Race Against Time

“Hello, Mrs. Westerson,” the man said, as they both passed through the doorway of the townhouse.  Mr. Jacobs nodded at both Mrs. Westerson, and her son, Nikolas, and kept walking.  Standing about 6’4”, Mr. Jacobs made for quite the impressive man.  He turned back- briefly, and examined the boy and his mother.  The boy, who was walking with his head down, as though realizing he was being stared at, raised his head, and with it, his eyes.  Clutching the hand of her little boy, Mrs. Westerson walked through the doorway un-awares, and out into the sunlight, determinedly shielding her eyes from the sun.   Mr. Jacobs, keeping eye contact with the boy, began to See. “One day,” he thought to himself, “one day that boy will be what he is destined to be.  He sees now, and he also feels.  To see is to feel, but to feel is to fail, and failure they will both come to know.”  The boy glanced away at his mother, to see if he was the only one who had heard this, but his mother was oblivious. When he glanced back, Mr. Jacobs was gone. 1

Nikolas Westerson had grown up in Mardi, a small town east of nowhere.  Growing up, he was different.  By age 10, he acted differently, talked differently, walked differently than all the other boys his age.  Some say this was due to his lack of a father figure growing up; others say that this was irrelevant because most boys don’t have a father.  Mardi was a land of woman and boys- the fathers somehow manage to get lost along the way, but no one ever pays much attention to the little details there.  So Nikolas was fatherless, different, and hence, a subject of much gossip and discussion in this small community.  His mother, living it large but keeping it small, was a woman of great stature, however limiting in manners.  She was a large woman, with an equally large head, if not a larger attitude.  Some in the community attribute Nikolas’s bringing up to this specimen of a woman, others speculate it relates to the boy itself.  Nikolas could See.  But he could feel as well. 2

However shy, Nikolas was an outgoing boy. He loved to play, because he always won, he loved to watch, because he always knew.  Nikolas was a seer.  In Mardi, boys from 6-12 were seers.  They had no father; grown men served no purpose beyond reproduction.  Upon reaching the age of 12, however, boys loose they’re sight and become “men.”  There is a sign, hanging upon the entrance to the town that the people live by.  “You see, you feel, you fail.”  Failure is not an option in this place, and neither is succeeding.  3

Mr. Jacobs was mayor.  He ran the elections, the school functions, and the women’s potluck every year.  He was a respected man, among the women, and was the only male figure still living in this small town of Mardi.  He was impressive, yet somehow subtle in the way he went about things.  He had the air of a mysterious man, which made for quite some more gossip among the ladies. 4

As they continued to walk down the street, still hand in hand, they met many other couples that looked like them.  Many mothers, holding the soft hand of their little boy, aimlessly walked the streets.  Some walked with purpose to destinations, like Colby’s, the small general store across from the church, or possibly even Kinder Kare, the day care center where boys went off to be watch daily until the days work was completed.  Mostly, however, the women and their sons just walked.  They greeted each other, as most civil people would, but their greetings were always the same.  Nonchalant, polite, and robotic.  5

“Hello, Ms. Anderson” one mother would say to the other, then a quick nod to both the woman, and the son.  6

“Hello, Ms. Cutler,” and then again, always the nod back.  It was the greeting, or just the “thing to do.” Mothers greeting mothers, mothers greeting sons, nodding in all directions.  It was a quaint, comfy, and a close-knit society.  Robotic in all ways, and yet still, real interaction was above them.  Except for the boys.  They feel- but they fail, until they can feel no more.  7

Ms. Westerson and Nikolas, upon exiting the townhouse with their unexpected run in with Mr. Jacobs, continued to walk.  They turned right, and kept walking, they turned right again, and still kept on walking, holding hands.  They continued to walk for some time, and Nikolas found the foliage both surrounding, and suffocating.  They were thinking as they walked, yet in reverse roles.  The boy was thinking, but the mother was knowing.8

They came to a quaint little building, quite far away from the town.  From the outside, the building gave the illusion that it was small, but once Ms. Westerson and her boy peered through the doorway, they realized that it was actually quite spacious, and gave the illusion of being tiny in it’s bareness.  They stopped before entering the room, and examined it.  Almost the entire room was bare, and the walls were painted red and white, a colour combo that played to the mysterious air of the place itself.  It was all one room, and it seemed to be sort of just a hall, if nothing else, with the walls seemingly stretching straight back.  All the walls were lined with pillows, and yet no other furniture save for the far end of the room.  In this space almost in the back of the hall, a single chair sat alone in front of a long table, and behind this table, sat a man, in his own chair.  Huge, or ornate, the chair that was unoccupied was quite impressive, and it was obvious that Nikolas was meant to sit there.  Still holding Nikolas’s hand, Ms. Westerson dragged him into the room.  9

