Bark was taken to the Western Wall where he would be released from society into the wasteland that lay beyond. It wasn’t considered punishment. Punishment was an artifact from the barbaric days of the past. Since conscience had taken over from coercion, separation had taken the place of punishment. It would have been a punishment to keep Bark within the confines of the EcoSocial Mutual Alliance. Cruelty was not an ESMA value, so Bark was to be released.
He was thirty-three years old, bronzed and youthful with a wave of chestnut hair cresting above his sapphire eyes. His physical prowess would be missed by the Agriculture Cell and his intellectual prowess would be missed by the research arm of the Education Cell. Some feared that his present predicament was due to overexposure to a psychologically damaging form of literature that existed in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries called “advertising.”
Others feared that he had fallen prey to the ancient darkness of envy and greed. Even constant immersion in a virtual reality that exposed the grass on the other side of the fence was not enough to deter some people. They seemed to be hard-wired for the condition and thus life within the Ecological Socialist Democracy of ESMA was intolerable.
Free will was accommodated only within the confines of meeting Earth’s budget. Everyone received what they needed to thrive. Living units were identical, varying only in numbers of sleeping or hygiene chambers. Everyone worked in either the Agriculture Cell, the Education Cell or the Systems Cell. The Systems Cell, which dealt with communications and automation, worked closely with the other cells, so Bark had worked closely with them all.
Since decisions were made based on their impact not just on humanity, but on the earth as a whole, an algorithm had to be developed that would clearly delineate what was the best course of action and votes were only made concerning the various details that fell within those confines. Should we paint the bridge white or silver.
Whatever the source of his dissatisfaction with ESMA, Bark couldn’t help feeling a sense of dread and foreboding. Someone approached him wearing the white Kaftan that identified them as a member of the Systems Cell.
“Where will I be going? What is the terrain like?” Bark asked.
“There’s no telling. The great quake of 2028 destroyed more than just the fabric of the earth. It produced a… I want to say a fault in space-time, but the T-graphs resemble something more like a tornado. You’d better put these on. They’re not complete, but they should grant you access to work in a past version of the Agriculture Cell.”
The Oakland cop waited patiently for the ambulance to come. This guy was a doozy. No I.D., hallucinating under the bridge, wearing a McDonald’s hat, a Burger King shirt and an In n’ Out apron. He was demanding rations and sleeping quarters. The cop was glad that occasionally there were wishes he could grant.
Literature in Small Doses 