Mark was eighty-five, Aaron was eighty-four, and they walked through a narrow hallway colored by the bland steel of an old prison. The chains across his wrists were of the same design as forty years ago, except they now seemed more for decoration than restraints. The prison officers were on their lunch break while they followed Aaron through the hallway, eating sandwiches with mayonnaise and avocado. Aaron saw the avocado, forgetting the taste of such a thing, though he knew the taste of mayonnaise very well, the taste of bread, milk, pizza, ham, meatloaf, and sometimes, on every blue moon, a cold Coke or a slushie from the staff room.
They stopped at a bland white desk with spots of black, shown by half a century of wear that can’t be wiped off, since it was the color under the white.
A woman behind the desk was drinking a Frappuccino while typing on a keyboard made of light. Aaron was starstruck by the sight, although it would make sense, since the year was now the spring of 2053. She didn’t look up to speak, and her attitude was different than that of the children her age when Aaron was last outside. She carried an annoyance of a ten-year-old, with what seemed like little respect for anyone.
“Aaron…Hudson?” the woman said with a bitter sting that fell off her lip. Aaron hesitated from the sound of his name and smiled lightly.
“Y-yes ma’am.”
“Well, Mr. Exitus…” said the woman as she starred with strain at the paper-thin computer screen. “You are a free man.”
The prison officers walked Aaron to another room while he was immensely touched to be called with the prefix of “Mister.” The officials spoke casually to each other while this next room with the same chipped white walls came nearer.
“My wife is very nervous,” said the tall blond officer with pale white skin and a bent nose.
“She’s afraid that the Japanese and Turks will crack their orbiting missiles any day now.”
“There’s no way war can’t be prevented,” said the officer on the other side. “The United Nations can’t prevent this. The time for negotiations was years ago.”
Aaron walked with his head half to the ground, with wonder still flooding through his eyes toward this war. He continued to quickly glance up without being detected, fearing that the prison officers still saw him as an inmate.
When they arrived to this next room, there was a high table in the middle. The blond officer unlocked the handcuffs while the trim bearded one played a game on his phone. Then the blond walked through an old automatic door that immediately recognized his face, coldly beeped, and swung open while they walked. The bearded man continued to play on his phone, knowing Aaron was too fearful of a slipup to even move, and he was right. Aaron stood there speechless with his head half down, keeping his hands in the exact position of where they were cuffed. He couldn’t believe what was happening! He was leaving! An event Aaron believed his mortal life wouldn’t see. Aaron was now very old and frail, with gray hair, and muscles from youth stripped. He’d lost track of time decades ago, yesterday believing that he still had years of time.
“Agh!” yelled the officer to his game. Aaron hesitated from his reaction but calmed down once he understood that it was toward his phone. The officer was an older man, although every staff member still used phones, so age wasn’t the factor.
Aaron wanted to go back to his cell. He knew that this day was Friday, which meant that it was meatloaf day, and time turned it into a meal of luxury. Take me tomorrow! He thought. So at least it can finish on a day of normality. Aaron was in a crossroads of feelings, wondering if his heart wanted to stay or go. Anxiety came with the thought of leaving the horrific prison, with the idea of his death in his cell still logged in his thoughts. Then there was joy in seeing the outside world and what it had become, although Aaron didn’t know what to think of the joyful feeling he carried.
The blond came back with a dusty cardboard box full of belongings. When Aaron looked inside, he was struck with emotions to find so many memories. There was an old Fossil watch that had run out of batteries long ago, a leather wallet with the wear from Aaron’s use still visible around the corners, and a smartphone, which the blond gazed at with a glance and knew about its little worth in technology. There were keys to his car that was long ago scrapped, with a keychain of a bunny sticking out of a hat, coincidentally matching the magnet Mark had on his fridge many years ago. The bunny held a carrot with rosy cheeks sticking out from its face. There was a pair of clothes, off-brand denim jeans and a Guns & Roses shirt that was now too ancient to be played and enjoyed by the new generation. Then, finally, there was a pack of very ancient Bazooka Bubble Gum.
The bearded man continued playing while the blond began naming the items very blandly on the table. When naming off Aaron’s phone, the bearded man heard and commented gleefully that the software was made around his birthdate.
