Historical Technician
What follows could be a cool beginning to futuristic story in my head, but as a futuristic story, I found that it is too draining to write. This is for my first assignment in my creative writing class, which had to be roughly a 500 word start to a story. This story had to start with the sentence "The first time I heard "...so-and-so band..." I wrote the phrase down and this is what came after it.
-sib-
The first time I heard “The Great Sisgiku” by the artists The Collections, was ironically the day the great man himself had died. Jon Yi Sisgiku was our honorable Great Leader of the Free World, and today, on the anniversary of the Great Expenditure, Jon Yi Sisgiku was assassinated by an unknown assailant.
The history upon which I am about to recite may sound sometimes farfetched and unbelievable at times, but believe me the following is nothing short of the truth. As a historical technician of the Worldly Domain it is impossible for me to do nothing otherwise. Bear with me the best you can, because this is a very new way of recording the annals for me, as it is also the old way, a method which has not been used for over a century.
The technological age has all but destroyed the need to write anymore as now we have the machines which are capable to do it for us. A machine catches many varying wave lengths floating in the air and records them onto disks. It is these disks that I feed into my machine. It is all too scientific and mumble-jumble for me to even understand, let alone try and explain it. It is not my job to understand the machines, only to understand and censor what they obtain.
Since this daunting task, which I am about to partake, is very dangerous to even begin to think of trying to record in the Ultimate, I had reverted to using a means of recording I learned briefly in my youth as a hobby. In this way, it may go undetected by the new Qutzarsu (pronounced kut-sar-su by us red-neck North Americans), and my family and I can be safe. Under normal circumstances, I would never attempt to risk my life in even thinking about doing such things, but I could not consciously leave the injustices of the events which are to follow out of the record. And if you are reading this now, at least you may learn the truth and go on to tell another.
As a historian it is my duty to start at the beginning, and as simplicity is often the beginning of greater things, the beginning of this account happens to start with a song. I was currently at my post, feeding data into the forever hungry machine as the speakers played the soft flowing sounds of Eastern flavored music overhead. Paul, my assistant, which at that time was nothing more than a glorified “gopher” (“Hey you, go-for this—or that), was idly watching over me and picking his nose as the song mentioned before began to play. It was more or less the same forgettable background noise that the Congloglo Corporation pumped out to all their stations worldwide. As employees of Congloglo, we had no choice in the matter. If we wanted ourselves and our families to eat that night, we all had to listen to the sappy non-lyrical crap while we worked. I myself had learned to tune it out over the years. Paul on the other hand, had been complaining about it ever since he started to work in my section, Sector 7G, which was coming up on about four weeks now. I was currently working on the skill of trying to tune him out as well.
This day started out no more differently than any other. It was mid-afternoon, about 12:45 pm, and I was counting down the minutes till the lunch hour bell would ring on all of our personal work pagers. Paul was on one of his latest tirades about the poor taste in musical selections, I doing my best to ignore him, when a loud screech interrupted us both. The north wall of my office began to shiver slightly and then turned opaque. A giant face appeared on my wall and immediately, as it scared me, I dropped all of my disks onto the laminated floor. It was the face of Sir Genero McClain, the popular news annalist. Sir McClain was interupting our work day with "Action as it Happens" news cast. He told us both, with his unique trademark solemn way, the terrible news that happened only moments ago. Someone had murdered the Qutzarsu.
-sib-
The first time I heard “The Great Sisgiku” by the artists The Collections, was ironically the day the great man himself had died. Jon Yi Sisgiku was our honorable Great Leader of the Free World, and today, on the anniversary of the Great Expenditure, Jon Yi Sisgiku was assassinated by an unknown assailant.
The history upon which I am about to recite may sound sometimes farfetched and unbelievable at times, but believe me the following is nothing short of the truth. As a historical technician of the Worldly Domain it is impossible for me to do nothing otherwise. Bear with me the best you can, because this is a very new way of recording the annals for me, as it is also the old way, a method which has not been used for over a century.
The technological age has all but destroyed the need to write anymore as now we have the machines which are capable to do it for us. A machine catches many varying wave lengths floating in the air and records them onto disks. It is these disks that I feed into my machine. It is all too scientific and mumble-jumble for me to even understand, let alone try and explain it. It is not my job to understand the machines, only to understand and censor what they obtain.
Since this daunting task, which I am about to partake, is very dangerous to even begin to think of trying to record in the Ultimate, I had reverted to using a means of recording I learned briefly in my youth as a hobby. In this way, it may go undetected by the new Qutzarsu (pronounced kut-sar-su by us red-neck North Americans), and my family and I can be safe. Under normal circumstances, I would never attempt to risk my life in even thinking about doing such things, but I could not consciously leave the injustices of the events which are to follow out of the record. And if you are reading this now, at least you may learn the truth and go on to tell another.
As a historian it is my duty to start at the beginning, and as simplicity is often the beginning of greater things, the beginning of this account happens to start with a song. I was currently at my post, feeding data into the forever hungry machine as the speakers played the soft flowing sounds of Eastern flavored music overhead. Paul, my assistant, which at that time was nothing more than a glorified “gopher” (“Hey you, go-for this—or that), was idly watching over me and picking his nose as the song mentioned before began to play. It was more or less the same forgettable background noise that the Congloglo Corporation pumped out to all their stations worldwide. As employees of Congloglo, we had no choice in the matter. If we wanted ourselves and our families to eat that night, we all had to listen to the sappy non-lyrical crap while we worked. I myself had learned to tune it out over the years. Paul on the other hand, had been complaining about it ever since he started to work in my section, Sector 7G, which was coming up on about four weeks now. I was currently working on the skill of trying to tune him out as well.
This day started out no more differently than any other. It was mid-afternoon, about 12:45 pm, and I was counting down the minutes till the lunch hour bell would ring on all of our personal work pagers. Paul was on one of his latest tirades about the poor taste in musical selections, I doing my best to ignore him, when a loud screech interrupted us both. The north wall of my office began to shiver slightly and then turned opaque. A giant face appeared on my wall and immediately, as it scared me, I dropped all of my disks onto the laminated floor. It was the face of Sir Genero McClain, the popular news annalist. Sir McClain was interupting our work day with "Action as it Happens" news cast. He told us both, with his unique trademark solemn way, the terrible news that happened only moments ago. Someone had murdered the Qutzarsu.
the Omnipotent... Everybody loves SuperInsignificantBoy wrote this at 12:22 AM
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