Choose Your Future
Stephen Livingston
Choose Your Future
by Stephen Livingston
Choose Your Future
Stephen Livingston
Copyright 2011 by Stephen Livingston
Choose Your Future
Building layers of music into sonic temples the DJ lifts the revellers to new heights of ecstatic dancing. The beat throbs through the dance floor and up your limbs. You have to move, jerking your torso to the rhythm, there is nothing you can do about it. Your arms flail in front of your grinning, sweaty face in time to the snare drum as your legs stomp around to the thud of the bass. You've been dancing solidly for almost three hours, it feels like centuries. You begin to feel the need for rest and move towards the chill out area for a seat and some water. Banging against other wildly grinning dancers like a crazed dodgem as you try to direct your body, unwilling to completely give up the dance just yet. At the long couch against the far wall you spot Tommy and stumbling over collapse into the vacant space beside him. Tommy looks at you, vaguely worried, and says “Are you okay?”
“Aye fuckin’ excellent.”
“You look like you’ve just went fifteen rounds wae Darth Maul.”
“That movie wiz excellent. Cheers for gettin’ us the ticket by the way.”
“Nae problem. Ah’ll go get some water, you stay here awright?”
“Aye Tommy. Cheers.”
You watch Tommy’s back as he moves off in the direction of the bar. His shirt shimmers and shifts shade like oil on water, getting darker as he becomes more distant. It occurs to you that you can no longer hear the music, a fleeting thought only partially realised, then everything goes black.
Then everything is light although you think your eyes are closed and you do not know if any time has passed. Everything goes dark again.
The light returns and you flick open your eyes. Where am I? Think. I can’t. Try. I was at the movies… aye … and then the club with Tommy. You are no longer in a cinema or a club, there is no one around and there is no music to be heard. In fact there is nothing at all to be heard. Have I gone deaf? You click your fingers to test. No, your hearing is fine and so is your sight. You do not recognise your surroundings but you can see them. You are in a large rectangular room, sitting in a chair against one of the long walls. The walls are bare and a bland off white colour adds to their insignificance. The only features to disturb the blankness of the room are three wooden doors in the wall facing you. The doors are closed. Where am I? and as if in answer to your thoughts a deep voice says “On the threshold of a new era.” The sound seems to come from all around you like the music at the rave but you know the club is far, far away. What am I doing here? “It is decision time” says the deep voice in a soft calming tone “time for you to choose.”
“Choose what?” You say aloud, feeling perplexed.
“Choose your future.”
In your head you can hear Obi Wan Kenobi’s voice begin a Mark Renton from Trainspotting style rant. Choose the Union, choose independence, choose a devolved parliament within a federalised Europe; choose science and technology, choose genetic engineering, choose a luddite shamanistic archaic revival; choose currency, choose computer stored credit levels, choose to barter a cow for four hens and a sheep; choose art, choose religion, choose chaos or fucking order it’s up to you. Choose your future. I chose not to choose the future I chose the force.
You shake your head to remove the intrusion of these jedi mind tricks and return to the situation in hand. Feeling more comfortable using conventional oral communication with the disembodied voice you say aloud “Don’t I get any advice on what choices are available to me for the future?”
“Through the doors you will perceive some of the possibilities that the future may hold, although all here is not as it seems, if you do not choose your future it will be chosen for you” answers the omnipresent voice in a tone you imagine expresses a vague disappointment at your lack of self determination.
Obi Wan’s voice pipes up in your head again to point out “Trust your feelings. Your senses can deceive you.”
Some what tentatively you approach the leftmost of the three doors and cautiously push. Nothing happens. You turn the handle, pull the door towards yourself and pass through the portal. Immediately you cross the threshold your surroundings transform and you are in a huge, candy striped marquee. It is a circus big top and all around you are people young and old squealing with delight as a clown capers around the ring juggling on a unicycle. When the clown comes face to face with you he drops the nine balls he had hitherto kept airborne and begins to wobble atop his precarious mount. You are surprised to recognise underneath the colourful, court jesters garb and garishly painted face the features of Scotland’s First Minister, his large nose coloured red like an old whiskey drunk. The clown addresses you in the clearly enunciated Scottish standard English of Donald Dewar whilst the rest of the crowd continue to enjoy the show oblivious to your experience.
“In the realm of politics lies our future. For the first time in almost three hundred years we, the people of Scotland, have our own parliament. This historic achievement came to pass not through violence and revolution but democracy. Democracy is the key to a brighter future. Together we can make this people’s parliament work. Although geographically we are on the fringe, together we can put Scotland in its rightful place at the heart of Europe. We have the technology in place to move towards a direct democracy where the people have their say in all the important decisions that face our nation.” The clown continues his dithering political rhetoric for some time before he notices your interest beginning to wane then he retrieves his balls and you find yourself back in the chair facing the three closed doors.