Aaron quickly grabbed the items like a child grabbing candy and began rummaging through them. Aaron began to remember everything that was in his wallet while surveying the contents and saw it as bitter joy to see the items from his last day of freedom on his first. The money didn’t seem to matter, but the items and cards had half a life. Aaron quietly asked to change out of his plain orange clothes and was granted his request mostly because of his age. It took ten minutes for him to change into the dusty, forty-year-old outfit that reeked of dust, and he grinned very gleefully to see himself in clothes that weren’t orange. Aaron knew he was stalling to leave. He knew he was afraid to leave. He knew he never expected to leave, and yet here he was. Aaron sat with his clothes on in the staff bathroom until there was a knock on the door by what sounded like the bearded man with black hair.
“The man who’s here to pick you up has arrived.”
Aaron opened the bathroom’s white door very slowly as it squeaked in a light tone from extensive use. He attempted to dust off as much of his clothes as possible, although it would take a washing machine to properly clean the faded look of sitting in a box for four decades.
They walked through another hallway of solid metal, and it led to outside where it was spring, with flowers on trees and bushes and a thin layer of grass that would be soft on bare feet.
Then there it was—the door that led to freedom. It was part of the wall that surrounded the prison and the size of every other door. Metallic like the wall, except perfect, since there was no anger involved with this door, just excitement and fright for what was waiting outside.
Aaron wondered what waited outside. He wondered who would pick up an old man that had no family and how he would kindly thank them. He wondered where he would live outside of the jail and if welfare still existed for an old man like him. The bearded officer walked over to the metallic door, and the door recognized his face, so it opened. The sun was the same as it was on the other side of the prison wall, but what stood there was different. It was another old man, who wore an old Arizona Wildcats cap with a black-and-white suit, which had been purchased long ago. His shoes were Nike sneakers, and it was obvious that this man was very poor when it came to matching. Aaron knew who this man was, and he began to cry, remembering his first life as a liar and a hypocritical police officer. He began to speak, but words didn’t leave his lips while they moved, only slight syllables that were close to murmurs. Mark looked up from his long wait of standing at the door and saw his old friend coated with age as well.
“Sorry,” spoke Aaron as he looked toward the ground. “Sorry,” Aaron spoke again while weeping with pain, but before he could say it a third time, a pair of arms lightly wrapped around his chest. He opened his eyes to find himself in a hug with Mark and was shocked to see that he was forgiven. Then he engaged in the hug and realized that it wasn’t forgiveness in the embrace, but a sense of missing his best friend. Aaron was already forgiven long ago.
Mark drove Aaron back to their town, and on the way, they ate at Domino’s for lunch. A medium pizza was now twenty dollars—inflation—and people paid through fingerprints or thoughts.
“It’s an implant in their brain,” said Mark blandly with his aged voice while tapping a spot just above the eardrum. “It also records all vital signs and knows any sickness that you get in your body right when you get it. It is said that with the device, the age of death will go from ninety to a hundred and twenty. If you see close enough, there’s a colored ball that sticks out of their head.”
“Why didn’t anyone at the prison have them?” Aaron asked with quick words.
“Because if someone smashed it hard enough, you could go brain-dead,” Mark added with frustration and a shake of his head. Then Aaron joined him in frustration, and they laughed subtly. They were old men; it wasn’t a worry for them.
They spoke calmly as they ate greasy food, and Aaron enjoyed the delicious pizza, since the prison’s was healthier and staler. Mark spoke of his adventures around the world, preaching his story and acting as an activist for cancer and PTSD patients, then retiring to be a local pastor who began every sermon stating that he was going to preach like it was his final day on earth. This was Satan’s final defeat, when his interferences only became annoyances like pesky gnats, which never affected Mark again. He spoke of the community that became his family and his present status of living alone as a bachelor.
“There is a room for you, too!” Mark said with comforting words. “It was your dream, right? The Amazing Aaron and Mark, bachelors in the city.”
Aaron smiled with an expression of excitement and joy, and the offer made him blush to be treated with such respect again. “Y-Yes…I’d love that.” Aaron humbly stated.
Then everyone in the building froze. It was as if time stood still, women gasped and men shook their heads in anger. Children were too young to understand what was told through their medically inserted brain pieces, although some did because of the repetitive talks their parents had with each other. Then finally one very muscular man spoke out of his plump and well-fit face in shock.
