Yoe and I, a collection of short stories. Chapters 5 to 6. (written and edited by Richard Jr Ocaya)

 

Content warning

Yoe and I, a collection of short stories is a charismatic sci-fi novel between Melissa Selepe, a South African jeweller and Yoe, a spirtual entity who waited for her in eternity to show her a number of lives to help her move on to the great beyond. Although the book is fun, the story includes elements that might not be suitable for some readers. In the book is mentioned orphanhood, domestic violence, sexual abuse, sexual harrasment, hate speech, loneliness, graphic deaths, violence toward infants and eating disorders. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, PLEASE DO TAKE NOTE.

5

The puff came to a halt.

We were in a boy’s room, a young boy. You could tell by the blue and white bed sheets, small blue mat by the bed, blue painted walls or wrestling action figures on the floor ahead of a desk beside the bed. The room was cubic and big enough for one and was obviously in a house. A big house in a suburb. Outside the bedroom window was a tree with thick green leaves that covered the boy’s room but the bright day sun managed to filter through and illuminate the room. The boy entered the room, his name was Mac and thirteen years of age.

“Mac, right?” I had to make sure my heart was right.

Yoe paused this “movie” or whatever it was and said, “Naledi of all people?”

Yoe answered me, “Yes, Naledi. The boy’s name is Mac. You have learnt how to listen to the tiny-winy teensy-weensy voice.”

“Oh-ok,” I said.

He resumed the “movie” .

Mac jumped on his bed and was about to play games on his phone until his mother Rejoice Moloi called for him in the living room. Rejoice was a single mother, after her husband left and remarried another woman. Mac left for downstairs frustrated to receive instruction from his mother to sit down on the couch. It was a prayer meeting. All those prayers meetings were held in the living room on direct contact to Satan. Cough cough Jesus Christ. Mac sat down, and awkwardly greeted the women there. There were five women, all elderly. Mam’ Mary, intercessor of the day. Rejoice, Mac’s mother. Mam’ Tshabalala, the faithful child of God. Mam’ Eunice and Mam’ Qhubeka, the preachers of the day.

Six people now with Jimmy.

“May we please turn our bible’s to ‘The Book of Mark’. Chapters… four, verse twenty-one to twenty-three,” mam’ Qhubeka said, her voice was hoarse as fuck my dawg.

“Are you sure that is a woman?” I asked.

Yoe didn’t answer.

The ladies all wore decently and godlike. But out of all of them, only Mac was warm. There was a light around Mac’s chest that only then I realised. The same yellow light in my chest as Yoe and I. Mam’ Eunice stood up. She was the same height as when she sat; there was no other reason for her to stand apart from respect. She began reading, “‘The Book of Mark’. Chapters… four, verse twenty-one to twenty-three.

“‘He said to them, do you bring in a lamp to put it under a bowl or a bed? Instead, don’t you put it on its stand? For whatever—’”

She continued and continued until Mac noticed something. Mam’ Eunice was wearing flip flops and had a nasty big toe. It had an overgrown ingrown.

Mam’ Qhubeka’s preaching came to conclusion. The elders prayed and came to the worshipping session.

“Mackenzie,” Rejoice, his mother said, please lead us in worship.”

The birds chirped, and the trees rustled. The clouds gave way for the sun making the day brighter. Mac sung and lead the worship songs exceptionally.

Years passed; Mac learnt the keyboard from the keyboardist at church and at times if the moment came, which was frequent, he sang in the church and played the keyboard at the same time. Not even the keyboardist who taught Mac could do that.

Mac created 5 worship songs which were sung in the church and were stolen by the local churches and renamed as their own. TECOCC would never stoop to that level. It made him happy. Mac knew of his talent and so he used it to get him any and everything he wanted; even if he had to manipulate people with his God given talent to get it. He understood its impact and how far it could go. After high-school he decided to master his talent. Fast-forward years later. He enjoyed writing gospel music. He applied for a talent show, of high gaze. He stood out from the rest of the competitors throughout the talent show. Only months later, he was the best amongst the gospel singers of South Africa. He climbed to the top of the rank in his youth and stayed there until death. Mackenzie changed the course of gospel music and how it was made.

A blue puff. A blue portal. Zoom – back to wherever through a portal.

 

The full moon was out. We were walking on a brick road going straight ahead to infinity.

I joined him.

The road was walled by trees on both sides.

“That movie was nice. Wasn’t it?” Yoe said.

“Yes, it was. Refreshing.”

“I say nice, you say refreshing.”

“Wha—”

“You know what… Let’s just walk,” Yoe said.

I was mildly irritated but I came to learn Yoe just liked to play with me.

