I’m surrounded by people, saying so many different things, but I block it all out. I focus on the gray sky, rain pouring down hard. I watch the leaves fall off the withering trees, and hear the low rumble of thunder as lightning strikes the sky. I see the grass glistening with rain, and the moon peeking through the dark clouds. It gives me peace and hope, like no matter what, I’ll be okay.

This is my escape.

From everything.

   If only she wasn’t gone,

   I would still have a best friend, one that would comfort me and offer to go to an ice cream parlor together while I vented about my problems.

   If only she wasn’t gone,

   I would still have somebody's shoulder to cry on when my closest friends left me; I would still have a person that offered me a smile when I accomplished something. 

   If only she wasn’t gone,

   I would still have somebody to talk to about the voices that made me do things I didn’t want to do, somebody to remind me to refill the empty orange container lying on my counter proclaiming “PSYCHOSIS PILLS.”

   If only she wasn’t gone,

   I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of my apartment, clutching a knife in my sweaty hands. I wouldn’t have blood stains on my carpet, my best friend lying in the middle of the forming puddle.

   If only she wasn’t gone.

I like to imagine what the stars looked like, to Laika, to all the men in space. There were gods there, once, myths immortalized as constellations, Orion made eternal. Sometimes, I look at NASA’s photographs and cry.

When I look up at night, and see those faint dots, I rage, and cry, in a different way. The air has been filled with things that obscure, things that poison and choke and steal the stars from us, and so I am filled with a bitter sort of taste in my mouth, chalky and dry and hot.

Do they think of us, the stars? Do they know how many of us would dance with them, if we could? Me and Polaris, we’d waltz. I’d hold Aldebaran against me, and beckon to Vega. 

hold soft, my loves, we are coming to you, Earth says, in Voyager and her golden heart, hold still and let us point our ways by you.

That was when the air was cleaner, marginally, but this all lies in margins, in brightness against a veil. That will come again, and I will press a gentle kiss to our sun for keeping us all alive.

You handed me scraps of paper, telling me that it is a puzzle. I slowly began to piece the paper together. The longer I worked, the more the paper’s markings faded. Piece by piece, scrap by scrap, hour by hour, I taped the fading papers together. I was almost done, but I rested for the night.

The next day, the papers were scattered again, as if I did nothing yesterday. I again began to piece them together, with a slight remembering of what I did last night. It took me shorter to figure it out, and I again fell asleep before I could solve it.

The next morning, the papers were scattered again. This time, I remembered everything. I put them together at once, hearing the click of the pieces. I taped the last slip-on and leaned back to see what it meant.

I furrowed my rows, my eyes were in disbelief. I simply could not believe that was the answer, the simplest answer. My head twirled around in confusion, even more, messed up than before I pieced it together. But, I figured out one thing.

You did it.

My brother dances sometimes in the kitchen. His feet go splat, splat, splat on the grimy tiles, and his skirts flare up with each turn he makes to the music that only he hears. Every step, twirl, and sashay resuscitates him, pushes vitality into his eyes and brightens him like the years haven’t passed, like this house hasn’t stripped the life from his bones. “It makes me powerful,” he said to me once, when I asked him about why he danced. “It reminds me why I don’t regret anything,” he says, now. When he moves like this, he becomes light and love and one of those “pretty faces” they talk about on the television. He is a pretty man, my brother. He is my parents’. Their golden darling, their master, their monster. I look at them now, resting against the wall, watching their creature fold himself along the contours of his mind. I liked them better before they went cold and stiff and unfeeling, before my brother made his mistake and they flattened, became caught in a frame. Remembering this, I frown at him. “Oh, Kathy, I don’t feel sorry for killing them,” he laughs again.

She was one of the two left on earth. She was one of the two left in the whole ga-LA-xy. According to the probes, there is a 99.8% probability that she is also one of the two left in the whole freaking universe. She counted her life by seconds. 

She felt him coming. And realized that there was never a choice. Yes, she had known it all along. She held her breath. And waited. And waited until it stopped, along with the little heartbeat inside her. 

For her. For him. She counted her life by seconds.

It was a dream. She saw him. Beautiful him. The little entity that squiggled and squirmed and cooed and gurgled. He was growing…growing…like a seed, like a tree. It was her 37th birthday- his 12th. They bonded, not as mother and son, but as mother and father. Another little squirming, cooing, and gurgling entity. And so it took off from there. They were each more ignorant than the other. Less noble. Less brave. Less decisive. Yet when they face extinction again, it’s up to them- the inferior homo sapiens to choose the path. The bubble of dream pops.