“We are at war.” An inflated balloon of excitement had just popped in the room. The staff of Domino’s attempted to continue their cooking but couldn’t. Many were shaking with fear. Some customers began to walk out, others stood around in shock, not knowing what to do, and a minority of men over seventy waited for their order or continued eating. There was a large population of older men. Eventually, they left as well because the owner knew his staff couldn’t continue, and in the town everyone was family. On the ride home, Aaron’s curiosity forced him to ask, and Mark explained all the political disputes he’d missed.
“When I left jail in twenty twenty-six, we were in the middle of a Cold War with Russia,” said Mark. “They continued to push south into Turkey and west toward Europe. Soon after, the Russian Empire crumbled; for the world around it, it was first come, first serve. The countries that gained the most land were Japan and Turkey, and they became the dominant countries in their regions. Then the two countries became allies after pressure from the United States. For some reason we were afraid that their sudden rise to power was dangerous.” Mark then began to wonder about the same topic he was explaining: why the United States, the last mega power of the world, was afraid. “Then we built a nuclear military satellite base four years ago, and a few months ago the Turks and Japanese set up a nuclear satellite as well. Both orbit opposite each other, and people feared that the Japanese-Turk alliance would fire at any second. Now apparently, what their technological implants said, is that we declared war.” Aaron didn’t panic in the least and watched what seemed to be small drones flying through the sky. He noticed that there were far less people in the city. He noticed that there was almost no homeless population selling newspapers or playing guitars. He noticed technology’s growth in buildings and in automobiles, like Mark’s 2048 Toyota Camry that ran on something other than gas, something like electricity, and the roads it drove on seemed to hold a glue that made the ride even smoother. Or maybe it was the tires that seemed different, with their shiny and healthy appearance that seemed to him as more eco-friendly than before.
There was now a noticeable majority of Mexican Americans who walked from point A to B, and Broadway seemed crisp, surrounded by technology that crowded these now fairly old buildings. Aaron chuckled under his breath after watching for minutes with wide eyes through the Camry’s windows. Aaron laughed because of a thought that warmed the old man’s heart. He knew that this was the first time in the twenty-first century that Mark understood more than him. It was the first time Aaron was clueless in his surroundings, and Mark was filled with local and world knowledge—though this thought Aaron held was one that only could be possible through age. In their childhood, it was obvious that Aaron would anger from Mark’s rational decisions, although time even alters the most stubborn of people. In the beginning of life, you search to please your heart, and at the end your heart is completely satisfied with what you found. Aaron’s heart held no more anger. His heart held no envy. His heart held no rebellion; all that was left was a little wonder, faith, and an old man’s love. He thought of Mark and fell in continuous joy from knowing that Mark was smarter than him. Aaron shed off his young thoughts and anger. He was a much different man. Wonder, faith, and love.
Wonder was grown through the metallic cave Aaron was in for forty years. Professing Christianity with the prison’s Bible taught him faith, and the thought of Mark’s heart during their time of childhood taught him love. Love is an element in your heart that is given to you before your breath of life. Aaron lost and learned again from Mark, and unlike most of the world, Aaron’s newfound love stayed even through death.
Now Mark lost excitement. He lost the craving for adrenaline, the craving to become something the world would see as a hero. Although the main qualities his heart craved were still present, it was love toward everyone who breathed, strength toward words that slithered off tongues to only harm, or life obstacles that threw everyone into trials with their hearts. Mark had faith in the Gospel and Jesus Christ because he finally realized what his sick wife’s words meant while she lay on her bed in near death. Then finally there was hope. Hope.
His hope came from Mary, now somewhere in the clouds. Mark hoped to one day see her face again and talk to her. He wished to hug her and spend his eternity with the only woman he’d married. Mark was past the thought of the lovely face and figure; those thoughts were for fools, even if young. Her soul was the beauty. Mark wondered what his first words would be to Mary, if they would be gentle, if there would be tears, or what Mary would say. Then he wondered what Heaven felt like, if there were gusts of light wind, or rain that would cool your body from the sun. Then he thought of God, the Lord’s presence, judgment day, and the overlooking of his own life. Toward his religion, this was one of the topics of which Mark was completely certain: he knew that God would make the right decision, if he were worthy for either Heaven or Hell. If his heart craved either love or hate. If his heart craved either life or death.
