Predestined

Seventeen year-old Asher LeBlanc watched the rolling landscape through the wide clear glass window of his spacious artist’s quarters on the west side of the city.  Far below the tall daunting titanium and glass studio, he saw the lazy river winding through the hills on its never-ending journey.  He felt as though he were a part of that river.  He knew all of its curves, every sandy beach, each rocky shore.  He had spent so many years observing this landscape, forever sketching different versions of the same scene for his wealthy benefactors.

                Asher knew no different.  His genes had predestined him for a life of art.  Since he was an infant, he had been surrounded by nature.  His parents had taken the support offered by the Potential Realization Department when Asher’s genetic results were analyzed and his life plan was written just after his birth.  Asher’s mother, Cecily, was thrilled to hear that Asher would be an artist.  She loved creativity and secretly wished she could be an artist herself.  However, this was not her greatest strength as determined by her genetic testing.  Cecily’s birth testing showed her strength to be caring.  For this reason, Cecily trained as a Life Coach.  She worked for the Facility for Citizen Cultivation with a small group of citizens at various stages of life.  She helped each citizen connect with and foster his or her specific talent.  Cecily was amazing at her profession, but somehow she never felt satisfied.  She had pushed this feeling aside all her life, knowing that her passion did not matter.  After all, citizens were constantly reminded that it was inefficient to spend time working on something that you liked but for which you had no genetic predisposition.  Hobbies were just a distraction from a person’s true potential and had no place in an efficient society.

Asher effectively layered white waves on the surface of the winding river.  He made the river reflect the evening sky so perfectly that he could have been looking out the broad windows at the river itself rather than his own rendering of it.  Asher added the finishing touches of pink and orange to the evening sky.  He signed the painting and set it aside with the other three he had completed that day. 

Two years before Asher had worked out a method to make the most of his painting time.  He had already conquered painting in the ways of master artists like Monet and Sisley, and improved upon it by creating his own more realistic style.  Now he was more widely known that these master painters of centuries ago.  However, he still was not satisfied.  Asher knew an efficient society worked on a schedule, so Asher came up with his own efficiency goal of completing three paintings per day.  Asher easily attained this goal within a few weeks of setting it and realized he could do more.  Asher reexamined his method and tweaked it until he could complete four works of art every day of the year.  He was now the most efficient and talented Artist in the city.

Once the paintings were dry, he would wrap them up and call for a Deliverer to take them to the patrons who had commissioned them.  Asher was not equipped with the proper genetic disposition to accurately speak to customers.  He had never interacted with anyone who had ordered a painting from him.  In fact, the only people Asher was ever exposed to were with his mother, a few doctors and nurses when he became ill, and his Life Coach at the Facility.  Asher’s shyness was so strong during these few meetings, that the Life Coach discouraged any real interaction with society.  Asher had spent the time when other children were in the socialization portion of their Cultivation in a room with his Life Coach mimicking the strokes of the greatest landscape artists in the world’s history.

                As he was cleaning his work space, Cecily came in to check on him.  She stopped to study at his latest creation.  Her eyes went from the arched top of the hill in the distance down to the winding river.  She saw a fawn bent over the edge of the river, impressed by the detail in the image.  Even though this was one small detail of the painting, she could see the attention Asher had given to it.  She saw the beginnings of horns growing from the young buck’s head.  She noticed the pale patches on his taut haunches, shimmering in the light from the sinking sun.  She could almost count the individual brush strokes that he had used to create the hide of the deer.  Technically, this painting was perfect, but Cecily couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

                Distracted by her concern, Cecily was unaware that Asher had walked up behind her.  She jumped out of her daze when she heard his voice.

                “Do you like it, Mother?”

                Cecily gasped.  “Asher, you scared me!  Your work draws me in every time.  It is truly like a mirror of nature.  The Scientists were right weren’t they?  Art is your gift.  But tell me, Son, are you happy?  Is art what you enjoy?”

                Asher looked at his mother, confused.  “What do you mean?  I am doing the work that I was destined to do.  My genetic coding proves that art is what my life’s work is.  What does happiness have to do with that?”

                Cecily placed her hand on Asher’s shoulder and glanced around nervously.  They were alone in the studio.  “Happiness makes us feel whole.  I have been a Life Coach for over thirty years, but I have always felt like something was missing.  I noticed in the years that I worked with budding Artists, I always felt more whole.  I know I shouldn’t say this, but I think I would be happier creating art like you do.  I think I would have been more fulfilled had art always been a part of my life.  Do you feel like that ever?  Like something is missing?”

                Asher stepped back.  He studied Cecily intently.  “I don’t understand.  I am told that I am the most talented Artist in the city.  I know I am efficient because I create more paintings in a week than any other artist can create in an entire month.  How can happiness make me any better at my work?”

                “Asher, I have come to believe there is more to life than efficiency.  Don’t you ever wonder how your life might have turned out if you had been given an opportunity to try something else?” Cecily whispered looking toward the door.  “Don’t you feel the least bit trapped?  Like you are missing out on amazing things that could have been?  How do the Scientists know that this is the only thing we would ever be good at?  What if they were wrong?”

                Asher’s face paled.  He turned and walked toward the window.  “How could the Scientists be wrong?  They have the genes for intellect.  They know exactly how to read the results of our birth testing.  They do not make mistakes.  This…this happiness…does not make you…efficient.  How are these thoughts helping you to coach your citizens?” Asher turned back to his mother.  Cecily could see something new in Asher’s eyes.  Hate.  “It seems to me that your efficiency has run out.”

                Cecily’s face fell.  “No, Asher.  Don’t say that.  Please.  I have never expressed these thoughts to anyone but you.  This is the first time I have talked at all about this.  I am fully efficient and effective at connecting citizens with their true purpose.  I am only an aid to our society.  Please, just forget the conversation we had.  I was wrong, you must be fulfilled.  Look at your beautiful paintings.”

                Cecily was backing away slowly.  She had misjudged Asher.  This was not the son that Cecily had coached through his art.  She had taught him the joy in each stroke, the ecstasy that could come from making a piece of art so perfect that it was like nature itself.  This Asher was only concerned with getting the job done as efficiently as possible.  The technique Cecily had seen for so many years was present, but the emotion was absent.  What had happened to Asher?

                Cecily accidently bumped an easel holding one of the Asher’s newly created masterpieces. She put her hand back to catch herself, marring the beautiful white-capped river and the young buck drinking from it.  Before she could react again, she felt a strong pressure on her throat.

                Asher’s blank eyes were meeting hers as his strong Artist’s hand wrapped around her neck.  He squeezed with such force that she couldn’t breathe.  She opened her mouth to beg him to stop.  No sound came out.  Her thoughts raced.  When did he get so strong?  Where was the Asher she knew?  Why is he doing this?

                All she could focus on were his eyes.  They looked so strange.  Almost entirely black.  They used to be blue.  When did his eyes change?

Cecily was struggling to stay focused.  She weakly pulled at his hands.  It was pointless.  He had the strength of a machine.  The darkness was closing in around Asher’s black eyes. 

His words were the last thing she heard. “You are no longer efficient.  Happiness is just a distraction from your true potential and has no place in an efficient society.”

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing story shared.
"His words were the last thing she heard. “You are no longer efficient. Happiness is just a distraction from your true potential and has no place in an efficient society.”
It is sad when we limit the children view and hope. I like the situation, characters and the story line. You made the reader think. The goal of the writer. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote