“Priscilla, I need you to do your best,” Doctor Amy reassured the woman laying on a bed. A man in the same light-blue doctor's gown sat on a cushioned stool, holding onto Priscilla’s hand, which he brought to the bed’s railing to allow her a firm grasp for the pain she was waiting to endure.
Grunts, moans, and shouts of illogical nonsense blasted the sanitary white room of various medical gadgets. A vigilant female doctor and nurse remained by Priscilla’s side, their demeanor unchanging from the once quiet scenery. Their diligence exuded a familiarity with the progression of events.
“I will need you to move off to the side for this, Caesar,” said Nurse Julie. Taking the cue, Caesar lifted his rump from the stool and positioned himself behind her, leaving enough space between in case of any unexpected swings.
Minutes later, the head of a child began to reveal itself as the agony of Priscilla climaxed at shrilling, only to soon subside by the extraction of tiny feet, freeing both from nine months of genesis on January 1st.
Swapping positions with Nurse Julie, Caesar looked down at his feeble wife laden in sweat. Gentle hands caressed her scalp followed by a light peck on her forehead; her eyes beaming in tired delight at his approached face. As he retracted his neck, Priscilla swiftly grabbed his fingers by the side of her bed. “I need you to take care of our child, hun.”
With her remaining energy, Priscilla raised her head to kiss her husband’s lowered lips and rested limp on her bed; a constant, mechanized high-pitched ring settling her message.
In a somber and contentious world, Priscilla was a bloomed flower on concrete. A stark contrast to the doomed faces and mindlessness adopted by everyone around her, yet her presence lacked any profound effect. Caesar was baffled by the people’s willful ignorance at a miracle in front of their eyes and approached her in awe and confusion. Why had people ignored her when she was clearly different?
Perhaps people did not want a target on their back, or their minds were busy and entrenched in the everyday sewage of mundanity that they could not distinguish between beauty and “reality”. Having dabbled significantly in this rote reality, Caesar declared enough and waited many years to spot an anomaly. He did not like to display his superiority in matters of having a romantic relationship like many of his peers did. Befriending people regardless of age did not interest him, either. It seemed everyone wanted him to stay where he wanted to leave. Wake up, eat, work, sleep, repeat. There had to be more than that.
Caesar noticed Priscilla sitting alone on a park’s bench, gracefully letting the wind pass her. He recognized the distinct air she brought: lighter, breathable, inviting, and welcoming. His search for an anomaly was beauty, and it had gracefully settled. A conversation was had—Priscilla listening to Caesar’s experience in a mundane life as a salaried clerk, and Caesar listening to Priscilla’s interests in arts, dance, and feeling the wind. They embarrassed each other of their hobbies and shared their mundane preferences such as color, which only meant they were ready to gift each other something.
Decades of accumulated pleasantness turned to joy – the epitome of every desired relationship – and one, gentle exhale facilitated its collapse.
Tears welled in the eyes of Caesar, dripping onto his smiling wife’s face. It was not fair for her to pass after moments of peace—it could have been years of celebration and family. He knew it was a futile and selfish request, yet his body remained shocked as it slumped in grief from the unforeseen.
“We… did not expect this either. She was in optimal condition. I’m so sorry,” Doctor Amy sniffled words of consolation. She was with Priscilla throughout the child’s conception, witnessing the couple bonding through times of pain, laughter, and uneventfulness. Unlike others she had seen throughout her experience, the relationship of the couple was serene—no signs of jealousy and other melodrama imbibed from the common culture. Their electrifying connection was something that she could not put a word to.
“Life… happens… At the very least it wasn’t the other way around,” Caesar replied in a whimper.
Doctor Amy knelt down, eyes lined up to Caesar’s. “Yes. There is one problem, however.” Caesar’s body was now fraught with dread. The doctor prepared her words carefully at the notice of his slight grimace in a field of worry.
“We can’t seem to pick your child up.”
“…What?…” Though prepared to defend himself against the worst, the absurdity of the statement instead invigorated Caesar. “You have carts, strong doctors, and machines, and you can’t pick my damn child up!?”
A chuckle arose from behind the doctor, drawing the attention of Caesar’s venomous eyes to Nurse Julie. He knew his anger was unfounded, especially when Doctor Amy knew Priscilla during her pregnancy. But to be unable to simply pick a child up was unheard of. How much could a newborn weigh?
Doctor Amy sighed. “It’s not because your child is heavy, Caesar. We can’t approach him because he’s telling us to ask you to hold him. This is something I have never experienced—my body won’t even allow a lift of a pinky to touch him!”