Aaron walked inside the two-story house and was moved when opening the door that was made without even the slightest touch of man. It had been decades since he’d seen the luxury of carpet and wooden chairs. Of a bed made for comfort and not for necessity. In modern society, the house was fairly plain, with a house payment of only $800 a month and absolutely no technology around. No radio, no television, no drones, no cameras. The stairs were carpeted, and the house smelled dusty. Aaron’s wisdom sparked as he asked for a tour of the house. Upstairs consisted of a bleak bathroom and the guest bedroom Aaron would sleep in for ten years until Mark’s death. Both mechanical doors were connected to the hallway, and downstairs there was far more room, but not a lot. There was a kitchen with many old pots and pans, a sitting room with ancient furniture from long ago, and the master bedroom, where Mark slept alone. On the walls were photos of Mark and Mary in their youth, paintings that were from Mary, and nothing else. Aaron wondered if the decor was safe for Mark to witness, if the paintings would create a panic attack, if the pictures would create a spiraling visit to the past, although Mark didn’t seem like he was in distress. In fact, Mark’s appearance made it seem as though his thoughts were solid and his mind was present for every conscious second. Even in their childhood it hadn’t been like this—something in Mark made him radiate with confidence and joy. Aaron didn’t understand what it could be. How could Mark now glance at pictures and portraits that for decades had slammed him with anxiety and pain of the past? How could such a man as before be such a man like this?
Although dinner didn’t help, as Mark cooked cheeseburgers with bacon and fries, Aaron was confused as to why an old man like himself would make such unhealthy dishes.
“I got cancer again,” Mark casually expressed.
“Mark,” Aaron stated, “are you going to be okay?”
He laughed to Aaron’s generous words.
“I’ve never felt better in my life.”
◆◆◆
Mark’s death was long. He sat on his bed blind and partially deaf. He didn’t have any family left besides Aaron, although his days as a pastor brought him a group of about ten young and old friends that he called family. Mark spoke to them softly, lightly, asking one of the young ones by his bedside to tell him of their day. Aaron spoke the least while sitting on a chair in the corner of the room and patiently awaiting his turn to speak. Although both were the only children from their families, a bond like brothers was between them. This day was as casual as any other day; nothing changed except Mark’s energy to speak and the nurse’s urgency to have his family wrap up goodbyes to the old man’s worthless body. So far, Aaron knew this day to be casual, since he was with Mark through all the visiting hours the hospital allowed and sat in the corner to speak as if it were any other day. As if they were still in the small home that he’d come to know in the past decade. Aaron was ninety-four, Mark was ninety-five, and no tests were done to see if the cause of death was cancer or nature. Both were, in fact, slow deaths. Then Mark—with the light pigmentation in his eyes—stared in the opposite corner of the hospital room. He very slowly turned his head and began to cry with a delicately placed smile. Tears wet his skin, and the young boy halted his very nervous sentences about his college and future career. Using frail muscles and bones, Aaron stood up, and everyone easily allowed him to join the front of the crowd and watch his brother’s final movements. Then Mark whispered a single word. “Mary.” The heart monitor began to slow down, and the room nurse was alerted on her phone, but all she could do was watch.
“Mary,” Mark whispered again as he reached for the corner in which no one stood by. “I missed you, Hand Mitten. Mary. I’m ready.” The heart monitor was silenced by the nurse and showed Mark’s heart rate continuously drop until he was no more. His family cried from the shock of watching a man hallucinate and die in front of their eyes. But during the time of his death, the overcast sheet loosened up and shone inside, with rays from the sun touching the still blood-warm ancient man. The nurse recorded Mark’s time of death and covered his face with a blanket, then while mourning over his dead body, the family began to wonder who Mary was. Some believed her to be Jesus’s mother; others thought that Mark’s mind was too far gone. Aaron knew who Mary was—he knew her very well but never told anyone about Mark and Mary’s love, about their struggle and demons. It was the past that wasn’t worth more than an old man’s story. Aaron stood there with sorrowful acceptance of Mark’s death. The true sorrow had passed weeks ago when Mark first lay in that hospital bed. Now Aaron stood with a dreadful feeling in his stomach and smiled with a simple thought toward a now very joyful memory.
“Thank you Mark, for making me the third wheel. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Then at the end of the day, Aaron walked toward the crisp sun, chewing Bazooka Bubble Gum. All of their lives were the perfect Composition Eight.
◆◆◆
“Are you ready, Tyler?”
“Y-yes, Tom! Yes, t-thank you so much!”
“Then push up, one last time.”