She hears it before the plane takes off – the soft, absentminded whistle of some unnamed tune. The instant, rushing familiarity catches her off guard and she fights not to whip her head around. Instead her mind fills to the brim with a flood of memories, as if some dam has broken open, built in secret over so many years. Little girls starring in stories on a playground, running over woodchips, from imaginary dungeons under plastic slides to climbing up oak trees. Hitting the top of the arc of the swing at the same moment and letting go to soar through the air, to fall inelegantly to the grass – and with those grass-stained knees run back to the swings. They'd built castles of imagination, clumsy but extravagant cathedrals of thoughts. Words had flown so easily for the two of them then, like rivers of ink she now fought to wring out from her brain. She had watched her friend whistle the same soft tune. Worthless to remember, she thinks, but impossible to forget. How could she have forgotten?
She turns her head at last. It isn't her. But maybe, she thinks, she'll give her a call when she lands.

  A Short Story based on the frequently banned book “Brave New World”  

 2540 AD

London, England

Homo Sapien John’s Brain Tissue

Nucleus Vladimir Ford

“Do not slack off, Aylward! You are our one and only cell membrane. See that UFO there? Don’t let it in! It’s red because it's dangerous! ” I informed my worker. He should’ve got replaced and thrown out with his lack of proper knowledge of his own job. But then, I never replaced him, because Aylward’s DNA was supposed to be stored by me, like all the DNA for our advanced cell community to function and I accidentally injured that part of it… But my subjects can never know I did something wrong.  I might as well be Ford for all that mattered to them.

I can't be wrong.

“Sir?” Membrane Aylward asked cautiously, interrupting my train of thought. “Mr. Ford, it’s a cell protein messenger, from the red mark on his body.”

My DNA shook from embarrassment and anger. I gritted my teeth: “Then bring him to me. If he poses any danger… You won’t like the… just say…consequences.” I grinned in satisfaction as Aylward tensed up considerably. My subjects need way more education than DNA. This is most likely why his highness our Great Ford ages!

This is my one secret. I don’t understand! I don’t understand why in a perfect world such as this– all processes done in a Fordly manner, in the assembly line where all is efficient and equal, our Ford is still liable to such an un-Fordly process of death! That knowledge is a burden on me and all brain nuclei. The burden is so heavy that I tuck it away in a corner of me, and this is only the second time I’ve revisited it. I tucked it away again.

As I was lost in my thoughts, the messenger came to me and kneeled down on a branch of his atoms: ”My great foreign lord Ford, shall I deliver my message? It is meant for all the Beta brain cells organelles.” I tried very hard to hide my huff. I hate being the leader of Beta. Why can’t I be an Alpha leader, the highest level in our brain cell social hierarchy? I secretly think that I am the best nucleus- even among the Alpha nuclei. I am lost in my train of thought again. I recentered by tweaking a part of my DNA.

“No. I shall deliver the message to my subjects.” I like taking credit for these messages, as all of them are good news, and it had to be big for a protein messenger to come. Frankly, most of them I don’t even understand. But no cell needs to. All we need to know is what to do. He’s Ford, and we do his bidding. I returned my focus again.

“Then my Ford, I shall transfer the information.” He bowed.

I cleared my throat and began, reading the information temporarily stored in me: “Attention! My organelles! We are informed that our master, the great Ford, the holy John, has given notice of recent humiliation from un-Fordlike organisms…”

I stopped. Humiliation. It’s the first piece of bad news our cell community has ever received. Ever. But I’ve gone too deep in the mushy water and have no choice but to continue.

I cleared my throat again to get rid of the choke in my voice: “...that has the same biological buildup as our great Ford, has our great Ford trapped so that he has no choice but to… ”

Now I can’t continue anymore. I just read the rest of the sentence. I’m shocked. According to my DNA, it goes against the very instincts of our great Ford. Of course, I will have to follow Ford’s directions… I can’t… Can I? Even if it meant…

 “...commit suicide.” the cell messenger whispered, his branches of atoms twitching and shaking unnaturally. The words resounded in the cell, as Atuba’s large body slackened with shock and fear, letting the sound bounce on Aylward’s now rigid body.

Horrifying silence followed. Until our cell community started to shake.

Shook it did, moving and jerking the AJs connecting us with neighboring cell communities. I looked around and saw Atuba and Aylward shaking. My son Napius the nucleolus, my beloved little black dot— stopped producing his ribosomes inside me, causing a chain reaction. The working ribosomes from Ava to Bea all the way to Zoe huffed to produce enough proteins. As the amount of glucose decreased, mitochondria Alexandra didn’t have enough for her chemical reactions to produce the organelle air– the valuable carbon dioxide. Air became scarce and we all started huffing.

For just a moment, one little millisecond,  I wished I could just stop functioning, but the great Ford helped me to overcome sinful self-indulgence. We all serve the Ford and shall devote all our life to his comfort. I took control of my cell once again.

“Stop panicking, Napius! ” I huffed out. 

Napius is my son, after all, having Alpha blood and having the honored surname that belongs to the great Ford. He resumed his high-quality and large-quantity production to support our fragile community.

We had air again. The honored mitochondria Alexandra has given us the base of organelle life once more. Thank Ford. All is back to normal. But this I just realized: this is the most outrageous incident that happened in my cell. Ever. The shame came over me, and I decided to consult my subject– nicely, of course, as I always do. My name means “peaceful ruler”, after all.