There were crickets all around us. The moon comforted me.

“I want to sit,” I said.

I immediately found myself on a flying puff shaped chair hovering at the same pace as Yoe’s walk.

About the last movie, I didn’t think much about it because there was nothing to think about, not even to talk about. I guess that was what Yoe was trying to tell me about how seeking knowledge hurriedly and asking too many questions always lead to confusion. I would have over analysed that movie; trying to look for the bigger picture or the deeper meaning. Somethings don’t need to be understood or delved on too long. I believe that is why we watched that movie, so I could learn that. Children are more advanced on that level at least.

“That chair looks mighty comfortable,” Yoe said.

A puff chair like mines formed. He sat on it and after a while, he slept on it. I joined him.

6

We woke up at the same time and found ourselves by the edge of a rocky cliff.  The sight was spectacular. Green grass was far below, a great blue sea ahead and a beach in between. The wind smelt sweet and tickled me as the water vapor it carried gently brushed my skin. Yoe looked deeply and intently at the sea as he comfortably sat on the flying puff chair. This was a sight I could have never imagined to see after I’d die. I honestly thought I was going to hell. We sat through the entire morning and day until the stars came out to play.

“Are you feeling hungry?” Yoe asked, his eyes still distant in the sea.

“No. Not really,” I replied.

“Alright,” he said, “I love you.”

“Where is that coming from?” I asked even though I also felt a deep love for him. He didn’t answer. We sat through the night. When morning came, we walked down the cliff. Then came a dirt road that ran up on hills upon hills upon more hill. We journeyed on this dirt road. Beside both sides of this dirt road were red roses. There were no pebbles, or pricklers that would disturb our stroll. The dirt road was unnaturally smooth and soft on my feet. Walking on that dirt road was like walking on an extremely soft and warm bed. Further ahead the road, the roses began blending into an endless field of tall green grass. This was not the type of grass to get lost into, but the type of grass that protected you. Butterflies flew around us and above us, birds chirped, and the air smelt fragrant. I felt ashamed that I never realized natures beauty before.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Yoe whispered.

Every single thing did every single thing for my joy. The grass greeted me; the butterflies danced in my aura; the birds flew over me and ahead of me and blessed my path; the wind blew over to tickle me, the dirt road massaged my feet. How much more could I have missed? Everything loved me. How could I have missed all this?

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Anywhere,” Yoe smiled, “How good it is.”

Yoe snapped his fingers. We immediately found ourselves at the centre of the universe. We were seated, even though there was no ground to sit on. The universe sounded as if a muffled engine gave power to it in the background. Somewhere. My body was being filled with even more brilliant energy; I could not believe it.

“I’m bored now. Can we please watch another movie?” Yoe asked.

“What?” I said, “What are you bored off?”

He snapped his fingers a second time. We returned back to the dirt road. And still walking.

“Sure, whatever. Let’s watch a movie,” Yoe answered.

I damn near bit my tongue at Yoe’s answer. He pulled out the crystals.

“Here; choose a movie,” he said. He held an open hand with the crystals on it. The red, yellow and green crystals remained.

“Choose one and pinch it,” Yoe said. I chose the red crystal and pinched it. A red and black striped portal opened and a red puff formed around us, the exact build as the previous puffs.

We moved through the portal and came to a stop in a red skied city. Yoe and I watched from high above. Every building in this city was a skyscraper, and all was black in colour and utterly destroyed. Far below us was a car filled bridge. Traffic beyond human tolerance. I couldn’t tell if it was morning, afternoon or night, because the sky was covered by an endless storm cloud. You could see behind the cloud, a hot red glow that pulsed menacingly. We lowered. The people in the cars did not look human. They looked like mannequins, pure black at that. These mannequins wore no clothing at all. They had no genitalia yet looked both male and female. A thin blue light ran on the sides of their arms. They were very thin and all had the same facial expressions. They sat extremely still and similar in position. There were smaller versions of the pure black mannequins in the cars which I believed were children; this is where there was some variation, some cars had no children while others did, all in different numbers too.

Under the bridge was a sewage system with a black sludge flowing in it. There were raised flat sides on both sides of the sewage system, and we saw people standing on both sides. These were real people. Humans with flesh and emotion. More emotion than those mannequins on the bridge. The only thing about them is that these people were homeless. Some were intoxicated, others were sleeping, others stood looking into oblivion, and the kids played in the sludge. The majority of the people were naked and the minority wore blankets. The minority wore the blankets not because of decency but because those were all the blankets given to this many people.

No one spoke to each other instead they all made short burst humming sounds.

