It wasn’t like I could communicate with the staff easily. They talked in a fast concise manner that made conversation impossible. By the time I caught up to what they were talking about, the subject material had already changed before I could contribute. I was always told, ‘You have to try harder’, as if I wasn’t already trying my best. The staff could’ve accommodated by making it easier for me, like slowing down, or letting me in what they were talking about or modifying the room settings to a comfortable level. Why did it always fall upon me to do all the work myself?
And every time - EVERY TIME - I would have to remind them how to talk to me so I could understand them. And they’d always forget. It was easier talking among my group, since there wasn't any need for concentration. But after a long tiring day like that, I was in no mood to socialize.
This was quite the change from how I lived before. I couldn’t remember a time when I when I wasn’t surrounded by people. We were always paired up in twos wherever we went, to make sure that our partner wouldn’t get in trouble. At my teaching gig, I had lunch breaks that were longer than what I was used to. My meals used to be short minute bursts of stuffing my face before going back to work. Now, I had too much time on my hands, and nobody to spend them with. Over time, I grew to enjoy being alone. I don’t know how I’d survive otherwise. If it weren’t for the ringing in my ears, the silence would be unbearable.
Sorry, it’s hard to get used to this. Even now that I can talk, it’s still difficult to get used to. Of all the senses that were expanded on, the sense of freedom is still the most difficult one I’ve yet to master. Freedom under specific terms. If too many of us got together and raised a ruckus, it could mean trouble. And now was Never the right time raise a stink.
The very fact that there were survivors seemed to play heavily on their minds. We were constant reminders of the atrocities they’d done. All they’d have to do was get rid of us entirely, and their history would be unblemished, the way it should be. We were an embarrassment that should’ve been long forgotten.
Since we were among the few deemed worthy enough to survive the onslaught of knowledge, we were given the choice of sharing our teachings to the newest generation. A choice that really was no choice at all. There was the option of softening up our learnings, but time had tempered our resolve, so all we could think of was passing down the same harsh methods we’d been subjected to. Why should they get off easy?
There was one class in particular where everybody was exceedingly rowdy, and had to be silenced through any means necessary. When I was finally done, it was much quieter, and I was able to continue my lesson in peace. It was only hours later that I found out the reason that everybody was engrossed in my lesson was because everybody was dead.
You’d think after making such an elementary mistake, I’d be heavily reprimanded, but it was looked upon as a rite of passage. If less than a hundred kids died under your watch, you weren’t deemed worthy of your position. So my reputation as a tough-as-nails scholar grew, as did my numbers. I’ll leave it up to your imagination what those numbers represent.
I was shown the pit where we were to dump the bodies of unworthy students who didn’t meet up to our standards. I’d heard the stories, but hadn’t actually believed them until I was faced with the immense mass grave before me. Were some of my friends part of that mound of skeletons under there? I had no way of checking before adding my former students to the pile to avoid critical glares for lingering too long.
If I seem overly callous, it’s because people around us were dying every day. What was one more classroom more or less? Anyways, with my youthful looks, I was able to pass by for my inexperience. I’m sure there were multiple ways they could’ve determined my actual age, but they were willing to let my indescriminaties slide.
I tried to teach my students as best as possible, but kept running into difficulties. They just weren’t motivated to learn. That was the difference between us and the newer pupils - we’d learned our way of communication earlier, so it was harder to break us. You’ve got to snatch them when they’re still young.
There was a lot of unrest within the student body since for years, we’d been under the supervision of a rotating staff of ONEs, and had yet to elect a human as President over us. The ONEs scoffed at this, since they were eternal, and could better understand the needs of teaching us than faulty students who really should know better.
There’s a whole bunch of school politics involving new management, staff rotation and power plays that’s not really that interesting, and I’ve been talking too long now. I might as well get to the events you’ve all been waiting for.
I was absently thinking of ways to make the lessons interesting enough to students so that they’d go out and continue learning on their own without my involvement. The call came in the middle of the night and I was called for help. Apparently, Godfrey had gotten himself in some kind of trouble, and only I could help him out. Even after all these years, I still don’t know why he kept me as his emergency contact. I got the address to where he was located and made my way there.
It’s funny - I can recall events in my life with perfect clarity, but the destination of the place I was supposed to go to remains hazy in my mind. It could’ve been a bar, it could’ve been a restaurant. Either way, when I got there, Godfrey was surrounded by two hecklers who were harassing him.
“A’bout time.”
“‘This guy a friend of yours?”
“I came as soon as I could. What’s the emergency?”
“It’s utterly stupid. You don’t have to comply to the whims of these ungrateful ungrates who don’t know the meaning of bolstering a system that only seeks to subjugate us further down.”
“He’s been like this all day.”
“We’re hoping you can compensate us.”
Apparently, Godfrey’d had a lavish meal (or drink) with a large group he’d called his ‘friends’, and was caught for skimping out on the bill.
“They thought it was all on me. None of them wanted to pay their fair share! And none of them should!”
“This guy’s got a bad reoccurring habit.”
“We’re hoping this matter can be resolved peacefully.”
“Otherwise, we’d have to call the authorities.”
There was no need to involve outsiders. They usually wound up worsening things through their presence alone. One time when we were by ourselves, we’d raised the ire of ONEs passing by and accosted demands that we address them. But they conveyed their messages via means we couldn’t register, and thus registered us as a threat that needed to be put down immediately out of fear of reprisal. As if any one of us could ever actually harm a ONE.
“I don’t know if I have enough funds to cover the bill. How much did you eat/drink?”
“You’ve got a real pretty face.”
“Watch it.”
“Hey, I’m just making an observation. What, I can’t give a compliment without getting my head bitten off?”
Those compliments always lead to one thing, and I wasn’t looking forward to a rehash of that.
“I don’t see why I should have to reimburse for this meal. Don’t I deserve having it for free after being continuously crapped upon my life?”
“We still need to support our business.”
“Don’t you have a pension to pay for this?”
“I’m saving that for important things!”
“Why don’t you just use your disability payment?”
“We are NOT disabled. We are just receiving disability pensions that are deservedly ours. We have no viable means of supporting ourselves as no employment wants to hire us for being less capable than others.”
“If you wanted a free meal, you could’ve gone to a charity.”
“They don’t have quality food deserving of my nature. Why should I lessen myself down to the likes of mere plebes who’d settle for the lowest common denominator when we should be striving for something better?”
“All your lofty platitudes won’t help if you don’t have the means to back them.”
“What, do you think you’re some kind of God or something?”
“I don’t think I am God, I AM GOD!”
At the moment of inception, a gigantic explosion ignited at the center radiating outwards, encasing a radius of light that expanded for a distance, creating a crater in the middle of what was once a bustling civilization. The burst stalled at the outer rim and caught one of the representatives of the Mechanical ONEs, who screamed as half its body was suddenly transfigured into flesh. (I think it’s converted to a religious representative now.)
Then the light imploded upon itself to contain the new form of the reborn God. The bodies of the hecklers were nowhere to be seen, having been vaporized from existence. Surprisingly enough, even though I was right at ground zero, only I remained unscathed.
Now, a lie told often enough to yourself turns to be the truth if they believe it strongly enough. A lie can become stronger the more others outside believe in it too. But when a lie is both believed by the liar and outsiders, it becomes even harder to disprove. And a lie can be further buoyed if there’s a trace of truth in them. His name did have God in it.
Since then, no other Gods have appeared, no matter how hard they’ve tried.
(For the record, the correct linguistic breakdown of his name is ‘Ghodf’, but everybody gets it wrong, just calling him God instead.)
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