Monday, August 18, 2014

Welcome to the future, today

“Welcome to the future, today.”

He had just landed on the big stage, flying on his Exo-Suit, in front of a thousand people. They all had gathered around to watch the invention that would “redefine humanity”. The tech that would change the lives of many, improve, sustain, develop.

Yet he casually flew down. It was like riding his bike to school or just walking subconsciously towards home sweet home. As he walked down the wooden floor, the suit started to retract, while the thrusters and the mechanical palms fumed from the tantalizing heat.

First the arms, retracting behind his back, showing off his skinny hands and glimpses of an expensive tailor made black suit. Then the legs and the waist support, looking so fluid as they turned into a solid mass of metal behind his back, resembling a metallic suitcase that glowed bright red.

He looked at the audience with eyes wide open, a strong glare and determination that could pierce through the strongest of spirits. Project Hercules was born.

“Today we are showing off Project Hercules, a device that will change the shape of humanity.”

“Made from carbon fiber, enriched with crystal titanium and carbon carbon, it has immense potential.”

“Actions speak louder than words, so let me demonstrate instead, rather than showing you a interesting presentation that satisfies only lust and fantasy.”

His words echoed like a grenade in the room. He was brimming with confidence and they could tell.

He was holding 3 small silver balls in his hands, in the shape of a small nut. He played with them for a few seconds, then threw them to the ground.

They stuck on each other, and then the suit started to power on again. It looked like a robot, with legs firmly rooted on the ground and arms streched open, with a gaping hole in the middle. It was big enough for a human to get inside and be engulfed from steel and thunder.

He got inside. The arms closed. The legs too. The chest was barely visible after the pieces were bolted automatically, while a light blue glass covered his eyes. The disk on his back glowed green, it looked like a spinal cord made of bright green liquid.

“Maximum strength!”, he said with a booming voice.

The disk on his back spinned to the right, turning into dark passion red. He looked bulked up, like the god of war ready to unleash fury on his opponents. The screws and the metallic ropes tightened when he turned his attention to a small car that was hiding in the scene. Just a little everyday car from the 70’s, with sticky plastic seats, no air-conditioning, a coughing engine and a windshield battered from the air and rain.

He grabs the car from beneath. Then, to the amazement of everyone in the room he just picks it up like a toy and lifts it up above his head.

“Titanic Strength. Similar to how Atlas of the Greek Mythology was holding the world on his shoulders, you can have immense strength with Project Hercules, making the hardest of tasks a simple everyday deed.”

Whispers amongst the shadows, small talk and discussion between the audience. Amazement and fear in the atmosphere, you could smell it in the air, like the scent that’s left after the storm.

Everything is going according to plan. He is there, in front of all those people, feeling confident, with a car hovering above his head, light as a balloon.

What is going on? The scenery is fading. The walls crumble like paper, being blown away by the wind like ashes, the clear faces of the people around being turned into faceless voids, his feet trembling beneath the burden of reality, his hands shaking from the problems of humanity. He looks up and knows this is the time. It’s his harajuku moment. 

He falls on his knees. There is no strength here. He is losing the signal. The car starts to drop down on his head, sulking him into the abyss.

He wakes up sweaty, with a shiver sent up his spine, hearing a horrible noise, like a ticking bomb. There’s no suit to protect him, nothing to cure him off the headache and the pain that will follow up. He is no hero, no mastermind, no evil genius to take the world by storm. Yet…

The sound is the alarm clock, the headache is his father’s voice calling him for work, his sheets on the floor, leaving him vulnerable.

Reluctantly he picks up his glasses. He slams the clock. He wears a beat down white shirt with holes that used to be yellow, a pair of jeans and his trusty old destroyed sneakers. He coughs and leaves a breath, equal to the sounds of a thousand dead whispering their problems through the air. He stands up and heads to the exit door.

Snap back to reality Kostas. It’s time to go to work.

Welcome to Greece Kostas. 5 more days.

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