The Phisnium is a science fiction novel flavoring a historical case with fantastic and mythological sauces. Except for the science fiction parts, the cults, some government names and events in the book are taken from real events. It has an alternate...
Just another classic crappy day. I guess this sentence has become a classic for me. I look at the life I've been living for the past 4 years, the value I've seen, and all I see is emptiness. Everything I do becomes routine; I feel like I'm no different from a robot or a slave. Every day, I see these same crappy people breaking their backs for a couple of pennies. The sad truth is, I'm one of them. I don't see the value I deserve. Well, when did I ever see it?
Bose uttered his usual statements and got out of bed. He preferred skipping breakfast to avoid being late for work. He put on his worn-out, brown thick coat that he'd worn for 5 years, most of its parts torn, grabbed his keys, and left the house. He had consumed too much alcohol last night, just like any other night. Although he remembered coming home in his car, he couldn't recall where he had parked it. Finding his car would make him even later for work, and he didn't have time for that. Knowing he'd face criticism, he didn't want to make the situation worse by arriving even later. With a sigh, he started briskly walking towards the not-so-distant workplace.
As Bose hurried to work, holding notes as thick as an encyclopedia, he bumped into someone. Apologizing, he quickly started picking up the scattered notes. After a few curses, the woman, sighing, bent down to help gather them. It was then that they came face to face. Seeing Bose's face, the woman hastily said, "Oh, Mr. Bose, I didn't realize it was you. I'm really sorry, are you okay? Please don't report this to the Holikogus. I have a family. They can't do without me. Please, I apologize!" Bose didn't fully grasp the situation. Before he could ask about 'Holikogus' or how she knew him, the woman hastily gathered all the papers and stood up, quickly walking away. What was that about?...
12 May 1961
Bose felt the cold down to his bones. The stupid landlord couldn't wait another month for the rent. Well, he still had six more months unpaid. But how could he pay rent when he couldn't find a job? What was more upsetting was that many people worse off than him had quickly found jobs just because they knew a few influential people. Wasn't it supposed to be the same for him? He had never even had a decent family. He left, feeling the immense pain of hunger. The last time he ate was two days ago, with a few small cookies before being thrown out of the bakery due to a customer's false accusation. The cold marble beneath him intensified his pain. He only had the thick, worn-out blanket from the stupid orphanage beside him. Despite being nibbled on by mice in a few places, it still provided some relief from the cold. When he no longer felt the cold and felt his eyes closing, he knew it was time to go. He hadn't had a good life, but he had somehow tried to survive. At least he had tried. But sometimes luck didn't smile at everyone.
He opened his eyes to blinding light and the screeching halt of a loud car. He couldn't feel his body due to the cold. His hands, slashed as if with a sharp knife, were intensely painful. A short, thick-coated, slightly bald, bespectacled man approached him. He was accompanied by two tall, muscular men.
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The man approached Bose, examined his belongings, and ran his hand over Bose's face. His fingers were small and calloused. Finally, he leaned in, inhaling deeply the air next to Bose with his long, prominent nose. "You don't smell like good weed. Come on, let's take a trip together," he said, reaching out to help Bose up. At first, Bose didn't understand what was happening, but then it dawned on him. The presidential elections were approaching, and the visitor was Lombard Hackson, a candidate in the upcoming elections. It wasn't surprising at all. In this corrupted country, to win votes, you had to act as if you were very charitable, very religious, and very sensitive to people and current events. Lombard Hackson excelled at doing what was necessary to win votes, but deep down, he was a vile, despicable, dark person. Just another American politician selling dreams. Strangely, none of these things were reported in newspapers or on television. There was a rumor at one point that Hackson had acquired newspaper and television companies through his holding firm, but his former aide, Carl Lovato, who claimed to have evidence, had suddenly disappeared.
Despite not liking Lombard Hackson, Bose would prefer going on a tour cluelessly with him than freezing to death outside. Thoughtfully, he took Hackson's hand and struggled to stand up. His feet and legs were numb with cold. With Steve supporting him, they walked towards the car. With Hackson's help, they made it to the car and sat in the back seat. It was an old white Belair with red soft leather seats. Bose thought to himself, "Even the idiot Hackson can sometimes be enjoyable." After lying on hard surfaces for so long, sitting on something soft gave him a bit of relief, and he relaxed. Steve sat in the front passenger seat. The guards sat behind Bose. As the car's engine roared to life again, they set off towards an unknown destination.
Either it was the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning...
