>Brain pt. 4


     Log 4: They determined I was mentally healthy with a series of medical examinations, the majority of which were simple questions, such as “Is this card blue, or is it red?” (Being shown a green card) “When you look at this picture, do you feel happy?” (while being shown a picture of a baby laughing) and “Does this disgust you?” (while being shown a picture of a woman with a smashed-in eyeball.) I answered their little questions and was brought back to the room where I first awoke. The steel gurney had been replaced with a cot. The straps were gone, as was the IV. The TV was dusted, plugged in, and showing a gentle sitcom. I noticed that there was a window on the wall behind where the steel gurney had been. I must have been unable to see it earlier with my head restrained. There was a small night table next to the bed with a small velvet pouch on it.
     “Please enjoy your stay, Mr. Octavian.” said the attendant who had escorted me back to my room. As he closed the door behind him, I heard a decisive click. I know what you may be thinking. Why didn’t I simply rip this one off the hinges, too? I was not in the mood. That, and there was the fact that this was a solid steel door perhaps 1 foot thick, which likely had a very complex locking mechanism.
I took this time to explore the room. The first thing I did was turn off the TV. Then I opened the shades that were over the window, and looked out. What I saw defied explanation. But I’m going to go ahead and try to explain it anyway.
     Looking down, I could not see the ground, only a dim blue haze. Straight ahead was another building that looked to be roughly the same as the one I was in. I could not see all the way across very easily, but it looked like there were windows on that building as well. There may have been people in that building, but I couldn’t tell. I looked up to see if there was a top of the building. Then I noticed that the building across the way did not have a bottom. It appeared to be floating. The bottom was maybe 100 feet below where I was. The top was perhaps 300 feet above where I was (assuming that the building across the way was the same height. I had no way of knowing) and held in the air by an absolutely massive blimp. Looking more closely, I could see small airships docking on the bottom of the building, and detaching to float gently downward toward the earth.
I then checked the pouch on the night table. It was filled with 40 or 50 miniature ping-pong balls. There was a note under it. It read simply, “For your amusement.”
     I checked the floor for weaknesses, but there seemed to be a very hard material under the carpet throughout the room. An interesting consequence of my knocking on the floor was that I heard knocking come back up through the floor, perhaps from a fellow surgery patient below me.
The TV was a very old, tube-type TV. I turned it back on and flipped through the channels. There was the sitcom, and on the next channel there was a nature documentary about koalas, and on the next one there was a looping infomercial. I watched this for a bit, and the following is what I heard.

     “If you are watching this that means that you are a lucky recipient of the new, experimental, Neural Streamlining Procedure! Please stay tuned for a description for the implications of your surgery.”
     It began to play calming piano music as the image switched from one of a bed of flowers to a video of a middle-aged man standing in a contemporary-looking house with comfortable-looking furniture. “Hello, and welcome to SOFPIH, Scientists Opting For Perfection In Humanity.”
     The man began walking with a relaxed stride and continued to speak in a relaxed voice. “We here at SOFPIH believe that the human race can and should improve itself. We are above nature, and it’s time we showed it! Using the latest in room-temperature superconducting technology, we have enabled our patients to harness the massive power of telekinesis, among many, many other things! I myself am among these patients.” The man lifted his bangs, showing a very faint scar across his forehead. “We believe that humans today are weak, relying too much on technology to make life easier for them. Becoming slaves to the machines that serve us. We believe that humans can and should take back the power to do great things. To get up and enter the modern world!”
     “Among your improvements, in addition to the telekinesis that you have gained, you have also gained a tenfold increase in mental speed, increased articulation when speaking, and confidence. Isn’t progress just beautiful?”
     The image switched to that of a woman cooking in the kitchen. “Not only did my surgery increase my confidence, it inspired me to try new things.” A cook-book was floating in front of her, and she was using both hands to crack an egg into a bowl. The piano music was still playing.
   “We believe in a better tomorrow. A tomorrow with art.” A video clip of a man painting a very large wall by moving paint-rollers through the air ten or twenty feet above him, painting a serene landscape.
“A tomorrow with safety.” A video clip of a man being invisibly restrained by a police officer outside of a convenience store.
     “A tomorrow with music.” A video clip of a man playing the serene music on a piano partly with his hands, and partly by the keys near the bottom that appeared to be pressed down my an invisible finger.
     “A tomorrow with fewer deaths, and more time spent in the home with family.” A soldier stopping bullets in front of him, which cross-faded into a family, including the soldier, enjoying a family meal.
     “In conclusion, here at SOFPIH, we are dedicated to making the best people out of the most normal. To give greatness to those who need it most. Already, thousands of people have successfully had the surgery done and have returned to the public. And one day, you will join them. Thank you.” The image faded out, but the piano didn’t.
     And it was soon replaced by a fade-in of a bed of flowers. “If you are watching this then that means you ar-“

    I turned off the TV. And I knew immediately that everything that the man was saying was a lie. I could see strings holding up the cook book. I’ve seen pianos that play themselves, they’re quite common. The video of the man painting the wall could very well have been faked, video editing was powerful. And the soldier stopping bullets lacked a scar across his forehead. Propaganda, that’s all this place was. Brainwashing. To break people before they leave. Perhaps to create a slave race of telekinetic laborers. Or to raise an army of super-soldiers.
     I went back to the bed, and fell asleep, thoughts of the very gall of this place buzzing around in my head.

Next Log 


About flaminglog

I am a novelist, a poet, and a musician. I love to create things. That is who I am. Who are you? (I'd love to meet you.)
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