Bigger Brother. Matthew VandenbergЧитать онлайн книгу.
This is a work of fiction and the author does not intend to offend anyone. Furthermore, please do not act on any advice offered by this book without first consulting a professional and conducting your own thorough research. Creative license is employed regularly. Just because the author cites scholarly articles and the like does NOT make this story scholarly itself.
Level Playing Field
Shay slips into a slow run, like motion is tangible, as she approaches her new workplace on George Street in Sydney. Her heels aren't high, but flat like the Netherlands, and so she clears the clear light rail tracks with ease, like a minister for transport clearing part of the system for operation. The tracks are relatively new - call them Flevoland - and the first of their kind post World War Three. It's almost nine years now since a nuclear bomb was dropped on Sydney. More on that if you read into it. But now, for reasons other than nuclear radiation, air is not clear. Climate is changing like the times, and so the gift Shay has for Matt is apt and comical at the same time, like prose she has no time to write (apt and comical have this time covered). Two mouth masks are in her hand, packaged in too much plastic like most Japanese goods. On them are pictures of cute, anthropomorphic, flamboyant, animated flames, which could be offensive to Australians during the season of fires, but the line drawn here is the mask itself: at least you're paying attention to it.
Shay, masks on hand, is Matt's Secret Santa, but there's no clause in his contract entitling him to acceptance of mouth masks. He doesn't think of himself as entitled, and doesn't think anyone should be. She knows this about him, his little secret, his passion for socialism, acutely fetishized. He likes the natural smell and voice of common women far more than obstacles like material goods. But it's funny, right? The masks that represent barriers, that can hang in the air like boring superfluous earrings or the standard scent of fiery make-up, to be presented to him now: a need but not a want, as smoke swallows Sydney whole like a male God's obsessed with vorarephilia, but not in an ideal way.
Shay smiles as she mentally writes her lines: 'so you can breathe easy, Matt'. This is smooth, like the way she dances, like the way they drifted apart just a few years back, easily and elegantly, without ever needing to properly say goodbye to one another. But now, as fate would have it, she's ended up working for the same company as him, so this can be fun, right? An informal meeting, ironic for a workplace, but there's nothing really official about this relationship.
Stop.
A crowd is present. Why?
The stairs are before her, people staring at something surround her, and the store one floor above, so it's the space below the stairs that grabs her attention now, in an unruly manner: this presence of a massive black box wasn't in the job description. The only words on it: Bigger Brother - Toward Twenty Twenty. What rules apply here? It seems as though daily routines can be ruled out. Is this the site? Is this where the notorious reality show is setting it's next foot? This can't be. This is absurd. But the crowd suggests this is the case, this big black box is THE case to be observed intently.
Shay shakes her head in disbelief. So much for being on time. There's limited space on the flight of stairs, like it's a plane. But she definitely has a seat booked.
'Excuse me!' she says, pushing past a congregation, almost religiously for the time being because this takes so much time it's like a second hand is taken and married (polyamory takes time, right?).
Ja-ram is waiting for Shay or controlling the crowd, whatever's more apt given the human traffic making the stairway a road to cross. She and Shay work to part the people present, so call this 'part-time'. But casually.
'Clear the way please!' Ja-ram yells.
'What's going on?' Shay asks, as she reaches new heights.
'We didn't know about this until this morning,' Ja-ram says, shaking her head. 'But our new store has a glass floor, speakers, and we're on top of a studio for the reality show, Bigger Brother. We've sold more food today than in the history of our stores worldwide. We are essentially running a cinema. But this is not the craziest revelation about what is working here' - Ja-ram turns to face the glass door she's been guarding, then signals Shay to follow her in, and others to stay back.
'When can we come in?' a man asks.
'Soon,' Ja-ram replies, signalling for an employee, Asami, to take her place at the door.
'There's a crazier revelation?' Shay asks, witnessing the people with their heads down, eyes glued to the cell that's an entire floor, pushing envelopes with new means of engagement with every step taken like cleaning the streets of Singapore.
Ja-ram looks at Shay, then at the people.
'They're watching Matt, an employee of ours,' Ja-ram says.
Shay laughs.
'You mean Matt's more interesting than what's going on below us?' Shay says.
'No,' Ja-ram says, with a smile. 'Matt is below us.'
'What?' Shay says, confused.
Shay follows Ja-ram to a clear spot on the floor.
They're looking down.
'Oh my God,' Shay says. 'He's on the fuckin' show.'
'Another thing we didn't know about until this morning,' Ja-ram says.
Ja-ram signals a button with her foot.
'There's a button for the speaker in this spot. There are more than fifty storewide.'
'What's he saying?' Shay asks.
'I was thinking he couldn't say anything about us. We're above him. In more ways than one, since every spot here is now like a secret back way to enter the store through, an office of sorts for management,' Ja-ram quips. 'But I don't think censorship is required. That's what makes this show so appealing. He can say almost anything, not that he's mentioned any of us yet.'
'How can we talk to him?' Shay asks.
'We can't,' Ja-ram replies. 'And he can't hear anyone up here. He doesn't even know where he is. No one down there knows exactly where they are.'
'What!' Shay says. She remembers the masks in her hand, and gazes at them.
She drops them on the ground.
'Merry Christmas Matt, I guess,' Shay states.
Ja-ram laughs.
'How did you figure out what to get him?' Ja-ram asks. 'You don't know him yet.'
'I know him,' Shay says. 'We dated once. Not for long. It wasn't a big deal. More like a short friendship.'
'What!' Ja-ram says. 'But Matt's been going on and on about how he's never had a girlfriend. Indian and Chinese men, especially, seem to be listening a lot to him when he talks about loneliness [1.].'
Shay walks over to the button and steps on it.
Matt's the only one sitting on a lounge.
But he's listening to someone.
'You're the first person to enter the house,' the voice says. 'Who do you expect to join you? Long answer only.'
'Really?' Matt says. 'You want me to talk a lot?'
'Go on.'
'A Korean person,' Matt states. 'Already, there are famous K-pop stars, but they don't really have a voice of their own [2.]. But maybe a Korean here in Australia can speak volumes, getting others to wait and pray outside for their success like they're taking the Suneung [3.] as they talk about the nature of politics and stress in South Korea. Eight hours and they'll be heard. Fast. Well. Becoming big like BTS. But if you think that's fast, it's nothing compared to the time it takes to take your own life by jumping into the Han River. It's like the mics are down, the important speakers are underwater where no one can hear them. Who can listen? That's something the stars never talk about. They're too high. But what if they came out of the closet of cloud nine? Where would they end up? What is success? It's the wrong interpretation of that word that has people plunging to their deaths, that has