The Unpretenders - Chapter 20

Julian had taught me that contained within every problem lied the seed of its optimal solution, but that such seeds rarely ever germinated due to the inherently low levels of consciousness in most human beings. All of which meant that the chosen or agreed upon solutions, to the vast majority of problems - whether individual, social or global in nature - tended not only to compound the original problem, but to generate even more, ad infinitum. One of the examples he gave was that of pharmaceutical medicine, whereby a patient could end up having to take a potpourri of different drugs, merely to combat the side-effects of the first, which wasn't even tackling the real problem to begin with. Plus the other drugs also had side-effects of their own, of course, creating even more health problems, leading to even more drugs. This calamitous pattern actually existed in every sphere and stratum of human existence, although not always so obviously. And, more to the point, it existed in every fruitless twist and turn of our daily lives.

My own challenge, therefore, at least to myself, was to identify these optimal solutions, and then use them to smash the cycle. In the case of my father, for example, I saw his next visit to my bedroom as the perfect opportunity to resolve a number of difficult issues... simultaneously.   

The idea occurred to me when I noticed how impressed he was with the letter that I'd received from a literary agent. In fact, he spoke of wanting to support my talent and of helping me in any way that he could. When the appropriate moment came, therefore, I decided to feign a little innocence. "But dad," I said, "how can I continue to write convincing erotica, when I haven't even seen an adult penis, let alone touched one?"

Needless to say, I'd gifted him with the perfect excuse to cross a certain line. And, more importantly, the next gift that I gave him, lasting all of two minutes, was being surreptitiously recorded on my webcam.

Yes, I threw up in the bathroom, afterwards, but my job was done. The resulting video, and what I threatened to do with it, not only forced him to leave me alone, but effectively gave me my freedom. Within a matter of hours, in fact, I had packed my bags and returned to Julian's.

* * * 

"You see, Baxter," he said, opening the front door. "I told you she would be back."

"Hey Baxter, good to see you, boy."

After hugging the dog, I proceeded to embrace Julian, something that I'd been eagerly anticipating since we were so violently torn apart. I then jokingly requested asylum from the world.

"Granted," he replied.

The huge entrance hall was just as magnificent as I remembered it to be. "Wow, I'm finally back. And here to stay this time, right?"

"If you're sure that's what you want."

"Of course I'm sure, silly! My only sadness is that Isobel isn't here too."

"You mean, she didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That she ran away again, after a big row with her parents."

"What, you mean that she's here now?"

"Yes, she's in the Intronium."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me! This is too perfect."

I then dashed off upstairs, leaving Julian to carry my luggage. I could hardly wait to see what marvels Isobel had created, for I knew that she had a wonderfully rich imagination.

I opened the door of the chamber with an expectant smile on my face. As I stepped inside, however, I found myself in a ramshackle ghost town, of the Wild West era, replete with tumbleweed and the faint cry of vultures overhead. The only thing that wasn't in a state of disrepair, it seemed, was a gleaming railway track, which ran straight down the middle the street.

Isobel herself was standing on the operating podium, but didn't seem at all interested in my arrival. In fact, she merely gestured for me to close the door, before returning to her conversation with an old, white-haired dude.

As I moved slowly closer, I could see that the man had a bottle of liquor in his hand, which he'd evidently been drinking from. "Izzy," I interrupted, tapping her on the shoulder, "what are you doing?"

"Pause," she said, firmly, which instantly froze the entire scene. She then explained to me how Julian had taught her to use the Intronium in a different way. That is, to access the unconscious mind, allowing one to find specific answers to important questions. "I didn't create this place deliberately," she assured me. "It's merely a symbolic representation of the answer that I'm seeking."

"I understand. But if this is the answer, what was the question?"

"I had to know, Sophie. I had to know why I originally came here, to Earth. I had to know why I put myself through this misery."

"And does this answer make any sense to you?"

"Of course. Don't you see? This old guy here is me. And he's dying, Sophie. He's dying of boredom. He's even trying to extinguish what little consciousness he has left, because existence itself has become unbearable. Only, his boredom isn't due to having satisfied all of his desires, or because he's experienced all that there is to experience. No. It's more like he doesn't even have any desires. And he's lonely, Sophie, so very lonely. Why? Because he knows that everybody he talks to is really his own self. And there's not even any pretense to the contrary on this side of the veil, as there obviously is on Earth."

Isobel then instructed the Intronium to resume, and the man immediately began to stare at me, quizzically. "Do I know you, lassie?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"You will do," said Isobel, smiling, "you will do."

At this point I heard the sound of an approaching locomotive.

"Well, this is it," she told him. "This is your chance, old man."

We both watched in awe as a majestic steam train approached from what appeared to be some distance away, but obviously wasn't. Moments later it hissed and snarled its way into town, pulling a total of six carriages, which were all filled with passengers. A smartly dressed conductor then appeared, offering to help the old man aboard.

"Go on," said Isobel, becoming quite emotional. "I can't promise that it will be an easy journey. But it will definitely be worth it, in the end."

"See ya round," he said, waving his liquor bottle in the air.

As the old man was carefully escorted on board, I began to wonder what the name of the locomotive might actually be. "Where are you going?" said Isobel, as I hurried passed.

Just at that moment a dense cloud of steam was suddenly released, as if to block my view. Perhaps I was forbidden from knowing such things, I reasoned, considering that it was, after all, somebody else's mind that I was exploring. However, as the vapour dissipated, the name of the engine was graciously revealed. And her name, of course, was Destiny.