We neared toward an old Caucasian man around a bonfire; he was one of the minority. The old Caucasian man looked dead. The old man’s beard was as black as the sludge itself. All of a sudden, there was a sound of thick liquid smacking the ground coming from the south of the bridge. The old man looked southerly excitedly and began speed walking toward it. Many followed wearily. The blanket fell off the old man revealing two pitch black legs. Matter of fact, all these people had pitch black skin on different places of their bodies. One woman had it covering her entire womb, the other on the entire nose, the other in his rectum. The old man was skinny and fragile looking, on every part of his body was sunken flesh, it was a miracle he could speed walk as fast as this. Yoe and I were almost left behind. The old man paid no attention to the blanket. A black lady who had been stalking the old man found her chance and took the blanket. Above the humans were more bridges. Five bridges, including the bridge we were first under. The source of the pouring liquid was on the fifth bridge, the last bridge. The liquid was pure black and chunky and smelt like shit. The liquid splatted down on the surface and entered into the sludge. The old man’s humming got louder as he neared the liquid. He cupped his hands and began slurping in this liquid. Yoe and I raised up to see the source of this chunky liquid. It was the pure black mannequins pouring out this liquid out of buckets. These mannequins were different from the first ones in the cars, these wore a blue uniform, a worker’s uniform. Behind them were trucks filled with those buckets containing the black liquid. They poured empty the buckets without verbal communication. When all the buckets were cleared out, the worker mannequins entered the trucks and drove away. We followed them. The worker mannequins were going to a humongous factory. They entered its huge doors. The inside of the factory was so bright I struggled to see its contents. They went and sat on couches and began watching television. This place was a lounge. On the left wall was a large glass door that extended throughout the wall, outside were many cars, cars more luxurious than the ones seen on the first bridge. On the back wall stood a wooden double door and on the right wall were multiple televisions with different programs on each. The entire ceiling was covered in diamond tiled mirrors.

“Where are we?” I asked Yoe.

“Ki. Fifty years after twenty-fifty.”

“I died in twenty-fifty. What the hell happened?”

We went a floor below the lounge.

There were babies all over this floor. This floor was huge, larger than a malls parking floor. It looked like a parking floor too. This was not the only floor. Thousands and thousands of babies were in a light blue egg-shaped glass container with a glass tube connected under it. The glass tube gave the impression that the egg containing the baby stood on the glass tube. This was not the case. The glass tubes only purpose was to pass a gas into the egg. Not one baby cried or moved but I knew they were alive because I could see a dozen babies that were warm. We moved 13 floors lower.

This floor was bigger. The pure black mannequins were in this room. They each stood by a steel operating table dismembering a baby. Beside them a bucket stood, they trashed the dismembered joints into them. The same buckets we saw on the fifth bridge. The only sound I could hear in this floor was the cracking of delicate little bones, slicing of soft flesh, the splurting of blood and the banging of joints trashed into buckets. There was no sympathy or shame that I could sense from the beings except dutifulness.

We moved toward a worker who removed all the arms and legs of a white female baby. This is the part where the worker beings are the friendliest; the sight was gruesome though but it was enough that I could bear.

The torso and head remained attached. The worker being took out the eyes, ears, and nose off the baby. The worker being then placed each of the facial features in a container filled with a transparent gloop. There was a name tag on the containers; Anna-men was the name written on the name tag. The worker being cut open the torso and took out the baby’s tiny heart. It then cut open the scalp and took out the brain. The worker being inserted the heart and brain into similar containers filled with the gloop with the name Anna-men on it. The remaining body parts were trashed into the bucket. The way the worker being threw those body parts showed me that it saw the body as filth.

“Yoe, does this have anything to do with Clark Bernstein?” I asked.

“It has everything to do with him,” Yoe said, “How about we go back to your time and see Clark Bernstein.”

We immediately went back in time to the year twenty-fifty. The year that I died and the year Z-BC Corp finalised the extinction of the human race. I was thirty-five that year, and when I was thirty-five, I wanted no other man the way I wanted this guy… this genius… Clark… Bernstein. I supported him, and adore… adored him for his goals.

Clark Bernstein was an advocate and promoter of transhumanism. He was born in South Africa. Africa’s finest billionaire. Black man and very charming. CEO, founder and face of Z-BC Corp.

Z-BC Corp produced the finest body enhancing technologies. It was also the corporation that tackled all mental illnesses with frequency manipulation. And I heard, Z-BC Corp was the perfect place to invest on.

