Another question faded in.
“You feel the urge to excite your sex organ when the titillation bay is inactive. What will be your line of action?”
This was more of a revision, a rubbing-it session for all he knew. He had sailed over this question in the past without a fumble.
Have a bar of chocolate, he wrote.
Simple as that.
The letters dissolved into blackness, but before a subsequent set could replace them, another rumble rocked the world, more notably that the last time. A thud was what Aseem made of it, and he could swear by the Unnamed that something unboxly was afoot now. This was a first; the world quivering and whirring as if it had transformed into a blown-up titillation device.
The titillation device was part of his weekly regime of sexual stimulation, a basic human need as per the EPUU. It was but human need to eject slithery, sleek, muddy-grey jets of fluid from its sexual organ on a weekly basis; this was achieved by inserting one’s cylindrical sex organ inside the rubber sheath that protruded from the wall of the titillation bay, and have it vibrate manically until what Aseem had termed, in a brainwave of creative excess, as ‘climax’ occurred and the resultant fluid was expelled into the bay. This animatedly described process was what the EPUU defined as ‘sex’. Aseem could only define sex as the most pleasurable human process there ever was and could be. It took him less than 30 seconds of titillation, sometimes even 20, to hit his climax. He had been instructed by the EPUU that a human who could elongate the period of titillation with mental sinew and will was a man worthy of a life free of punishment and retribution, someone who could hope for a peaceful afterlife.
The tremor had subsided presently; the world was back to normal. Aseem’s goldfish curiosity remained for a second more, but as inevitability would have it, it succumbed under the sheer weight of newfound relief. The world was alright, it hadn’t given way, and it was comfortingly pitch black and four-walled as ever before.
He concentrated on the next question.
“How do you feel about the daily questions? Does answering them put your mind to rest?”
This was another of the meta-questions that kept cropping up every once a while. The trick was not to answer keeping in mind the distinctions of right and wrong, but by gauging one’s instinctive reply and writing the opposite of it. This always resulted in the ‘right’ answer. He though about how he felt.
He felt nothing; neutral was how he felt.
It is a feeling of immense satisfaction and fulfillment. Moreover, answering them gives me the incentive to look forward to life with a better, closed-minded view.
He smiled as, predictably enough, new words replaced the existing ones once more.
“The box is a lie.”
He gasped and double checked what he had read, and there they were, the cold, ruthless grey letters on the black background:
The box is a lie.
A second passed and Aseem blinked; the letters were no more to be seen, they had simply vanished, as if physically wiped off a surface in the split second the slits of his eyes had closed and opened. He touched the platform to reaffirm his visual input. He felt the plain surface, black as ever, not a gray tinge on them to be seen.
What in Unnamed’s great name could it mean? How could the box simply be a lie? That was beyond what could be humanly fathomable, he thought; if the box was a lie, then where was he right now? And why had Arbitron randomly passed on the cryptic message to him instead of the question? And then, in a sudden surge of realization, it hit him.
Curiosity is sin.
This was a surprise assessment to test his ignorance and suppression of sinful curiosity, and he had failed by having reacted in an evil manner. The whip-arm of the Arbitron appeared as its hoarse voice blared verse 012 of the EPUU from all directions.
And it was on once more: the delicate pinning down of his torso by one arm of the Arbitron, the repeated rapping of its other arm on his behind, the muffled gasps of pain that emanated from Aseem’s mouth, who was already repentant of his sinful indulgence of wonderment and surprise: the biggest perpetrators of evil and villainy.
“Forgive me, O Exalted one; Hallowed be thy un-name,” he chanted over and over as the lashing went on and finally drew to an excruciating climax.
The arms eased their grasp, receded and finally became one with the wall. Writhing and squirming with pain, Aseem lay where he was, not a thought entering or escaping his mind. He had genuinely been puzzled by the mystifying message; he had been taken unawares by The Arbitron. Maybe it had felt that it was getting a bit too easy for him that day; maybe it was time for him to know the pain of having sinned, know the pain of retribution and be reminded of the wrath of the Unnamed. Though he no longer was employing any cognitive effort to it, the eerie, vivid image of the message remained in his eyes:
The box is a lie.
He was thinking yet not thinking; he had finally learned to cloud his thoughts from himself. His thinking remained a split second ahead of his consciousness. It was akin to dreaming; He knew what he was thinking would be forgotten the moment he put his mind to it. It was like watching a rapid news feed on an endless marquee, being able to make out a few words here and a few phrases there, but what registered on the whole was nil. He could finally evade the Arbitron into believing he was not thinking, while he most certainly was; so what if only passively, and so what if the thoughts he thought would vanish the second he thought them out.
An abrupt announcement brought him back from his stupor. “It is requested that you return to your mental work bay 1 and resume your daily schedule as per the time table,” proclaimed the Arbitron. Everything forgotten and his lesson well-learned, he set to work once more. Another question appeared, another trick employed, and over and over it went like clockwork.
“God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world,” hymned someone with contentment, far away from Aseem, and breathed their last.
-
Chapter 5
“You feel the urge to excite your sex organ when the titillation bay is inactive. What will be your line of action?”
