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Ruby sent Shawn a message that she would not be seeing him this weekend. I wasn’t really expecting it to go any other way, Shawn thought. When they were younger, it wasn’t unusual for Ruby to come up with excuses, heck, even simply not respond when Shawn was waiting for her. He sat on his bed, of which the mattress was covered in an old front cover, and the sheets had a Pokemon pattern. He looked at it and smirked because he remembered how he used to love the pattern, but now it made him uneasy because it meant he was home. Times change, he contemplated. It was Sunday morning, time to hit the road. When he got out of his room, Will stood there waiting for him.
“You’re leaving?” Will asked.
Shawn nodded slowly, looking at him from above. Will came in for a hug, tears running down his face. After he hugged him, he squatted to look into his eyes.
“I will come back next weekend,” Shawn assured him.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“If you hear them arguing again, put on your headphones and play some games,” Shawn said, “you can also message me anytime.”
Will nodded, and they hugged again. Shawn gave him a kiss and went downstairs.
Elmer was at home, but no words were spoken.
To his surprise, he made it on time. He traveled alone, although he was sure Ruby would be either on the same train or on the next one. “Whatever,” he said aloud and tried to think of something else. Will popped up in his mind, which didn’t help either.
He put on his headphones and daydreamed while staring out the window. He watched the change from the countryside to city life as he imagined what it would be like in the Amazon. I wonder what kind of fungi grow there, he thought. I wonder what kind of weird shit Pat would say… then the mood switched, for he realized there was no way to pay for it. Fuck, I really need to find a way how to make money in the future. The songs switched. His playlist was composed of all kinds of stuff, from Japanese pop & rock to Beethoven’s ninth symphony. Now a Japanese rock song played, which made his young, testosterone-filled blood boil. It was a mix of traditional with modern. A combination of conservative and progressive. With one foot rooted in the past and one foot in the future. That’s the only reasonable approach, Shawn thought.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He pondered about the future of society. Specifically, the dawn of new tech. Brain chips, sophisticated prosthetic limbs, and eyes were not a big deal, and you could see a few android-looking people walking the streets. With the brain chips, innervation directly into the neurons was possible. He felt uneasy but also oddly excited at the thought of it. Improved memory, improved sight… telekinesis? Telepathy?
He had his fair share of experience in tinkering with the human brain. He tried to treat his anger outbursts and inability to focus, at first with weed, then ecstasy. It didn’t take long for him to realize that he was merely treating the symptoms, not the cause. Having felt the impact of screwing around with brain chemistry and the human proclivity for addiction and avoiding anguish, he figured that direct access to the brain circuits would break the spirit of many.
People shouldn’t be living in cubicles, he thought, staring at the fields. We’ve already disconnected from our origins. Apes, trees, seas, soils, and forests flashed before his eyes. Mushroom warriors… he thought of the hypothesis Granny told him about. If that were to be true… and we’ve illegalized mushrooms… he pondered, that just deepens the gorge we’ve dug. He shook his head. He felt there had to be a way to combine the old with the new.
Something nudged his knee. When he looked down, he saw two black eyes staring at him. “Aw,” he said aloud, then petted the coal-black dog with its curly fur. For some reason, he recognized the dog but couldn’t for the world remember where he had seen it. He looked around to identify whose it was.
“Peppers, c’mere,” said a manly voice followed by a lavish laugh. “I’m sorry, he likes to say hello,” the stranger said. Shawn looked at him and recognized the guy from somewhere. He wore sneakers, blue jeans, and a plain black shirt. He was tall, had short and curly dark hair, was decently built, and had stubble. When their eyes met, Shawn felt nothing but simple kindness. Something in the guy’s eyes and laugh lit the room up.
“Wait, haven’t I seen you somewhere?” the guy asked. The way he strokes up the conversation seemed so free of anxiety and effortless. It eased Shawn’s usual timidity.
“Yeah, I thought I recognized the dog….” Shawn replied, “Could it be that you study mycology at Manchester?”
“Right,” the guy seemed to remember, “you’re the guy who first sat in the first row but now sits in the back,” he then laughed again.
“Aaaah, right, that’s where I saw the dog. You always bring him to the lectures,” after a short pause, “Wait, you noticed me switching places?” Shawn laughed, somewhat embarrassed.
“Yeah, I don’t know why. You’re somewhat different.”
“I hope not in a bad way,” Shawn replied.
“No, no, just the way you carry yourself… and the hair, it’s unusually brown.”
“Oh…yeah,” Shawn replied, and they both laughed. It’s just the hair, he thought.
“Truman, nice to meet you,” he got up a bit and extended his hand, “Shawn, likewise.”
They chatted for the rest of the trip about their studies. Shawn wasn’t his usual restrained self. Something about Truman brought the childlike innocence and joy in him as if they met on a playground in a sandbox. They exchanged numbers and decided to go out this week. When Shawn walked to his dorm, he wore a big smile on his face.