On May ninth, Clark Bernstein hosted an event at the Piston stadium. The largest stadium in Africa. The Piston stadium was built during the last fight for the independence of Africa in the year twenty-forty-four. Africa became independent in the year twenty-forty-six. Furthermore, Africa became one nation, under one government and currency. And so, The Piston stadium was built in honour of the independence of Africa. It also served as a reminder to future generations of the struggle Africa had been through to see the day of independence and unity. The stadium was built with diamond, Baobab wood and pure gold smelted to a hundred percent purity by use of hidden ancient knowledge kept for the day Africa will benefit from it. The strong minerals remind the people that we are as strong as these minerals even in our individuality and so we become beyond unbreakable in our unity.

Back to Clark Bernstein, the event was hosted at the Piston Stadium to celebrate his achievement in transferring a man’s consciousness into an artificial body. Millions of people from all over the world came to this festival. Presidents and VVIP came. And I also came.

Yoe and I hovered above my once alive body at that event. I was wearing a Clark supporter shirt and blue jeans. I relaxed my nine-ether hair (I always called my hair nine-ether), so I could wear a cap and pull out some hair to make a ponytail out the asshole of the cap. It looked so cute. The event was filled people who had the same love for Clark Bernstein as I did. I was around my people. People who understood me. The event was huge, with many gadgets, innovative technology that could speed up creative expression, devices that could automate weather control based on majority vote, consoles that could process VFX universes by word of mouth, music equipment that could levitate you and so on. These were all fun, but outdated. Nobody cared for those side pieces, everyone wanted to see the main event which begun at seven pm.

This festival was promoted everywhere with billions of views on all media. Everyone was talking about it. Cities that were the capital of super-powers emptied just to be at this festival. Yoe and I followed my once alive self to the far end of the festival. My once alive self was headed to a group. The group was hosting a podcast about the benefits of transhumanism and how it will improve humankind and not destroy it. My once alive self-listened in awe and amazement.

After the podcast.

“Hey, what do you think the benefits are?” the group leader asked me.

“Obviously just like what Jesus did, the lame will walk,” I said and she laughed.

The main event was about to begin so I decided to roll with the group. I rolled with them not because of the same beliefs we had but because of my safety.

At six pm, security and administrators began drawing people around the stage Clark Bernstein would speak on.

Seven pm, the main event begun.

The host came on the stage, everyone went silent. All attention, lights and cameras were directed at the host. He was the most viewed person in the entire world that moment.

“Thank you for tuning in. My name is Mokgethwa Baloi, your host for today’s special-special event. We are here to celebrate Clark Bernstein’s life and his innovations to natural and human life as a whole. From a young age Mr Bernstein always held a special sadness for the disabled. He saw how they could not freely partake in the joys of life. Clark Bernstein’s sadness is caused by the fact that the disabled can never know the joy of individuality. The disabled are always dependant on someone more able. With his immense passion for technology, he made it his life goal to make the disabled… able. This has never been easy for Clark Bernstein because his life goal was critiqued. This never stopped Mr Bernstein. He knew that one day people will under—”  

Yoe fast-forwarded the time… he thought it was too boring. Yoe brought us to the time Clark Bernstein was demonstrating his success in making the disable… well… able. Well, in this case, a once disabled… able. This is awkward for me as well.

 Tonight, was the night of a once disabled old Caucasian man. A quick backstory, the old man’s legs were amputated because of diabetes. After much demonstrating and telling of the once disabled man’s past and struggles; Clark Bernstein brought out the once disabled man. I tell you that the old buggard came sprinting out from backstage to the stage. The thing jumped and ran all around Clark Bernstein. People were screaming and crying in joy, my once alive self-did too.

But when I saw that thing beside Yoe, I could see that old man actually was dead.

What they… and Clark Bernstein did to curb this issue before the event was to insert technology “three thousand and thirty three years ahead” inside the old man’s brain connected all the way to the heart to be able to make it seem he was alive. He would move, talk, run, dance, hear or eat because of the complex programming inside the technology.

The complex thing about the programming in this technology is this: a human will not control the tech under remote control because the unpredictability of human interaction will make it impossible for the human controller to predict what will eventually come thus making it impossible for the human controller to efficiently convince the human interactor by remote control actions that it is a real human with feelings. The complex program has been programmed to be able to program itself and run tasks on its own. The sum of this all makes it complex. This complex program works like an individual’s brain; it calculates multiple interactions and provides its own solutions to curbing them and fooling the human eye to believe it is human by interaction and reaction. All this crap was put into the old man. About the old man’s legs, they were replaced by pitch black attached technologies to keep his walking ability. The diabetes messed him up bad.

