The Feeders (part 1)
Some produce. Others only consume.
(Part one by J. Michael Thomas)
“There goes another one,” I said, looking towards the sky. I wiped the dirt from my hands and stood, dropping my bag to the ground.
“Pay them no mind, Maria.” Mother didn’t bother to look up. She continued digging little holes in the garden for me to drop seeds into. “It’s just them drones again, taking food to the Feeders.”
“Those flying machines have food in them?” I asked. My stomach growled while I watched the drone fly over the hills and out of sight. “It just takes food to them while we have to work in the garden for ours?”
Mother turned to point at me with her gardening shovel. “Keep planting,” she said. “Them drones don’t carry real food anyway. Not like what we eat.”
I picked up my bag again and put my hand in. I rolled the small seeds between my fingers and then sprinkled a few into the hole Mother had dug.
“What are the Feeders like?” I asked.
“Now don’t you go thinkin’ the grass is greener,” Mother said. “You don’t want to be no Feeder. Much better to be like us. We produce. They only consume. We earn our place in this world. They waste theirs.”
I covered the seeds with dirt, pressed it firmly with my palm, and moved on to the next hole.
“Have you ever met a Feeder?” I asked.
Mother dropped her shovel and wiped her hands on her apron. “Why so many questions about the Feeders?”
“Just curious, I guess.”
“Many of my childhood friends grew up to be Feeders,” Mother said, her voice slow and sad. “Many in my family too.”
“So they’re real?” I asked. “The Feeders?”
“Well, of course they’re real.” Mother looked at me a little angry like I had just called her a liar. She took a deep breath and started digging another hole. “But I just couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what, Mother?”
“Couldn’t live that way,” she said without looking at me. “Just plugged in to some machine. All the time. All them wires an’ hoses hanging out of ‘em. Connected to the system but disconnected from reality. It ain’t no way to live.”
I stayed quiet while she spoke. This was the most she had ever spoken about the Feeders. Though I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure I believed everything she said.
Surely no one lived, all day, every day, plugged into a machine with wires and hoses. Right? At least not a whole population of people. Could they?
But what do I know? All I had ever known was my small village in the mountains. I had always felt so disconnected here from the rest of the world. Mother never let me go into town. She told me to stay far away from the Feeders or I might just become one.
The next day I woke up early. I lit a candle to do my chores before the sun came up.
That’s when I heard another drone fly over. I quickly peeked in Mother’s room and found her still sleeping soundly. I ran outside to see where the drone was headed.
I followed it over the hill and into the valley. From there I could see the town in the distance, just as the sun was coming up.
Running, I chased the drone until it came to the fence that marked the edge of our village. I stopped for a moment, my hands gripping the fence as I watched the drone fly further away.
I could still catch up to it if I jumped the fence now. But I’d never been outside the village before.
I looked back in the direction of my home, half expecting to see Mother standing at the top of the hill shaking a wooden spoon at me. But she wasn’t there.
Again, I looked at the drone floating further away.
Without another thought, I jumped the fence.
I ran to catch up with it. Out of an insatiable curiosity, I was now headed right to the town Mother had always warned me about.
The townsfolk were Feeders, she had always said. All of them. But what does Mother know? I’m 16 now. And I have every right to explore the world around me, don’t I?
The drone stopped at the roof of a house and I stared up at it, panting to catch my breath. I watched as it connected itself to a translucent pipe on top of the house. Then, with a suction sound, it delivered a mushy goo into the home and flew off to the next house. It didn’t look like food to me. Unless it was some kind of porridge.
I crept to the window to see if I could see where the mush had gone.
Inside, a person lay on a table, wearing a dirty gown and a set of goggles over his eyes. His skin was pale, shades of pink and gray, and sores covered his body. He convulsed sporadically, as if responding to some stimuli.
His mouth gaped open and, just like Mother had said, a hose ran down his throat. I cringed as the mushy goo ran down the pipe, through the hose and into his throat. For a moment the convulsions stopped as the goo entered his body.
I was utterly disgusted, yet thoroughly intrigued. I walked around to the front of the house and knocked on the door. No answer. No lock either. I walked right in.
“Hello?” I said. “Does this man need help?” Other than the man connected to the hose, there seemed to be no one there.
I slowly approached the man. He grunted and twitched. He couldn’t see me coming, his eyes still covered by the goggles.
As I got closer I noticed his ears were covered too — the goggles included some kind of headphones. I gently placed my hand on his arm and he jerked away violently, almost falling off the table.
He can’t see or hear me. Who did this to him?
Carefully, I leaned in closer and removed his goggles.
The man backed away in a panic and fell off the table. The hose slid out of his mouth.
“What did you do!? Put it back! I’ll starve! Put it back!” He said, his voice sounding raspy and weak like it hadn’t been used in years.
“Just breathe,” I said, my arms out to comfort him.
The man gripped his throat, his eyes completely bloodshot. He squinted as he tried to look at me.
“But there’s no air without the hose!” he yelled, hyperventilating.
“There’s plenty of air.” I gestured to my surroundings. “Just relax.”
His hyperventilating slowed to a pant. He stood slowly, steadying himself with the table.
“Where am I?” he wheezed.
“I assume this is your home.”
“No, my home is luxurious,” he said, half choking over his words. “I have a wife, two kids. A career. Many credits. What is this place?”
“Where are they?” I asked. “Your family.”
“They’re at home,” he said, beginning to breathe a bit normally now. “I was just there with them a moment ago. How did I get here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You were here when I got here. Just laying on that table looking half dead. What’s your name?”
“My name?” he said. “You mean my handle?”
“What do people call you?”
“Em Four Are Vee One En,” he rattled off.
“That’s your name? Em Four Are Vee One En?” I asked, squinting, picturing the characters in my mind. M4rv1n.
Marvin.
“M4rv1n! My name is M4rv1n! Now plug me back in before I die!”
[To be continued by Miles Carnegie]
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Really different story, I'm looking forward to the next part!
Very nice concept, I enjoyed the sci-fi dystopian feel, great job 👏