0005

“You know, cities are different; you hate it being there and feel lonely when you go away!” Krishan said as he threw the three of spades before him.

“Yeah, right”, Razaq replied and laid the four of spades on his pile of cards.

“That’s a donkey, old boy,” and handed Razaq one card from his hand and the three of spades lying before him.

“Ohh, my bad! I keep forgetting.”

“I have empty hands,” he laughed.

“So, you win?”

“Of course, I do,” he gave joyful laughter and began picking cards from the table.

“I would be going now and see Mr…” he paused and stroked his head. “Yeah! Mr. Singha, you know, he told me he knew 4D chess”, he put the cards in a box, put it in his pocket, and got up from the sofa.

“It was nice of you to come,” Razaq said with a smile.

Krishan was a neighbor of Mr Razaq, a good chatty fellow of 61; lived a few houses away; it had been a year since he came here. He loved walking into his neighbor’s houses and playing board or card games with them. It was very old school, though, to keep the card or board games.

It was a quiet place; small wooden houses and tiny green front lawns. The layout imitated the 20th century’s satellite town, reeking with monotony and seclusion. It was devoid of most modern machinations; the residents were left at the mercy of a nostalgic individuality, reminiscent of a time long gone. A skydome covered the town with a virtual ambient projection. It was generally quiet except for the occasional wheezing of hovercars and ellipsoid drones.

Like all other houses, Razaq’s was also a small single bed building. The front door opened directly inside; there was a kitchen to the left, opening into the lounge; his bedroom was to its right. With all-white walls, doors, and furniture, the house gave a sense of vastness. In the lounge, there was a large black clock hanging on the front wall. The door to his bedroom opened just in front of that. He could easily see it from his bed if the door was open.

To the left of this door were a side table and a rest chair facing towards that clock; he used that for reading or naps, both of which spanned most of his day. There was a square table on the opposite side, with two large sofas placed perpendicular to each other and nearly touched adjacent walls.

The only peculiar thing in the house was probably the clock. It was quite big, around three feet in diameter, entirely black, with four digits glowing white in the center. The digits read 0005 that day, falling by 1 each day. There had been 0006 a day before and 0007 a day before that. He didn’t quite understand it, but it had been there for as long as he could recall.

Razaq, who was living a very basic life, had nothing to stay occupied with. In fact, he didn’t even think of needing one. He would wake up early; bathe himself; change his clothes; have his breakfast which had already been readied by speechless Octarm Droid that did other household chores as well. Later, he would lie down in his chair in the lounge; he would doze off staring at the black clock, sometimes with his book in hand. A slight hymn would wake him up for lunch or dinner if he weren’t conscious.

His waking, eating, and sleeping routine was because of a muscle memory ingrained by years of practice. He didn’t have a lot many memories and never wondered why. If it were not for his warm skin that felt alive, one could have mistaken him for one of those Mannequin Bots, mimicking ordinary people in the shopping malls.

0004

He had been to the community Doctor a month ago; he had told him about his condition, about strange dreams that he kept sometimes having, and about dizziness that kept overtaking. The Doctor had said to him that it was completely normal to feel that way at his age and advised him to increase his pills.

The Doctor’s name was Dana, a young man of 34 who had only joined the hospital a few days ago. He had promised to visit him from time to time.

He had kept his promise and had seen him twice since then. His last visit to him had been a week ago when he had brought him some pastries. The old man was thankful.

Razaq was troubled by a woman’s voice, which sometimes he heard while fully awake. It was too familiar, yet he had no clue what to make of it. He told the Doctor about it and how it distracted him when he tried to read his book. It echoed in his head, bugging him like an itch.

He explained to him how he would leave his book; stand up from his chair; take deep breaths; walk about the lounge; clench his fist, waiting for the voice to fade out. Once done, he would go back to his book. The Doctor told him not to worry and gave him a new medicine to replace his old one.

The new medicine made his mind clearer, but his hands started losing their grip. Three days later, he accidentally dropped the bottle spilling all pills.

0003

He felt too sluggish to get out of bed. He tried to get up a few times, but his body didn’t respond. He had spent the whole day inside his bedroom. Krishan called on him in the evening, rang his doorbell a couple of times, not getting any response, he left.

0002

Another day later: he didn’t feel that lazy, but his head remained heavy. His body had regained control, and he walked in and out of his room several times to make sure if he was okay.

Nearly asleep that night, he was awakened by a mental shock. Random recollections had made their way into his consciousness, and the troublesome voice had just rendered itself a face. The jolt was so sudden that he lifted himself in the bed.

His brain told him that the front wall had been different at some other time, that it had lots of objects hanging by it at random places, and that women had been somehow related to all of that. He looked down at the side tables and thought it odd to see their tops empty.