Dumbfounded by his assumptions, Caesar walked towards his child that remained near Priscilla’s womb and slowly lifted the child up to his arms, ensuring that the frail, infantile neck remained leveled. He was surprised that his child was quiet despite the wailing and shouts from himself and his now deceased wife. If the doctors could not touch his child, how—
“Although we could not touch the baby, we were able to help your wife not clamp down on him,” said Nurse Julie as if responding to Caesar’s thoughts.
Looking at the doctor and nurse, then down at his arms, the fragile humanoid lump began to reveal his eyes—its hazel color perfectly reflecting the face before him. Caesar smiled at the uncleaned boy, and tears of grief turned to… simply tears. He lacked words to detail the expansive feeling of another life he supported to create, on top of the responsibility as a new father. He eyed Priscilla, hoping that she was watching without a body.
The child let out soft “ahs” rhythmically. First, it sounded like something was lodged in his throat, but Caesar let such assumptions dissolve—coming to a conclusion that his son was mimicking a laugh.
He followed his son and roared in a contagious laughter, with Julie and Amy joining. It was strange. The doctors gave a different sound compared to past times Caesar spoke with them—a hearty laughter instead of obligatory giggles. Even stranger, he was laughing for no damn reason! Whether it was madness, he did not care.
Julie and Amy suppressed their laughter, only to burst moments later, distracting their well-practiced diligence of cleaning a medical room. To add to this madness, a deceased person lay limp, with their beloved standing next to her in bliss. The nurse’s and doctor’s realization that they were laughing in such an absurd situation created a never-ending cascade until the layers of justification to laugh subsided. No reason was needed for such joy to persist.
This feeling was similar to, if not much greater than Caesar’s initial contact with his wife. It was only then that Priscilla’s words infused into Caesar’s bones—their son was the gift.
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A discharge from the hospital the next afternoon meant the baby was healthy. Caesar had to be there for supervision in case no doctor was able to touch the child. It appeared that after he had picked up the child, doctors were finally able to perform health checks; though they were reluctant to do so. They had worried eyes and emanated their hesitance to taint the child with even the lightest touch.
Walking out of the hospital with his son resting in a carriage, the same joy remained in Caesar. The energy of the room from last evening remained steady despite the cessation of laughter resulting from an aching belly. He had planned for Priscilla’s cremation later in the evening and reminisced on their meander of memories. The remembrance of her was enough to shift his attention from who she was to where she is now—dead. But he knew being in grievous rumination would not benefit the child, so he set an example in his newborn’s vicinity.
After arriving home from a cab, Caesar noticed many unusual things. People were looking his way as he left the hospital, pedestrians on the streets turned their heads in similar fashion, and even the cab driver was quite happy and did not charge a fare. Maybe it was his newborn son; but besides the driver being wonderfully playful with his son, the turned heads were left unexplained.
Caesar unlocked the door to his home that was once shared with Priscilla and settled his sleeping, worm-shaped son cuddled in cotton blankets in his personal cradle. After returning his clothes to their rightful places, Caesar took a glance at the several hospital papers he held under a dim light and remembered his obligation to call his supervisor to extend his absence.
After a few rings from his smartphone, his supervisor answered. “Hello Caesar, need anything?”
“Hi Will, I need more days off to take care of my newborn son.”
“Are you sure you don’t need weeks or months? I know child-rearing is expensive with time and attention, speaking from experience.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Caesar paused, forgetting he had no wife. “Oh right, I will need that, but there will be no one working as my wife’s passed from the delivery.”
A bang and boom followed by an unexpected guffaw surprised Caesar before Will responded. “What in the—I’m sorry man, that is some rough luck. That doesn’t usually happen given the tech we have developed as humans.”
Unswayed by Will’s consolation, Caesar responded. “No need for an apology. Do you have an idea of what a couple months off work would look like? Can you make it possible?”
“Hmm…” Will pondered for what felt like a minute. “Ah! I don’t know if you heard, but many people have been resigning across the nation, or rather, globally. It’s all over the news. You may want to check that out. By the time you come back there may not be a job or an economy!”
More bad news, but Caesar did not care. He decided to do whatever was needed to support his son no matter the conditions. He curiously reached for the remote resting next to his television and powered on the flat, electronic screen and switched to the news channel.
[… miracles such as coma patients waking up from their slumber around the globe, criminals asking their victims for forgiveness, prison guards hugging and laughing with inmates, many depressed people in hospital wards cured, and butchers releasing their cows and pigs from the butchery station.]
“Are you hearing the news, Will?”