Clark Bernstein began talking, “Thank you, thank you. Today we have reached a milestone. I don’t want to lie; it was not easy to achieve this. The topic of transhumanism terrifies many and haunts millions because it is unnatural to nature itself. Many say ‘It goes against God’s will,’ and others, ‘It destroys humankind.’ I had to go against all these voices because I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I believed in myself when no one else did. You know… I did not start this only to make the disable able.

“Hear me out. When I go onto the web or watch movies, I see how fragile a human body is. I see how we literally are meat bags. People turn into mush when hit by a train. People break bones easily. People get sick. What I am trying to say is, people are so fragile they can easily be as disabled as the people I’ve lived to serve my whole life.

“Hear me out… from today… volunteering people will be allowed to fully transfigure into full, safe and capable bodies.” Clark Bernstein said. The people roared.

“May we please bring the rest out,” he smiled.

 Nine pure black mannequins came out from the backstage. The crowd gasped.

Now that there had been proper lighting, I could see their surface had a matte finish. The build was masterfully designed to look both male and female. Before and after photos of the once with human bodies were displayed on the large screen behind Clark.

“We have safely placed their human bodies elsewhere. We transplanted expertly their stomach, heart, brain, nose, teeth, lips, ears and attached it to the new and more capable body. This may scare you, but I assure you this is the future.”

We returned back to twenty-one-hundred. Anna-men’s organs were inserted into a transhuman child build. The procedure was heinous yet tidy as it was clear that there was some expertise from the worker being putting her together. All this took no longer than ten minutes.

The worker being then placed the baby in a small carriage of some sort and delivered the baby into a huge storage room filled with other transhuman babies a floor below. Anna-men was picked up from the storage room by a worker being and taken to the ground floor above to a one in fifty million reception were two beings waited to be given the baby. The parents. The parents went outside carrying Anna-men and into their car parked well in a huge parking lot outside the factory. I looked up to the very top of this factory which reached above the skies. In bold white I saw, “Z-BC Corp Genesis.”

The parent’s car was the less luxurious car seen on the first bridge and that was where they went, to the first bridge.

We fast forwarded time, unless you’d like to know how enjoyable the traffic was.

The parents made it off the bridge into the deserted and desolate city which had no traffic. The car drove smoothly and safely out of the deserted and desolate city to a greener and brighter city six weeks away called “World-U-Z.” The sky there was blue and cloudless, the city clean and empty but not deserted. The buildings and infrastructure were all white. All the technologies were advanced. The streets were uniform. The grass was bright green, synthetic and trimmed to perfection. The trees all uniform and perfectly similar to each other. The trees looked like green lollipops with the brown stick a little too thick. The birds were programmed with complex programming to chirp randomly and differently.

The parent’s car drove uphill into a gated suburb. They parked outside a brilliant home.

Years passed and Anna-men grew taller. That body could do that. Anna-men was in a school. All the kids. Teachers. And janitors. Everyone in World-U-Z looked like Anna-men.

Yoe and I realized that the transhuman’s did not communicate with each other verbally but through sent messages they wrote in their heads. DM’s to the max. Luckily, Yoe and I could read them.

It was Anna-men’s school lunch break. “My watcher-one said there are still people to this day who are not perfected,” Anna-men said locked into a book.

The transhuman kids had no appetite or hunger, not one did (especially including the adults), because eating was ‘destructive’ to the environment. The new updates to the body had found a way of not needing a stomach.

“Yes, that’s true, my watcher-two told me that they rejected being perfected and so they are unable to contribute to society because they are disabled,” Anna-men’s friend said.

“Scary,” another friend said.

The red puff formed and took us outta there through a portal.

Yup.

We were back at the middle of the universe. It was magnificent. Everything felt like it was lifting me up, lifting me higher; raising my vibration. My body grew even more magnificent and more beautiful than the beginning.

“Your body is eternal,” Yoe said, “I was waiting for you Naledi… my form is at base form.  You and I still see Earthly things as we speak because we are still in Earthly consciousness and understanding. I could have left as soon as I got here but I couldn’t move on without you.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

“Because I am your soulmate,” Yoe said, “If I left without you, I would never see eternity.”

The dimension began slowly crumbling.

“Just hold on,” Yoe said, “I still want you to watch these movies. They will help you understand and move on. If you don’t you will have the eternally gnawing urge to return back to Earth,” Yoe said.

I held his hand and my hand began merging with his. 

The End

  About Richard Jr Ocaya:

I am a passionate dreamer and writer who creates vivid worlds with words for people who will find value in my words. I am currently 19 years old. 

Connect with me: 

YouTube: @Rosaya

Copyright©, Richard Junior Ocaya, 2023.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be copied, distributed, or published in any form without permission from the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.