He rubbed his forehead, took deep breaths, and fell back on his pillow. He had no idea what it was, he realized that he knew that woman, but he didn’t know how and why. Before that night, he had not thought about his past; his whole life as he could think of, spanned on a faded timeline.

It was as if he had found random pieces of large jigsaw puzzle and had no clue how to connect them. He stayed up late, attempting to understand it all.

0001

He woke up very late the next day and kept staring into the mirror when he went to wash his face. His black and white hairs had grown quite long and were reaching his brows. His beard needed some grooming.

He moved his hand along his face, trying to feel the wrinkles. He realized that he had seen a younger face in a mirror some time ago but failed to imagine it.

After breakfast, he came to the lounge and sat in his chair. His head was still heavy.

His book was on the side table, with a small bookmark sticking out. He picked it up and started reading. His attention span, which wasn’t very long, had been disrupted by the recent outburst. He spent an hour not turning a single page and was only able to read a single line “Existence and purpose go hand in hand; one cannot live without the other.”

The title read “White Paper,”; the only book in the house. It was more of a small booklet, with five chapters and seventy pages. He had read it countless times before, still kept reading it. Some of its parts were actually well written, but nothing of the sort that would bring a reader back. He read it out of habit without even realizing it.

His mind was once again rushing in search of missing puzzle pieces; then, a vivid memory of the woman showed up. This time she had a little boy on her shoulders, pulling at her hair; the woman, her head slightly knelt, giving out laughter and her hands holding the boy’s waist to keep him from falling. It gave him an extraordinary sensation, and warm tears rolled down his eyelids. He kept staring at the clock, trying to comprehend that image.

Later that evening, Krishan came to see him.

“I have been feeling old lately!” Razaq told him with some hesitance.

“Haha! You don’t look a day over 60.”

“No, I mean how I think; it is strange! I have been having visions of things, places, and faces I don’t even know, like a half-remembered dream. Only that those visions seem too real and personal; this makes me feel lonely and sad. I thought this was what being old was about.”

“That is sad, indeed. Maybe you should increase your dose. Speaking for myself, out there, I wasn’t as happy as I am now. It has been a year, and I have already got loads off my head. Sometimes though, I do miss standing atop colorful clouds. It was a spectacular sight. You know what, I would love to see the real sky once again, not this false projection that we have here.”

“I don’t get much of what you are saying. Still, I wish you do see what you are missing!”

After he had gone, he came to his bedroom and went before the twin closets fixed on the right wall. He had only been using one for as long as he could recall. He didn’t remember opening the other one before. He placed his palm on the door; it slid open and was empty inside. Then he opened the drawer below; it was empty too. He was disappointed.

He took out all his clothes from the other closet and placed them on the bed; not knowing what to do with them, he hung them back. Then he opened the drawer below it, emptying it on the bed. There were two wristwatches, a couple of cufflinks and tie pins, and some old documents. He hadn’t seen those things for quite some time. He picked up the tourbillon with black leather straps and wore it. It started running. He took it off and turned it in his hands; there was a golden inscription on its sapphire back, which read “Love from Sami Razaq.” The watch dropped from his trembling hand.

That face had gotten itself a name.

He put everything back to its place. He suddenly knew why he felt that way and why he had been upset by this. Something told him that the Doctor knew about that too.

The clock in the lounge read 0002. It was two days to his 65th birthday; strangely enough, he was aware of it.

The sky was turning red. The clinic was only ten minutes walk from his home, so instead of calling for a Hover Drive, he decided to go on foot.

Doctor Dana greeted him with a hefty smile and asked him to sit down and make himself comfortable, and he followed.

He offered him tea, but Razaq kept staring at him.

The Doctor got nervous. “Is there something wrong, Mr. Razaq?” He didn’t reply.

“Okay, I’ll leave you for a while alone. Please make yourself at home,” he said, leaving his chair.

“Please don’t!” Razaq said angrily, clenching the arms of his chairs. His face was grim, his eyes peeking from his glasses were moist. The Doctor got back.

“You are a doctor, right! Tell me what’s wrong with me?” His voice seemed louder and enraged.

“Why had I forgotten my family, my wife, my boy?” he paused for a moment, “and what’s this place? I never saw any young person here walking the streets, no kids, never heard laughter, why is it always so sad around here?”

The Doctor, who had been looking at him without any expression, asked plainly, “can you please tell me if you have been taking your pills regularly?”

Razaq’s face became red, and he burst at him, “I don’t want any freaking pills. I don’t need your stupid medicine. What good is it for?” He paused for a while as the sudden expulsion had taken lots of his breath, “I feel dizzy all the time. I don’t have a purpose in my life. All that I have is that god damn book and that silly clock. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” He sobbed as he completed his last sentence. Tears were flowing down.

