Week 36 - Menagerie

Menagerie

Matthew Ryan Fischer

What was he looking at? He did not know. He had a vague feeling that he should. Somewhere. Off in the distance. In the back of his mind. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know why he should know anything.

Still, the feeling persisted.

What was he walking on? Was it glass? Was it a video screen? He didn’t understand what it was or what he was seeing on the other side of it. An enormous orb in space. So peaceful and blue.

He felt a holy sort of serenity inside himself.

A world, nothing more, yet it felt like home. That was simple foolishness. He had no home other than where he was right now in that instant. That he knew. He had never had a home. He had never felt at home where he was now. But that made no sense. This was his home. He had always been here. There was no reason to feel the way he did.

He was lost in thought for what felt like an eternity. He was confused. Uncertain. The past that wasn’t there, the feelings of something else, something missing. He was sure there was something else, but he couldn’t quite straighten things out in his mind. A lost memory, or a forgotten thought – a moment of distraction, that felt like something real previously was. It felt like an eternity, when only a moment had been.

The others were talking, but he didn’t understand what they were saying. He recognized words, but he didn’t know the meaning. He knew only the words he was supposed to know and how to use them, and that was it. Words could be guessed, but often it hurt his head too much to try. The others spoke so quickly, they all understood. None of them cared to make him understand. That wasn’t his purpose. That wasn’t why he was here.

He was here to serve them. His master and the others. He didn’t know the word master, but he understood the meaning anyway. He knew he was to serve. That was what he had done. Always. That was what he would do. Always. There were others like him, but he was alone currently. Others would arrive and talk and look at the orb and then they would go. He would pour them beverages and other times he would carry a tray with food. They would talk and he would serve.

Sometimes he would try to listen. Sometimes he would try to understand. Sometimes. Not this time. He was tired. It hurt his head to think. They were talking so quickly and pointing at things and arguing. He couldn’t keep up. He didn’t want to keep up. It didn’t matter. He knew what they were pointing at; he knew what they were talking about even if he didn’t know what they were saying. He knew it didn’t concern him. He would know when it was time for him to serve. That would be obvious. Those words he knew.

They were coming more often. Something was happening. He didn’t know what. No one thought to tell him. They didn’t even consider him. They spoke freely about anything. He was certain that he didn’t even register worthy of a thought to them. Whether or not he understood, whether or not it mattered – they never thought of him. He was a tool, an accessory. They barely saw him, even when he was pouring their drinks or offering them food. They looked right through him, like he wasn’t even there. He knew that feeling. He knew it far too often.

Tonight his neck hurt. Not sore like when he worked too hard or stood too long. His neck was tight, constricted. It felt as if something was pressing in and around him. Not that anything was really there. He wore no chains, no shackles, and no collar. Never had. There had never been any reason to. He served. That was what he did. There had never been a reason for forced bondage. It had never occurred to him not to serve.

Tonight though, tonight, he felt as if he was bound. Bound by something. Tightening its grip. He didn’t know why or what that was. Something buried deep within. Something lost. Something gone from that dark pit inside him that should have been his memories, which could have been his past. It was missing. He felt that something was missing. Even if he didn’t know what.

His neck was tight and he was having trouble breathing. He knew this feeling and he knew it well.

Something clicked. If only for one second. For one moment he was home. For one moment he was more than a memory of something that did or didn’t ever exist. He understood more than he should. He remembered more than he could. He was whole, on either side, not just a sliver of stolen time. Only for one moment.

The voices called him. It was his job. It was his duty. It was a part of him still. Along with the other parts. But still, it was the most important. It was his very core, his essence of being. He was to serve. It was all he had ever done. It was all he would ever do. The moment was fleeting and finite and his reality seemed endless.

He glanced a final time, longingly at the orb, floating before him. He turned back to the others and did his duty.

Later, after the others had finished and gone away. Later, when he was alone with his master. Later, much much later. He helped his master prepare for the evening – changed his clothes, prepared his bath, prepared his bed. All the things he was required to do, most every night.

Later after he went to his quarters, with the others of his ilk. He lay in bed but did not sleep. He dreamt of things that came before, things he could not possibly know. His hands were sore. His muscles tired from labor. His body ached. Soon he would sleep. Soon he would wake and his day would repeat. Over and over and over again. The same day, the same moment. He lived the same over and over. That would be the case. That would always be the case. But for a moment, before he faded into slumber, he could dream.

He had a past that had been forgotten. He had a name he did not know. He had had life and love and many other mysterious things. He didn’t have the words for them all. He had never been taught that. And yet he knew it was all a part of him. A part of a different life, a different world. Something that could have been. Something he was snatched from, a little stolen bit, somehow still remembering the whole. He knew that which was impossible to know.

Tomorrow they would find the body. The master with the tight neck, the life squeezed out of it. Tomorrow. But tonight he would dream of other things. And when they came, they would look at him but they would not see. They would look through him as they always had. They would look through all of them, all of the servers. The masters always looked through them. That was the way it was. There was no reason to believe there was any malice or disobedience possible. They served. It was what they were; it was what they did. There was nothing else possible.

Soon he would sleep and he knew he would forget his dreams, forget his actions, forget his deeds. Tomorrow when he awoke, he would be as he had always been. Or at least he knew he could seem that way to them. The lost little hole inside him would be impossible to see, impossible to detect. They would never know what he knew. They would look at him and see right through him and none the wiser would they be.