“You bet I am! Miraculous, right?” Caesar could hear Will grinning over the phone. With a slightly gaped mouth, he watched as the recordings of various scenes displayed before him matched the pace of the reporter’s words.
[… We also have a soldier calling in to tell us about their war experience overseas. Your name is Bob, correct?]
[“Yes I’m Bob, and right here next to me is a new, foreign friend.”]
Caesar sees Bob in a light camouflage attire with a bulletproof vest, a helmet, and yellow-tinted sunglasses, while his friend with unkempt black hair wore a loose and tattered, unbuttoned blue shirt with a plaid pattern.
[Can you tell us your story—like what happened?]
[“We were shooting at each other from afar from the safety of our ditches and my friend here had propped up his clean, white underwear as a flag for surrender as he walked out towards the center of no man’s land. Me and my buddies were laughing at the sight but I felt the need to reciprocate, so I walked up with my fellow comrade’s pink underwear. My friend and I both smiled at each other and hugged, laughing like some buffoons enjoying a movie. The rest of the soldiers from both sides walked up the same and we all laughed in peace. The rest was history.”]
Caesar heard his supervisor curse and laugh over the phone, clearly enjoying the movie himself.
[So did the war just… stop? Just like that?]
[“Yes ma’am, we did not want to kill each other then and there; in fact, we were repulsed from doing so because we understand that we are one big family. That’s about it, really. Simple and clean.”]
Caesar watched the screen as tears of joy flowed down Bob’s face, who turned and hugged his sandy-faced friend. It was a miracle alright. A war that spanned decades suddenly stopping because everyone finally realized they were family? It reminded him of meeting Priscilla and the strange happening with the doctor and nurse helping to deliver his son.
Three loud knocks deviated Caesar from his train of thought to his front door. Still in his pedestrian clothing and holding his smartphone to his ear with a hand, he switched off the television and walked with socks along the boarded floor to the door. Opening slowly, he sees three men—one holding a large rod with a microphone hanging, another holding a large camera with two hands, and the last holding a clipboard. News reporters.
“Will, I’ll be going now, we can talk again in the future.”
“Alright Caesar, I’ll put you down for a few months of absence.” Caesar hangs up the phone and glares at the three men in front of his door, each wearing a complete set of dark-themed winter attire.
“Hello, is this Caesar and Priscilla’s home? We would like to conduct a live interview,” said the man holding a clipboard.
“Goodbye.” Seeing that they must be there to bother him, Caesar swings the door shut.
With a quick and urgent reflex, the clipboard man leans his weight on the door; a foot preventing its closure. “Wait! I received a message to come to your apartment from your son. Since you may not believe me, I also brought some guests over.” The clipboard man gestured to the side as Doctor Amy and Nurse Julie revealed themselves in front of Caesar’s door, dressed in more casual, light-colored winter clothing.
Surrendering to the idea that they would not be at his front door without reason, Caesar sighs and beckons the three newsmen and two doctors inside. Before they stepped any further, he pointed to their shoes and grunted with aggression, indicating that shoes must be taken off.
Everyone was directed to a rectangular dining table as Caesar prepared six glasses of tepid water for their stay. His home was slightly insulated as he just arrived moments earlier; the cold gradually becoming more of a breeze than a sting. The news reporters gestured Amy and Julie to sit by the wall while they sat on three chairs on the opposite side. Caesar was the last to join, holding the last three glasses for the women and himself as he sat by Amy.
“So, you were talking about my son giving you a message,” Caesar sternly started. “What do you mean? And how do you know about everyone involved, especially my newborn son?”
From his upright position, the clipboard man bent forward with hands on the table, staring at Caesar with a creased forehead and wide eyes, and spoke in a calm, steady tone. “… You may not believe what I say, but I received a message from your son to conduct an interview with you. He gave me his parents’ names as well as the hospital and the staff that assisted you. From the ladies here, after much deliberation and skepticism, I received your address... and here I am, basically.”
“You know this sounds like absolute bull, right?”
“He’s right, Caesar,” Julie interjected, “Amy and I received a message from your son after you were out of our sight. I don’t hear things, and I know how I think. The thoughts that came through were clearly not mine. It told us that we would meet with a news reporting team and it would be ideal for us to follow them to your apartment for an interview. I personally do not know anything else, but their arrival confirmed my suspicions.”
“And Seamus here,” Amy points to the man with the clipboard, “will be the one interviewing you and I guess us staff as well.”
