’m hiding in, I could only just make out the faint hum of the truck pulling up in front of my neighbour’s house, ready to collect their garbage. This early in the morning, I know there isn’t much chance of being spotted, especially considering people haven’t been allowed to drive for 13 years, but I’m not going to roll those dice. Desertion is an offence punishable by death, a fate I’m yet to be ready for. As I hear the subtle screech of the brake disks sliding together, I make my move. By the time the truck takes off I’m already positioned under the collection unit. I look back over the suburban housing and towards the towering jungle of concrete and disillusionment, lit only by the aspirations attached to the rising sun. It’s in moments like these that the drawbacks of genetic perfection really come to the forefront, practically being able to identify someone’s favourite colour by the stench of their waste. Within seconds, however, the truck was moving, soon drowning out the obstruction of any senses other than thought.
They used to say that ‘only the best knew how to fall’ … They don’t say that anymore. I certainly don’t know, never so much as touching an eraser throughout my schooling career. Not that this evoked any sense of pride or emotion within my parents, or at least not visually. I suppose that was intrinsically linked to the dice, at this point all but forgotten. In this life, though people may be spared the burden of failure; they instead suffer under a far worse fate, the burden of perfection.
The wall stretches above me, dark, its features indistinguishable from nothingness. The truck starts to pull to a stop mere metres from it, in front of a circular opening. It thrusts forward a vertical palm while daring me to go through. While I can assume this is the ultimate fate of the city’s rubbish, what I can’t anticipate is what that denotes. As the back of the truck inches towards the hole one small agonizing step at a time, every aspect of my mind is urging me to stop, to rethink my choices, to return to my normal life. What life? No, this is what needs to happen. This is my fate. My mind’s gotten me far enough, but now it’s time for human instinct to take over. In fact, the closer I get, the more I’m convinced that maybe I’m not leaving, maybe I’m going home.
Without warning the storage unit I’m situated in breaks free from its restraints, throwing me to the back wall. In this moment, I become acutely aware of an almost rhythmic pulse, vibrating through my body. It explodes through my legs and up my spine like a wave, synching with my heartbeat. The more they synch, the more this sensation starts to leak into my other senses, overriding any sense of external thought. I’m inside the tube now, slowly moving through, the pressure of the air overwhelming. It compresses my lungs, forcing my body to occupy as little space as possible. Soon there’s no air, but the pressure hasn’t gone. I tuck my legs into my chest and lie on the now clear ground. The rhythmic pulse so sensually profound that it eliminated any sense of orientation. Soon, the pulse separates from my heartbeat, the pressure growing stronger by the second. I feel my bones flatten. Everything is pain. Everything is … okay.
The sensation’s stopped, my senses freed. I let out an auditory yell, the tension rushing from my body. My eyes flutter open and I’m bombarded with an overwhelming light. My chest pounds harder than ever before, my abdomen a balloon, attached to an air pump working overtime. Slowly, the intensity of light drops, revealing a broken world. The light keeps dropping, however, lower than it’s ever gone. The blue sky is replaced with clouds of smog, and acidic rain, the concrete jungle now a splattering of broken homes. People crowded around the pile of rubbish I now lie on, scavenging what they can, more disease than I’ve ever seen. This is indeed the future. A future fuelled by the worst in human nature. A future where those unable to keep up with the world are left to rot as a ‘lower class’ of human. This truly is the death of humanity.