This was more of a revision, a rubbing-it session for all he knew. He had sailed over this question in the past without a fumble.
Have a bar of chocolate, he wrote.
Simple as that.
The letters dissolved into blackness, but before a subsequent set could replace them, another rumble rocked the world, more notably that the last time. A thud was what Aseem made of it, and he could swear by the Unnamed that something unboxly was afoot now. This was a first; the world quivering and whirring as if it had transformed into a blown-up titillation device.
The titillation device was part of his weekly regime of sexual stimulation, a basic human need as per the EPUU. It was but human need to eject slithery, sleek, muddy-grey jets of fluid from its sexual organ on a weekly basis; this was achieved by inserting one’s cylindrical sex organ inside the rubber sheath that protruded from the wall of the titillation bay, and have it vibrate manically until what Aseem had termed, in a brainwave of creative excess, as ‘climax’ occurred and the resultant fluid was expelled into the bay. This animatedly described process was what the EPUU defined as ‘sex’. Aseem could only define sex as the most pleasurable human process there ever was and could be. It took him less than 30 seconds of titillation, sometimes even 20, to hit his climax. He had been instructed by the EPUU that a human who could elongate the period of titillation with mental sinew and will was a man worthy of a life free of punishment and retribution, someone who could hope for a peaceful afterlife.
The tremor had subsided presently; the world was back to normal. Aseem’s goldfish curiosity remained for a second more, but as inevitability would have it, it succumbed under the sheer weight of newfound relief. The world was alright, it hadn’t given way, and it was comfortingly pitch black and four-walled as ever before.
He concentrated on the next question.
“How do you feel about the daily questions? Does answering them put your mind to rest?”
This was another of the meta-questions that kept cropping up every once a while. The trick was not to answer keeping in mind the distinctions of right and wrong, but by gauging one’s instinctive reply and writing the opposite of it. This always resulted in the ‘right’ answer. He though about how he felt.
He felt nothing; neutral was how he felt.
It is a feeling of immense satisfaction and fulfillment. Moreover, answering them gives me the incentive to look forward to life with a better, closed-minded view.
He smiled as, predictably enough, new words replaced the existing ones once more.
“The box is a lie.”
He gasped and double checked what he had read, and there they were, the cold, ruthless grey letters on the black background:
The box is a lie.
A second passed and Aseem blinked; the letters were no more to be seen, they had simply vanished, as if physically wiped off a surface in the split second the slits of his eyes had closed and opened. He touched the platform to reaffirm his visual input. He felt the plain surface, black as ever, not a gray tinge on them to be seen.
What in Unnamed’s great name could it mean? How could the box simply be a lie? That was beyond what could be humanly fathomable, he thought; if the box was a lie, then where was he right now? And why had Arbitron randomly passed on the cryptic message to him instead of the question? And then, in a sudden surge of realization, it hit him.
Curiosity is sin.
This was a surprise assessment to test his ignorance and suppression of sinful curiosity, and he had failed by having reacted in an evil manner. The whip-arm of the Arbitron appeared as its hoarse voice blared verse 012 of the EPUU from all directions.
“To mull and brood and ponder too long fixedly on any theme is Evil cognified. Thou shalt not remain entranced by thine sights and senses for any longer than it takes for thy limited mind to form a first make-up on it. Any act of violation of the aforementioned Utterance such shall result in no less than 25 whips being inflicted upon thy pitiable derriere. Peace out.”
“Forgive me, O Exalted one; Hallowed be thy un-name,” he chanted over and over as the lashing went on and finally drew to an excruciating climax.
The arms eased their grasp, receded and finally became one with the wall. Writhing and squirming with pain, Aseem lay where he was, not a thought entering or escaping his mind. He had genuinely been puzzled by the mystifying message; he had been taken unawares by The Arbitron. Maybe it had felt that it was getting a bit too easy for him that day; maybe it was time for him to know the pain of having sinned, know the pain of retribution and be reminded of the wrath of the Unnamed. Though he no longer was employing any cognitive effort to it, the eerie, vivid image of the message remained in his eyes:
The box is a lie.
He was thinking yet not thinking; he had finally learned to cloud his thoughts from himself. His thinking remained a split second ahead of his consciousness. It was akin to dreaming; He knew what he was thinking would be forgotten the moment he put his mind to it. It was like watching a rapid news feed on an endless marquee, being able to make out a few words here and a few phrases there, but what registered on the whole was nil. He could finally evade the Arbitron into believing he was not thinking, while he most certainly was; so what if only passively, and so what if the thoughts he thought would vanish the second he thought them out.
An abrupt announcement brought him back from his stupor. “It is requested that you return to your mental work bay 1 and resume your daily schedule as per the time table,” proclaimed the Arbitron. Everything forgotten and his lesson well-learned, he set to work once more. Another question appeared, another trick employed, and over and over it went like clockwork.
“God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world,” hymned someone with contentment, far away from Aseem, and breathed their last.
-
Chapter 5
1 comment:
Strange..It's very curious. Cannot wait to read the rest
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