Your head is buzzing after listening to the clown’s monologue and you take a few minutes to relax and digest the information imparted before approaching the middle door. You turn the handle and push once again and are less surprised this time when your environment transforms.
You stand on the verge of a beautiful wooded glade, around you a motley group of placard bearing anti-road protesters shout abuse at workmen leaning against immobile trucks and bulldozers. There are banners hanging from some of the trees and in the lower branches of a mighty oak one of the protesters has chained himself to the trunk. On closer inspection the protester in the tree appears to be an unshaven Dr. Ian Wilmut dressed in camouflage combat fatigues. This uncharacteristic positioning of the scientist from the Roslin Institute, famed for his ground breaking work in cloning that produced Dolly the sheep, comes as a shock despite your earlier encounter with the First Minister at the circus. However, when the human barrier to the road’s progress speaks, you are not surprised to see the rest of the protesters and workmen continue in their roles oblivious to his words. He addresses you by name and only you hear his praise for the powers of science.
“In today’s society with the advancement of science and technology the standard of life can be greatly improved through the judicious use of our knowledge. Food production can be optimised by genetic modification thus preventing hunger. Disease and the effects of aging can be eradicated through genetic engineering. Here in Scotland we developed and successfully created the world’s first clone of an adult mammal. With these scientific advances Scotland is at the forefront of the new age, we can be world leaders in fields previously reserved for the minds of science fiction writers. In the future we can become the generation that does not need to die as our body parts fail. Through cloning, spare parts can be manufactured to replace degenerating organs and allow the mind of man to develop as . . .”
Truck engines start up behind you drowning out the next part of his speech but you are left in no doubt as to the point of the
inaudible words. Choose science for a better future. Bulldozers start to advance on the frightened protesters as they stand like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Progress waits for no man. They fade and are gone as you find yourself once more in the bare room with only one door left to visit.
You feel like Mr. Benn at the costume shop as you approach the final door wondering where it will lead you and whose viewpoint you will hear next. Turning the handle you open the door and step through into a boardroom. Arranged around a large, mahogany table sitting stiffly in plush, comfortable chairs are a dozen or so business executives. The suits, a wealth of varying shades of grey, are listening to a charcoal grey suited man who seems to be giving a fascinating talk on the company’s growth in the retail sector over the previous tax year. He is pointing to lines on a graph displayed by an overhead projector onto a whiteboard. Getting accustomed to the way things seem to be working, you are not in the least surprised when the retail executive turns out to have the facial features of Bill Drummond, erstwhile musician with the KLF and self styled art terrorist. The other business executives seem to continue listening to his presentation as he turns to you and begins his sales pitch.
“Profit, loss, buy, sell, consumer capitalism, it’s all a load of horseshit. A game of monopoly made real, a stupid game for stupid people. Take the money and burn it. The way forward for mankind is through art. It is the creation of art that puts man in touch with the divinity within and allows the soul to shine free. Imposed restrictions and shackles of materialism tether us to commercialism and force the eventual sell out that is soul destroying. Free your mind from these ultimately stultifying anchors and follow your dreams to attain self-fulfillment. Whether it be the painter, the poet or the architect dreaming spires and towers of the glorious word in myriad hues it has always been and always will be the creative mind that leads the way.”
A round of applause from the seated executives appears to signal the end of a profitable presentation and a representative from the marketing division comes forward to give the next talk. The charcoal grey suited art advocate takes a seat at the head of the table and you are back in the bare, off white room. Only this time there are no doors and your chair has gone. The now familiar soft but deep voice booms out four syllables “CHOOSE YOUR FUTURE”. The walls shimmer and disappear. You are left in darkness.
A stinging pain flashes across the left side of your face as though you have been slapped and your skin feels prickly hot. Nothing, it is still dark. Then your face feels cold and something is moving over the skin. It drips and there are shifting shapes in the darkness, getting lighter. You realise your eyes are open and you begin to make out the figure of Tommy standing in front of you. Becoming clearer you see he is holding an empty pint glass. Water drips from your chin and nose. Music is still pumping out and the parquet flooring beneath your feet throbs with the bass like a point five Richter Scale quake.
“Fuckin’ hell, you had me frightened there. You passed out.” Tommy screams into your ear, a worried look relaxing from his face.
“Wow Tommy, we’ve all got some hard thinking to do.”
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