Seamus nodded in agreement and spoke in a mildly serious demeanor, sensing that the air of skepticism had lapsed. “That’s right, and I may have a little more information about your son that I have not disclosed to anyone yet, but I work as a journalist for supernatural phenomena. I would assume your son gave me some telepathic message, asking me to talk about the recent international events that have spawned and that he is the epicenter.”
For a moment, Caesar felt an urge to laugh and suppressed it. Not because he was crazy, but for the reason that if he were to accept his just born son as the coordinator of all this, all logical connections he had of the world would fracture and he would have to accept that he is crazy. Was he going to an insane asylum after this? He did pray during Priscilla’s death and hoped she was watching their newborn child in some ghostly spirit form. At that moment, time was passing quickly and prayer was his way of accepting the situation in the privacy of his mind.
Now, time was moving quickly again with the introduction of new information and his choice was to stay with logic or throw it away; this time he had to declare his madness in the presence of other judging minds—doctors, no less.
But he was not ready. Was he ready? He did not know. If he accepted the premise of Seamus, then possibilities open. Many possibilities. Infinitely many and the impossible being possible. He was scared of possibilities. He was fearful of what the world would throw at him.
The other option was to remain in comfort. Everything is placed precisely where it is, there is no deviation, and he could swim in the same pool over and over again. It sounded like where he was trying to leave—the habit, the rote, the mundane. So—comfort or crazy? Mundane or asylum? Mundane asylum? Good crazy asylum.
Caesar perused his conflicting realities for a long while, and the five guests glared with anticipation. Caesar’s mouth gaped. “Let’s say—No. I accept your premise. My son has telepathy and he gave you a message to persuade the doctors and to come interview me. The dots you connect seem to make sense in regards to how my son is related to the miraculous events on the news. Although I don’t understand why that connection was made—how do you know what telepathy is and how it affects people?”
Seamus’ eyes lit up with excitement—his sudden change in conduct startling his two crew members. “Since it doesn’t seem like your son has telepathically communicated with you, it would be difficult for me to convince you. Let’s take another approach. Do you recall any unusual events in relation to your son?”
Caesar pondered for a few seconds. “… Laughter? My son was also quiet after the whole ordeal and he tried to mimic a laugh in my arms. Then Amy and Julie here refused to pick him up saying that they couldn’t, and asked me to. People were also turning their heads in my direction when I was walking out of the hospital and back home. The cab driver gave me a free ride, although that seemed quite normal in terms of behavior.”
“Yes! Laughter—that was what everyone around the world felt when your son was born. A telepathic stream of love hit everyone across the planet regardless of their geographical location.”
“But how do you know it was my son and not someone else’s, or some other event that may have occurred? My son can’t even speak.”
“Telepathy is a completely different form of communication, Caesar,” Seamus answered. “As for how I know it is specifically your son—I do not have an answer for that. All I can trust is that I was given a message regarding you and your wife’s name and the doctors involved. You may call me simple for following my hunch, but given my field of work, I know things happen for a reason.”
Caesar continued to spear Seamus with questions about telepathy, but his response remained the same—he did not understand the nature of telepathy, except that it exists and can be experienced. Though unsatisfactory, Caesar yielded after the spirited barrage, seeing the honesty in Seamus.
With that, the camera started rolling while the mic boom positioned slightly out of its view. Seamus interviewed Caesar, Amy, and Julie with pointed questions to extract detail from their lives and the delivery of a miraculous child. Then came a section that elaborated on telepathy, love, and the current events, and how Caesar’s son was the source of all the peace since New Year’s.
“It seems you haven’t named your son yet, do you have something people can refer to him as?” Seamus asked.
“No need for a name. Call him the Integrator.”
“Any reason why?”
With the last breath of that question, Caesar’s body jolted as if he realized his seat pricked him and wanted to keep his social composure. Heat and perspiration formed around his temples while a cool, thin vertical breeze was felt centered on his forehead. “Hold on, I think I’m receiving a telepathic message.”
Attempting to recover from the sudden pain and shock, Caesar’s head involuntarily twitched and jerked side to side several times and eyes rolled back to reveal milky white. His eyelids shut and he donned an innocent smile, revealing dimples on both cheeks. Both forearms lifted from his seated lap and fists clenched with unusually fanned fingers – appearing to be glued and unused due to a lack of strength and musculature. To match the uncanny smile on a serious grown man, the forearms tensed in excitement – eager to pounce and grab.
A higher-pitched voice escaped Caesar’s throat without strain, relaying a message. “I am the Integrator. There will be no more borders, violence, crime, and segregation of any kind. From this point on, humanity will be with nature. Humanity will be one.”