Short Writing Week 7
“Youth”
Some context here.
On the evening of Rob’s birthday party, after things had wound down and most people had left, his best friend stuck a syringe into Rob’s neck and pushed the plunger. Rob got instantly dizzy and dropped to one knee for a couple of seconds before pulling himself upright.
“Damn dude you didn’t give him any warning,” said a voice Rob couldn’t identify.
“How do you warn about this thing though, seriously,” said Jesse, who had stabbed him in the neck. “Hey Rob just have this mystery serum for you, one sec.”
Rob processed this slowly, uncomprehendingly, his brain narrowing to a single point of focus: escape.
“He’s making a break for it,” said some other vague attendee.
“Ah you know he’ll be back.”
“What if he gets hit by a car or something.”
“He’s got so much alcohol in his system that they’ll tick a box and send his parents a bouquet.” Jesse and the other guy chuckled.
Rob thought of his parents as he grabbed the handles on both side of the door and swung himself around to the outside. Nobody was following him. He both ran and stumbled in the direction that seemed most familiar, the fresh air reviving him a little. He thought he recognised someone up ahead, and shaking himself into full consciousness, he approached.
“Christine,” he said, and she jumped. “Help.”
“Jesus Rob what happened to you?”
“I got stabbed,” he murmured, fading again now that he had stopped moving.
“Holy shit, where, are you bleeding?”
“In the neck here,” he said, flapping his arm at the general location.
“Oh,” she paused. “Was it your birthday party tonight?”
“Yeah! It’s fucked up!”
“It looks fine, I think you’ll be ok,” she said. She grasped his hand briefly and then walked on.
“Christine what, I don’t, hey!” Utterly perplexed, Rob fiddled with his phone to summon a vehicle. After a period of time he failed to fully comprehend, it pulled up in front of him and the driver yelled through the window, “yo you Rob?”
He crawled into the back seat and belted up, with his face against the passenger seat head rest.
“You’re not getting sick in my car,” said the driver, a statement more than a question, as yet not going anywhere.
“No man,” said Rob. “My friend just stabbed me in the fucking neck.”
“Right, happy birthday,” mumbled the driver as he took off.
They arrived at Rob’s parents’ house and he was starting to feel a bit more with it. How did the driver know it was his birthday? He must have profile or something. He walked slowly up to the front door and retrieved the poorly hidden keys. It was late, but his parents, being retired and unencumbered, kept bizarre hours and were both still up.
“Robert!” exclaimed his mother. “Happy birthday! We weren’t expecting you until the weekend. The cake isn’t here yet.”
“Happy birthday young man,” came his dad’s disembodied voice from another room.
“Are you OK? You look very green,” said his mother.
“Jesse injected me with something. I feel weird, something’s wrong. Wrong. Something.”
“Ah,” said his mother. “It’s probably nothing.”
“No like he stuck a needle in my neck and shot me up with something.”
“You should talk to him about it, I think.”
“What? No! Shouldn’t I call the police?”
“No need for that,” drifted in his dad’s voice.
“What’s going on here, you told me to call the police when that guy on the subway said my shoes looked expensive. What is happening?”
“Ah now Robert, we’re not involved here.”
“Don’t, Martha,” came the distant voice.
Rob took a couple of steps back and touched his pocket, confirming his phone was still there.
“What do you know?”
“Just talk to your friends,” said his mother. “We don’t know anything. We don’t want to get involved.”
Rob walked away, maintaining eye contact, until he reached the stairs and sprinted up them at full speed. He closed and locked his door behind him and called the emergency number. They dutifully asked what his emergency was.
“My friend stabbed me in the neck with a syringe, I’ve been dizzy and everyone is acting weird. It must have been a drug, I’m disoriented, I don’t understand what’s happening. I have chest pains, maybe. And shortness of breath.”
“Talk to your friend, son,” said the operator, and hung up.
“What the fuck,” said Rob, hurling his phone against the wall.
———————————————————————————————
So he went back to the bar. Jesse was still there, nursing a drink alongside the other guy who turned out to be an acquaintance called Sam. Rob slid into the booth and glared. Jesse and Sam exchanged a glance.
“You probably want to know about the syringe,” said Jesse. “Drink?”
“You know, it was just the syringe I was worried about,” said Rob, almost growling. “Until everyone just seemed to think it was fine and normal.”
“Well, that’s the thing. It is fine and normal.”
“He didn’t do it in the exact recommended way,” said Sam.
“Can’t remember if I know you,” said Rob, not looking at him.
“So listen,” said Jesse. “There are some facts, it will take you a little time to metabolise them. Try not to cause a big fuss until you’re over it, because nobody will take you seriously.”
Rob sat silently.
“People, humans, you and me - I mean not you and me, we’ll get to that - we live forever basically.”
“We can,” said Sam, chuckling.
“But, like,” continued Jesse, “it’s been decided, you know, globally, that living forever is a bad thing. There’ll be too many people, they can have babies indefinitely, land keeps getting subdivided, there’s not enough food to go around, energy usage, and so and and so on.”
“What,” said Rob, flatly.
“Yeah, so, once someone turns 25, there’s a ceremony. There’s supposed to be a ceremony but I guess like I just stabbed you at your birthday party. Sorry. They get injected with this stuff that starts the ageing process. At 25 your brain is basically done growing so it’s not costing you anything.”
“A lot to take in,” said Sam.
“Shut up dude,” said Jesse. “He doesn’t know you.”
“This is impossible nonsense,” said Rob. “This happens to everyone, ever, in the entire world, flawlessly?”
“I mean, no. Not flawlessly. Some people escape. They just keep looking young. Oftentimes they get famous. People invent things like vampires to explain it. Every few generations there’s a bigger resistance, and it gets messy.”
“Spanish flu,” said Sam.
“Yeah, and World War II.”
“The second world war,” said Rob, “was an operation to cull a generation of young people banding together to live forever? You’re insane. Even if that were remotely true, how could it be covered up? There’s millions of history books. They’re just telling us the cover story?”
“You’re totally right,” said Jesse. “And they did try to cover it up for a while. The problem actually solved itself when it became clear that not a single person under the age of 40 has ever actually read a book about World War II. Why do you think the interest kicks in then? They all actually spell out the facts quite clearly, you should read one.”
“I’m not participating in this,” said Rob. “This ends with me.”
“Think I said that verbatim,” said Sam.
“Shut up Sam,” said both Jesse and Rob together.
Jesse continued. “This is normal. Everyone feels it. I’m going to give you the speech. The short version, anyway, because I’m still pretty drunk. It won’t work right away, but it’s something fundamental to humanity or some shit, it’s like a plug matching an empty socket in your brain. It works every time.”
“No,” said Rob.
“Nevertheless, here goes,” said Jesse. “For the next couple of days, when you’re out and about, I want you to look at every person who’s 21 or 22. Think about them. You’re growing old now, they are nothing but potential. Watch them walk around without a care in the world, and think: you want them to go on living forever, eternally beautiful, while you fall apart? Really? Go, be free, and think about it.”
Jesse finished his drink, gestured to Sam, and they both up and left.
———————————————————————————————
Three days later, Rob and Jesse met in the park.
“Well?” asked Jesse.
“Yeah,” said Rob. “Fuck ‘em.”
“Told you. Works every time.”