As soon as he stepped in, he felt like he was about to collapse.  He dropped to one knee, and attempted to steady himself.  The overwhelming energy of the room was too much for him to bear.  He dropped his mother’s hand in the process of falling, and clutched his temples, waiting for the pain and uneasiness to pass.  He knew what was happening when he felt this way.  He was Seeing.  But this was different- he couldn’t see.  He remembered this place, he knew he did, but somehow it wasn’t in any conscious memory.  He Saw it, and knew he had seen it before, yet for some reason he could not remember why.  This troubled him, because never before could he not remember.  He Saw, he knew, and his gift had never failed him before…10

Still puzzled, yet with the understanding of what he was supposed to do, he left his mother at the door, and walked the length of the room to the chair, where he was supposed to sit.  No words were said, he just understood this.  As he walked, the room seemed to stretch, and to go on forever.  Memories, sights, remembrances.  They swirled around him and his head, making his hands shake his sight black, and his head heavy.  He remembered.  He remembered his 6th birthday, the day he got his sight.  He Saw his mother, his school, his friends, his emotions.  As he slowly staggered towards the chair, and the mysterious man, he tried to clear his head.  He could do this with a clear conscious, he knew he would, and he knew he could.  But alas, he knew he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, and maybe after all, he would fail.11

He reached his hands out before him, and at last, his hands touched the cool metals of the chair.  The cold was like a shock- it cleared his head as quickly and as efficiently as his mother used to cure him of his feelings when he was younger.  He loved his mother, and he loved her dearly, but sometimes it seemed like he was just a thing to her.   Robotic, automatic.  12

Suddenly, the mans head snapped forward and upward, yet he still remained in the shadows.  He spoke.  “Nikolas,” he boomed.  The acoustics in the room made his voice much louder than it actually was, creating a new and higher level of drama for Nikolas.  “Are you aware of the circumstances you have been brought here for today?” Nikolas, unable to speak, did the only thing he knew how to do, the only thing that came naturally.  He nodded.  Of course he knew! He knew that when he turned 12, he would lose his sight.  He knew his memory would be erased, he knew he would be killed, he knew it was because he felt, he knew because he felt he had failed, he knew he would be like the rest, he knew, he knew, HE KNEW! He knew because he saw, and boy, did he ever.  He nodded again, and then sat down in the chair.  13

“Good,” the man spoke, and rose at once from his chair, and out of the shadows.  This unveiled his face, and it became the face of Mr. Jacobs.  “Nikolas, you saw, you felt, and now you have failed. You know what this means” 14

“NOOOOOOOOO!” Nikolas screamed.   He fell over himself struggling to get out of the chair.  He lurched forward, only to be knocked down at the same time as his mother was knocked down.  Her body shook and lurched, violently, and almost immediately, Nikolas’s did the same.   For several minutes, the lurching, and the shaking, and the crying and the screaming continued in one endless circle of pain, anguish, and despair.   Yet suddenly, it stopped.15

All was silent, yet somehow, oddly surreal.  Nikolas slowly tried to stand, yet fell, so he succumbed to kneeling shakily, while examined his surroundings.  He realized he was alone- his mother had gone.  He realized that there had been someone else there, another being, another presence.  He couldn’t see, he couldn’t remember, and somehow, he just didn’t care.  He tried to feel something- he knew he should feel something, but he couldn’t.  He wasn’t capable of feeling, he wasn’t capable of Seeing.  It didn’t matter.  Nothing did.  Was he dead? He rubbed his hands along his body while he was still kneeling on the ground, and realized he was alive, yet somehow felt that his mother wasn’t.  That was the last thing he felt.  He was alone; he was alone, h e w a s a l o n e … 16

Nikolas caught his balance, stood up straighter, and suddenly turned on his heels.  With renewed determination he opened the door through which he and his mother had come only a few select minutes ago.  He walked back into the foliage and the quiantness of the town, and walked.  He turned left, and left again, and slowly gained upon the small town.  17

As he entered the small town, he felt like he belonged at last.  He stopped on the sidewalk, and glanced around him, feeling robotic, automatic, alone.  He glanced up at the townhouse, and recognizing and realizing it, set his feet to the path of walking there.  As he entered the townhouse, a man walked by him, and nodded in his direction.  “Hello, Mr. Westerson,” the man said, as they both passed through the doorway of the townhouse, this time Nikolas entering, and the man still leaving.  Nikolas did the only response he knew.  He nodded.  He didn’t see, he didn’t feel- yet somehow, oddly, he knew he had failed…18