Aristotle's Apocolypse: First Draft Peek

I wrote Aristotle's Apocalypse almost 20 years ago as a school assignment, and my literature teacher wanted to show it to future classes and encouraged me to get it published.

I didn't have the time or resources to really do that though, and for a long time I struggled on a medium to present it in. But, starting out, it was written like the introduction to a novel, and formed the concept for a much bigger story. I've already posted this publicly in the past so I'm making it public here to encourage people to find interest in the series.

Aristotle's Apocalypse: Draft 1

A strong wind whipped about him as he stood atop the high building. He glanced down at his black gloved hand in shock, because in that hand was a gun, his finger flexing on the trigger. Something was wrong. Wasn't he supposed to be the hero below? The victorious blond who would triumph over the villain by throwing him from the very building he was looking down from? But there was no time to question, a wave of darkness washed over him. He had to kill. Had to kill the man below, had to destroy his life. He held the gun point down, aiming for the hero’s head. Sweat formed on his brow, but despite his quaking uneasiness his lips twitched into a smirk. He was feeling a pleasure in an evil and wicked thing he would never do in his right mind, an invasion of thought that was not his own, forcing him out of himself. Had to kill; this wasn't right, he was supposed to be the hero below- -A loud blare of noise erupted through his mind. Cannon startled awake, grabbing his head and focusing all his thought on stopping the noise, the loud blaring music he had chosen for his alarm chip.

Once the sound finally stopped, he couldn’t think at all, except to know he was awake now, awake and needed to get ready for work. He didn’t dream. At least he didn’t recall one… Did he? But it wouldn’t matter, dreams weren’t real, so why bother remembering? Though… He had a strange feeling that something important was right there, right in front of him, but it was covered by a thick veil. He shrugged off the feeling and got out of bed, changing into his white coat and uniform.

Walking down to the living room, he found what he always did; His younger sister, 14 years old, sitting on the couch wearing her Cinamality headset which beeped as a little warning that it was in use and not to be interrupted. He was used to it. She loved being in movies, it was all she ever did ever since their mother bought their first Virtu-HD a few years back, and now that Cinamality was the newest big thing on the market, she had to get one.

Cinamality… Cannon shuddered at the word. He wasn’t sure why, it was perfectly normal… But he never wanted to use it. Something always told him ‘no’ when he looked at one of the blinking headsets. He moved about the room getting his things together, when his sister reached up and turned off her headset.

“Oh Cannon, today I was lovely Laurine, and Paul swept me off my feet. It was so romantic, I never felt so loved before. I wish you could have been there to see, you could have been my best friend, Tyler. He’s a handsome guy, you know. Why don’t you join in the second half?” Her voice was airy and distant, as if she were floating in a dream. Her big blue eyes stared at him vacantly, yet expectantly. She was never Crystal anymore. She was always lovely Laurine, or Princess Amber, or the great dragon taming warrior woman from the mysterious east. But never Crystal. Never his sister. And he’d grown used to it.

He shook his head, “I have to go to work, you know that.” He always avoided joining in with her. He hated Cinamality. Something was evil about it. Something wasn’t right, something was horribly wrong about his sister being someone else and not her—Ringing.

His cell chip was going off in his head. It was the loud music blaring through his mind once more. He grabbed his head, closed his eyes and focused in on the call, answering his cell chip. He heard the beep and wandered away from his sister to talk.

“Hello?”

“Hello this is your car service provider, we noticed your back tires are an old brand, and they will be expired in a month, would you like an upgrade?”

Cannon paused, was it going to expire? Well he couldn’t be too careful, “Alright, thank you for informing me, I’d like an upgrade.”

“Thank you for using our services again, Cannon.” The woman hung up.

What was he doing before his call? He remembered…. Yes… That he was getting ready for work. He grabbed up his things and started to head out, turning to say goodbye to Crystal. But he couldn’t. She was in her movie again, being lovely Laurine as she’d said, the visor pulled over her eyes. He left without a second glance.

He focused his thoughts again, asking clearly with thought alone, ‘What time is it?’ A beep in his mind came as a response, followed by a small mechanical voice saying “It is 45 after 6, morning. 15 minutes approximated in travel time to next destination by car, approximated by height and weight 40 minutes walking at a steady pace. Have a nice day. Beep.” So he had enough time to walk, at least.

He tucked his hands in his pockets and continued on his way down the street. He wasn’t thinking of much, he never did, just counted his steps and whistled the tune his cell chip chimed whenever it rang. Everything was the same, fine, good, peaceful, nothing was wrong, he was well provided for. But he had to stop and look over at a pile of rags. No. Not rags… It was a woman. She was dressed in ripped old clothes, and her face was sunken in. Why would a woman look like that? Everyone had homes, everyone was provided for, poverty was erased 3 years ago… So why would she dress like that? Was she really a poor homeless—Loud music.

He backed away, grabbing his head, again focusing all his thoughts on answering this call.

“Hello…?”

“Hello Mr. Cannon, there was an error in your credit card data, we wish to personally apologize and inform you that all matters have been fixed and you now have 500 dollars added to your account. Thank you. Goodbye.”

“500 dollars… Wow, all for an error…” Cannon wandered away scratching his chin, pondering what he could do with the extra money. Maybe upgrade his VirtuNews in his room…? He paused this thought, remembering that he was heading to work. What a happy day, so far nothing wrong happened, in fact he just made some extra cash! Everyone was so well provided for; he never had to worry about a thing. He smiled giddily, almost dancing down the street at his new lucky investment. Oh yes, the day was off to a good start, like all the days before them that he could recall.

Cannon arrived at the massive brain research facility in which he worked, on time, just as his travel installment had said. Just as he did every morning. The building stood tall, towering over the smaller buildings below like a great guardian, the shadow that it cast covering part of the city like blanketing arms. It shined from its crystal white walls and thick windows. As always, Cannon approached the huge sliding doors, each adorned with an image of a brain, the frontal lobe of the cerebrum highlighted in a cool blue with bold black lettering labeling it “IOPAC”. The Institution of Process and Cerebration, the leading facility in scientific research, and Cannon was privileged enough to be working there, helping to discover the mysteries and gaps of human thought.

Passing through those doors always gave him a deep sense of purpose and importance, and every time the cool air washed over his face from the inside he felt he was being granted permission to become a great being, a scientist, a god. He loved his work, his power, his importance. If it weren’t for the great scientists of the past, this world he lived in now might not have existed.

This place was like a haven to him, the place that he belonged and was most happy. He listened to the sound of shoes walking over the clean marble floors, letting his own steps mingle with them. He was a part of this building, and it was a part of him. He could never ask for more.

He passed through the public lobby with his head held high, ready to begin a new day of great discoveries. He turned into a hallway where the employee elevator waited for him. Cannon rolled his right sleeve up, pressing his bare wrist to the scanning grid at the left of the doors. A melodic beep followed as the doors slid open, the number 16 lit up on the screen above. As he stepped in to the elevator, it was almost instantly lifting up to his floor with a gentle whistle.