The Sad State Of Progress Part 1

October 2nd 2172,
My melancholy strikes me at an odd time, I'm on break at a cafe two blocks from the shipyard. I hear three people a couple tables away that work in another area of the shipyard, one of them must have been in the restricted zone on an errand. Our faces are not supposed to be seen by the populous, they don't spend nearly as much on security for us. The porters and the paths get the most funding, they make the galaxy run... not the lowly pyros that build the ships they teleport across the galaxy. This common worker makes me sad, he will more than likely be picked up by the secret police if he don't be quiet.
"That one over there, she's one of the ones that really make the galaxy go round. Without the fancy ships able to work fluidly with their powers the teleporters would be overworked bums like us. The pyros and creators are the real heroes!"
"Get real, there is no such thing as a metacreative. Your yankin our chain."
"Yeah the government already explained all the psychic mumbo jumbo in their official report. The scale goes 1 through 5, 5 being the greatest and the categories are metaporter, telepath, telekinetic, metasensetive, and pyrokinetic. Besides the fact pyros have to be watched for their own good."
"You mooks don't get it, there are 6's out there and the metacreator exists. They hide among us as nearly immortal beings with the ability to regenerate their cells and regress to children in order to start over."
The poor slob had his senses right but he was fighting a losing battle, i know about 6's as i am one. If the cameras at the cafe didn't catch him talking too loud then the telepathic scanner would nail him and that's that for him. He'll get rounded up in a dark alley and come back to work a different man. They don't kill em anymore, not liek they used to... They just wipe their memories and implant a more docile personality using a 5 or 6 telepath that works for the secret police. The common people never realize all what is actually going on around them.
My watch beeps telling me my break is over, only half my tea is gone so i gulp it. I'm annoyed and the face of my watch starts to melt.. I'm careful though, i hide my hand under my sleeve and do a little sleight of hand to put it in the cup with my plate and dump it in the trash, which will conveniently start on fire as my cab passes by on the way home. The new watch looks just like the old one, just like the case of watches i have back at my dummy apartment. Back to pretending my only skills are being a four on the pyro scale and a 3 on the kinetic scale, back to not thinking about the melancholy involved in being one of the invisible creators. My task at hand is to not cut down too much on the titanisteel usage in the ships to soar the vastness of space, if the usage is too efficient i may have to do the unthinkable again...
tamikay tamikay
36-40, F
1 Response Mar 9, 2013

Interesting story. Like the way you think. Would like to talk to you. Where you located? Everyone on here seems to be a million miles away. Hope you'll say hi. Peace.