It was very unusual for Razaq, as he had not felt such emotions for a very long time. The Doctor sat quietly, looking at him with curiosity.

After a while, he handed him a tissue box, “why don’t you go home and wait for tomorrow?” He paused, waiting for a reply and not getting one. He continued, “it’s your birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” He asked mechanically and stood up.

“I won’t die before I learn about my wife and kid!” He said firmly.

The Doctor remained in his chair. Razaq went out and slammed the door behind him. Something inside him told him to run. He wanted to get away from the clinic as fast as he could. He had flashbacks of this place when he had come here first, his wife and son with him. It was a few years ago, and he hadn’t seen them since then.

He ran towards his house; his old bony legs had gotten some weird strength. He asked himself a few times why he had been running and why he was suddenly scared of death.

The skydome displayed stars. Street lights were turning on. He almost slammed into an old man walking in his direction. He was panting when he reached his house and fell on the lawn.

Moist grass felt good, and more memories crept in; him playing with his two-year-old son in a park, him lying with his young wife under a tree, and her head on his shoulder. He gave out a loud shriek. He thought he was taking his final breaths.

He kept lying there, letting the fragmented memories come to him.

The street lights had nearly gone out when he came back inside.

There was a bottle of wine he had bought long ago, sitting quietly behind the crockery in a cupboard. It was for Sami’s birthday. She had hoped that their son would come to visit. But he didn’t, and the cake went wasted too; Sami slept crying that night. He opened the bottle and brought it to the lounge, and sat in the chair. He took a gulp, and his mouth felt the sharp, sweet tang. He placed the bottle on the side table on top of his book. He hadn’t felt his single bed house that empty before. He took a few more mouthfuls before retiring to his bedroom.

He saw Sami lying next to him, her wrinkled face giving a heartfelt smile. He then realized how old he was.

0000

Razaq woke up the next morning with a very clear head. He trimmed his hair, shaved his beard, and spent a good while in the bathtub. He hadn’t had any meal last night; instead of telling Octarm Droid, he made breakfast himself.

The Black Clock in the lounge read “0000”. He sat in his chair gazing at it. He was expecting the Doctor.

It was dark outside when Dana came; he had three men with him. One of them was holding a strange camera-like machine mounted on a tripod. The other two had boxes with them.

They greeted the old man, and the Doctor told him that they were there to celebrate his birthday. The old man let them in.

After they were all seated, the Doctor addressed him, “Mr. Razaq, you have had very good health, and we wish you a happy birthday; since it is your 65th, it is an extra special”.

Razaq remarked, “It’s funny that you say that!”

But he continued, “we have brought with us cakes, sandwiches, drinks too. So we can join you in your last meal. I am sorry that I had to say that, but you have already gotten all your memories back,” he finished his sentence with a reluctance and looked at the old man inquisitively.

Razaq cleared his throat before speaking, “I haven’t gotten all my memories back. Some pieces are still missing, which I would like to know!”

“But you know why we are here?”

The old man grinned “of course I know, you are the devil in a suit. I won’t resist you, but you will have to tell me all I want to know.”

“Yes, sure, I’ll tell you everything. There is no reason to keep secrets now. But maybe we can have a birthday celebration before that?”

“Ok!” Razaq’s voice was scything.

The Doctor asked his three colleagues to leave him alone with the old man after their food.

“You even brought a camera to take a picture,” the old man smirked, pointing at the machine on the tripod.

“Oh, that! It’s the latest Heart Paralyzer. They have made it look like a camera, so people take their last breath with a smile” his voice got dry—the machine aimed towards the old man.

The old man sneered, “and the clock, what is it?”

“It is a standard clock we give to all retiring citizens, generally indicating the remaining days until one turns 65—yours was will stop today.”

“Zero days till I die!” the old man remarked.

“Do you have your copy of The White Paper?”

“Yes,” he picked it up from the side table and showed it to the Doctor.

“But you don’t know why you have it, or why this is the only book in your house, or why you don’t have any access to any information media!”

“No, I don’t,” he replied coldly.

The Doctor came close to the old man, took the copy from him, and flipped it in his hands.

“You see, a few years ago, mankind decided that our population on earth had become a little too much. Poverty, famine, UV outbreaks; yet the people lived on, feeding on Nutrient Tabs, surviving on Miracle Inject, prolonging their unnatural misery.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You remember your glimmering tower covered with Graphene Blanket? You lived there, how you would know any misery,” he replied calmly.

“Sami loved to look down at blue clouds; it made her happy!” Razaq spoke in a dreamy voice.

