Young Writers Society

Part 1- Chapter 1

Transience1

Conditionalism, the concept whereby a soul may only transcend unto the spiritual realm under the condition that one’s life was spent in morally sound comportment. The questions and possible implications of hacking this code that is so intrinsically woven into the fabric of the universe is the reason for this place. “Transience 1” they call it. For an institution so profoundly interested in the soul, the building could not possibly be more soulless. The unpainted concrete, stainless steel, grey uniformed staff and the atmosphere of a mental ward, which, i suppose it wasn’t all that far from being.

And so once again, I’m deep within the vorago of my own mind. Clawing at the confines of my morality as a vermin would claw through a viminal mass. This place is cramped, inescapable and intolerable. But through the dense and dark matter, a sliver of bright and brilliant light is visible. I push towards it, squeezing through the heavy unescapableness of my thoughts. The closer I get, the clearer it becomes. Finally, it’s at my finger tips. A brilliant and enlightened thought emerges. I grasp it and realise that at any point I could make this overwhelming inclement bearing down on my existential conscience dissipate. But instead of relieving myself of this heavy inflicted burden, I dig deeper, search harder and find the underlying sphere of troublesome dynamism. I feel like I could pick it up and caress it with my palms. Pull it to my face and study it’s condescending energy. I know I’m not worthy of this and yet I am vividly aware that its origins are autochthonic. My soul shakes with discordance, something is different this time. Nothing is right. But it’s too late. It has already imparted its brilliance unto my mind. 

Suddenly, everything begins to make sense again and euphoria washes over me as I sit up, unable to recall anything prior to the jabbing of a needle into the protruding vein in my left arm. I look about the empty concrete room and then up to the glass ceiling where a dozen or so faces stare back with a curious expression, or is it concern? No, it’s definitely curiosity. Did I just find what so many couldn’t? What so many had lost their sanity or even died for before they were able to comprehend this flawless sensation that extends into empiternity? I almost hope not. But I suspect the value of my thoughts just increased a million fold. This was unlike the other times. The foundations of existence and nonexistence were visible and malleable. I remove the wires and needle from my arm and push my feet to the cold concrete floor. Disorientation and a vacant mind hold me for some time.

The weekly journey between the concrete cell and the interrogation room consisted of numerous indistinguishable passageways filled with streams of brain dead staff dressed mentally and physically in the same appeal. I can see and feel their vacant and drug abused eyes staring back. 

I now sit facing a short, middle aged man. His cheeks slightly flushed and tiny veins visible under his stubble. His spectacles are too small; he has to tilt his head back and forth in an unnatural way when he shifts his vision from the notepad to my eyes. His stress is visible and it is apparent that His sanity is slipping away with the rest of us. But I have not met this Interrogator before, He's definitely new here although he looks as though he has been dealing with this place for years.

"Good day Mr Caarm, My name is Dr Greigh."

"Hi"  

“What exactly did you experience?” Greigh asks me in a fastidious tone

“The same thing I've experienced every week of my life”

“Could you describe the sensation with a little more detail perhaps?”

“Not really, but I usually compare it to having someone stick their hand in through the back of your skull and attempt to pull your still functioning brain out of its place. It was much the same as it always is.” In reality, it was the most profound I had ever experienced. I can’t understand why I didn’t say so. I was usually honest, but something new is resting within my mind, a new canon of enlightenment.

"I see." 

He nods for me to leave and I jump at the opportunity, Im desperate to leave and get back to Granfort.

As I walk towards the shuttle, Im very disorientated and a little hungry. The sharp cold cuts straight through the thick over coat i had piled, it made the shelter of Transience1 seem almost inviting, almost. I put my shoulder down towards the prevailing wind and began to jog towards the open doors of the large white ice-cube like shuttle. I take the first seat i see and fall back heavily into it. The spacious cabin is empty except for a young woman in a heavily starched Granfort staff uniform. It was only an hour flight to Granfort and i thought i would take the opportunity to rest my drained eyes.

Granfort

The liberal societies of the 21st century were easily buckled the dystopian reform of 2030. The world reached a breaking point and the culmination of a century of heavy industrialism was dramatic. An unsustainable Technological revolution reached its climax and then began its downward spiral. Governments no longer sought out advances in technology but pushed for advances into the spiritual realms. The transfer of conscience into a machine was the seed. Once they had done that, they wanted immortality. to make ones self into a deity was the final goal for most of them. Controlling a nation was not enough, they wanted to control the laws of the universe and travel beyond the physical into a realm of absolute empiternity. And so Transience1 was created to explore the possibilities of the soul by means of a new drug, 'Cognitobrofin' it was called.

I awoke with a sudden sense of solidity and looked out the window. Hard ground and black ice surrounded the shuttle. I began to rise but kept my head low, as one instinctively does on transport vehicles for some reason. The weather is vile at this time of year, I long for the sun or the warmth of my quarters. I’m standing on platform3 of the enormous Granfort. My “home”, if you can call it that. Its immense spherical carbon fibre frame is about the size of Britain and suspended in the stratosphere by a counter weight in orbit around earth.

 The world of Granfort is something of an institution. Everything organised, from the time everyone awakes, 6:30 on the dot, to the time the curfew alarm goes at 22:00. My life is regimented, everyone’s is. Free will has been purged from this society for fear that it will breed free thought. And free thought harbours enlightenment, the seed of rebellion.

‘Cognito’ has become as uniform in Granfort society as eating. You don’t know anything else. Its taboo to think it could be different; the search for eternal life and for the foundations of existence is the obsession of society, Pounded into the minds of the young and forced to be normality. Your thoughts are valued depending on your ‘Cognito’ experiences. The more profound they are the more valuable and the more comfortable they allow your life to be. Children tend to have the deepest and most light filled experiences. “It’s due to innocent thought” Transcience1 tells us. The value of your thoughts is a concept they developed to give people incentive to divulge their experiences. There are certain tests they do and data they record to ensure that the experiences people claim to have are genuine and not talked up. But it IS possible to downplay an experience. They just seem to be daft enough not to image that someone would do such a thing.

Authors note: Please feel free to be critical. I am not sure whether this concept is worthy of continuation and feedback, good or bad, would be appreciated. Thanks