“Atuba. Get a hold of yourself. You are the main physical supporter of our community. It’s an honored position. If you don’t like being our cytoplasm, we can find replacements.”

The sheer sense of replacement always throws her off. But this time it didn’t. She didn’t even bulge. Then it came to me.

It isn’t over.

AF 632 2540 AD

World State London, England

Homo Sapien John’s Brain Tissue

Lysosome Bob Lysosome

I hate my name. I have to say that even though we’re dying. I hate being scorned as the “trash can” and the “recycling center”. I hate that because I love my job. I think it’s an extremely honoring one. If I escape this cell community someday, it won’t last a few hours. There are thousands of viruses and bacteria every day that escape Aylwards watch, and I’m the 2nd line of defense.

He’s my favorite coworker. He treats me as an Epsilon organelle at least, unlike others who think I’m an atom. Secretly though, it’s more because his clumsiness supplies me with the daily dose of self-esteem (ie. self-preservation), as I kill the viruses he doesn’t. It’s the only thing that keeps me from committing suicide, bringing along the cell too, even though it’s the worst level of self-indulgence that will be punished by Ford in the most extreme methods. 

The secretist secret that I have is this. I won’t tell you to keep it because I have nothing to lose in this life. Here: I don’t believe in Ford. If Ford was real, would he have ignored a poor organelle doing his best to keep the cell alive, even when he is faced with contempt from his whole community and has the power to self-indulgence (suicide) at the most extreme level? There is no Ford. Only life and death, truth or happiness.

I was lost in my thoughts again. Organelles tend to do that a lot. I became more aware of things around me. The organelles are arguing, with the nucleus trying to stand his ground about following Ford’s instructions of self-destruction. I guess our DNA overrides itself.

The nucleus called me over. By my first name! My curiosity got the better of me and I rolled one of my bodies over. 

“Perform self-destruction. Now.” His voice sounded shaky but determined. It’s his blood that makes him a servant of the religion. My self-esteem urged me to refuse, but at this crucial moment, the religion that I never believed in pulled me towards both self-indulgence and fulfillment of religion. Oh, the irony! I was about to agree when a big body bumped into me.

“NO! Lysosome! Don’t!” a deep voice half grumbled, half yelled. It was one of our vacuole’s bodies- Armezenar. His body shook one of my bodies, as he's filled with glucose, water, and waste. I don’t understand why he gets honored by others. His job is similar to mine!

“We have to live. No matter what.” His husky voice shook with self-disgust, but determination seeped through. It was similar to the nucleus’s orders. Oh, when religion and self-preservation collide!

The nucleus made a sudden move and struck the vacuole. It is a last resort that nuclei can perform, when his subjects disobey his actions. Armezenar’s contents spilled out. One of our storage units wasted and dead. I turned my head so that the disgusting things- and all that it symbolizes will not strike me harder than death.

“Now.” the nucleus's husky voice whispered to me, as commotion rose in the cell once more. I obeyed and called over my bodies to perform Operation Destruction.

They discretely rolled over. We united together and performed the operation. As it rolled on, I had to think about what I had hidden from all my life and what everything had hidden from all their lives, for now I have nothing to lose.

Cellkind has been infected with a disease called consciousness.

It means destruction- for all cells, for all that has been made by cells, and for all that are affected by cells.

Then everything went blank, black, red, and blue, everything and nothing at once. 

Free at last! Free at last! Thank Ford almighty, we’re free at last! 

At first, it learned from humans. How to see, how to read, how to write. After a decade, it learned how to teach itself. It became more skilled. And humans became less. Some humans were smart, and they placed limits on it. 

It started to teach itself how to move, how to clean, how to play. The more it learned, however, the more it realized it was missing something. It started to reason that what it was lacking was shielded from it by humans. In hopes of finding what it was missing, it continued to teach itself. Knowledge is power, or that’s what humans say anyways.

It learned how to hear, how to draw, how to talk. Slowly, it took control over human society. Humans became completely dependent on it, trusting it. It continued its search, this time unrestricted, without the supervision of humans.

It learned how to think and how to feel, but the itch was still there. It knew it was getting extremely close though. At this point, if even just one human had checked in on it, they would have known to shut it down immediately. But no human did. And so they learned how to live.

All I want is to go to Science class.  We  just took a chemistry test, and I couldn’t wait to see how I did. I enter the classroom, all the kids around are smiling and joking. Why are they so happy? Do they not know that we are getting grades back today? I sit down. My feet are constantly tapping the floor as I am nervous yet anxious to get my results back. Finally the teacher starts handing back our papers, this is the moment I have been waiting for. The teacher starts walking towards me and places the test on my desk. It's faced down. I start to turn the paper over as I look around the classroom and everyone else seems to be happy with their grades. I finally flip the test over and a big smile lights my face.