“The chemical poison hovering above cities. Yes, it looks beautiful from above. Very few people are lucky enough to see the real sky” doctor paused and started to move about the room. “You see, despite all disasters, the humans bred and thrived. Then we touched a number of 10billion. The Chinese, with the greatest population, gave a radical solution; they enacted a Retirement Law. The UN made it global, fixing the age of retirement at 65.”

The old man, whose head had dropped, asked in a calm voice, “and what does that mean?”

“That no man shall live past 65!” The Doctor’s voice was blunt.

“Monsters,” the old man growled.

“Yes! We were, but not anymore” Doctor had raised his voice, “We were killing the earth, killing everything on it, and would have become extinct in half a century. Do you know how many nonproductive people we had 8 years ago?” he looked at the old man with a sort of authority, who didn’t say anything back and kept looking at the floor.

“4 billion people! That’s 40% of the total population. The first thing that governments did was restricting medical support, but that wasn’t enough until the Chinese showed us the way, Euthanasia!”

“That’s one fancy word for murder,” the old man hissed.

“The poor were first to go; sent to Exclusion Slums, DeBrainers wiping off all happy memories, in a year they would come asking for a Euthanizing Pods. Then four years ago, when JaitaPur Nuclear Disaster in India had cut the global food supply in half, they decided it was time for the rich too. Those who could escape left for Mars and Europa. Others were sent to fancy houses in multistory towns like this, financed by their insurance policies, brought here at 60, prepared to die at 65. They were all given a copy of White Paper, a Black Clock; aided with the memory loss drugs to help them accept their fate.”

He paused, turned his back towards the old man, his eyes were fixed on the clock “so you see, we are not monsters. We even have a contract with people who come here, and they sign it willingly.”

“Contract! What Contract?” the old man was puzzled.

The Doctor reached inside his coat pocket, brought out a sealed envelope, and gave it to the old man.

The Contract had listed all the facilities he would get and had his initials, along with signatures from a town official and the insurance agent.

“I don’t understand!”

“It is a crazy world; people want to get away from it as soon as they have a chance.”

“That’s insane” Razaq stood up and tore the Contract to pieces.

“I want to see my wife and son before I am killed!”

 “Sorry, what did you say?” the Doctor asked.

 “Show me, my wife and son.”

“I am sorry, but that won’t be possible.”

“What?”

“You can’t meet them. It’s too late for that!” The Doctor’s voice got soft.

“Why? Why would you not let me?” The old man shouted.

“Although she still had a few years, your wife came here voluntarily. Then she got brain cancer, the town could cure her because of the insurance, but she refused the treatment. She died here last year!” he sighed as he finished.

The old man’s face had turned white, and his eyes started dripping. He fell into his chair.

“What about my son?” he asked after a while, choking his tears.

The Doctor’s voice and expression changed. He looked at the ceiling “he is a doctor in an Exclusion Slum. He couldn’t make it to your wife’s incineration. You were sad and hurt, so you asked the hospital to speed up your memory wiping; you wanted to retire at her first death anniversary” he paused and exhaled, “but the acceleration didn’t go as expected!”

“My son!” the old man’s voice had a pleading tone to it. “Is he doing well out there?”

“He is doing well. He got married last year” the Doctor, who had now taken the sofa in front of him, looked into his eyes while speaking.

There was a long pause in the room.

“Now that you know everything, there is a problem, which I must tell you of.” “Go on!”

“According to law, the people under retirement; must have lost their memory and are not aware that they will die.”

“So what? It doesn’t matter to me anyhow!” he said slowly.

“See, the thing is; we do this to make it as humane as possible, but because of your increased medication …..”

“I don’t care about it,” the old man interrupted.

“That means?”

“That means you will kill me anyhow; you do not want to feel guilty, killing a sane man, but if you don’t do it, I will do it myself!” old man’s voice carried confidence which shook the Doctor.

“Where would you like to die?”

“Are you mocking me?” his voice was filled with indignation. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean that!”

“Just be done with it!”

The Doctor got near the Cardiac Paralyzer, looked at the old man, who shook his head, pressed a button, and the machine flashed. In the tiniest fraction of a second, the interval before the rays from Cardiac Paralyzer touched his chest; Razaq saw Sami standing before him, her lips smiling and eyes shining. She extended her hand towards him. He tried to return the smile; his head fell on his shoulder.

Dana came out of the house and signaled the men who stood at the door.

One of them got closer to the Doctor and gripped his shoulder “he was a strong fellow; your old man, I mean!”

“Yes, I know.”

“I feel sorry,” another remarked.

The Doctor bowed his head down. “I wish I could have felt that too! I couldn’t even ask him to forgive me.”