The Cat

By Aaron J Clarke

In the distant future, a man downloads an ancient novel and instead of instantly transferring the novel into his brain, the man does something profound, he reads the text. As he reads the novel set in 1940s Townsville, he is involved in the story of Mr. Wilbur’s immoral desires for Sam. 'The Cat' is Clarke’s most daring novel: where innocence is betrayed, where reality is challenged, and where there is the possibility of moral redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron J Clarke
• Release date: Apr 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476304397

Aaron J Clarke

Aaron Clarke was born in Queensland on 24th January 1973, the middle child of two sisters. Like many other children, he watch a lot of television. Then one day he changed the channel to the ABC and saw "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Immediately taken aback by the lyrical beauty, he wanted to emulate Shakespeare.Aaron enrolled at James Cook University to study chemistry and biochemistry. In his second year he experienced his first psychotic episode and was hospitalised for several months. A year later he returned to JCU as an English student and started writing short stories and poems, which have been published in student publications and on the Internet.Please contact me at < [e-mail] > to discuss your opinions regarding my work, as I would greatly appreciate your point of view. Please address your questions as 'Reader Feedback' in the subject line of your email. Thanks, Aaron.

Book preview

Prologue

The machine hummed. He began the long process of downloading records on Ancient Earth, a culture that fascinated him. Since the Earth of the past was a download away, he decided to do something quite profound, instead of digitally inputting the experiences of a dead world into his brain, he would read a novel. He remembered downloading the knowledge of a long-dead novelist, whose brain had been digitally transferred into a mainframe computer. Such computers were, or rather I say are, capable of recording the life span of individuals. Every intimate detail is recorded with precision. He wondered what it would be like to read, instead of downloading. "How does one read a book?" he thought to himself as he looked out of his room on floor 352. He walked over to a large glass window and pressed a button. The outside view changed to that of a rainforest. He heard about the rainforest, but such things had become obsolete, there were now large air processing factories, which provided life similar to how plants functioned, the forest had to be cleared due to the population growing to 16 billion. All those mouths to feed, all those people to house, required maximum use of the land every square metre of land and sea was farmed; plants were genetically engineered to produce the most efficient use of raw material.

The view had a calming effect on him. Today he would be someone else instead of being a cog in a machine. The novel materialised into solid form by a process of digital mastering into printed sheets of paper. His eyes could not believe that a novel was a construction of symbols, symbols that he knew only from downloads. He reached across and picked it up. It had weight. He ran his finger along the spine of the book, and he raised it up to his nose and smelled the paper. It was not the usual smell that he was accustomed to. He opened the book….there was no title. ‘Strange,’ he thought and he focused his eyes and began to read. His eyes scan from left to right. It was a new experience…

A Digital Reconstruction

Of an Ancient Text

Published in the year 2012

Please note that the text was stored on early 21st century computers, and because of their age, the text may be out of order. The original manuscript was destroyed in the Cleansing War of 2065.

Amgreziyat

Sam sat on my lap. I smelled his hair, and I breathed in his aroma like a fine wine. I touched his chest, and he purred with ardent pleasure. His neck beckoned to be kissed. He was the fire that ignited my longing. I studied his reflection in a circular mirror that faced us. His eyes were exquisite pools of blue; his lips were thick and luscious like rose petals. A note fell out of my pocket. He reached down and picked it up. He began to read it, whereupon his face became pale and the blush of youth was gone. He asked me, Are you going back to Brisbane? I replied, There is nothing to keep me here. Won’t you stay for me? he asked. Perhaps. was my reply. He continued: It is better to have tasted the bitter fruit of despair than to never have. I saw poignancy in the way he delivered himself and that was most profound. You are the sun that I orbit. But if I get too close I shall burn. He laughed at my clumsy choice of metaphor. I realised I was pretentious, and my vanity would be my downfall….

…. The moon was behind a wedding veil of clouds that slightly smudged its beauty. The skies were pink with hints of gold on waves of clouds that had gathered around Mt. Stuart, obscuring the satellite antennas. They protruded from the top of the mountain like a giant ant antenna. I love the early morning and late afternoons in Townsville. The day before I left the tropical city, I remembered Sam playing with, Matt, his pet cat. The cat’s claws were scratching at a piece of string that he held with one hand and with the other, he rubbed his furry stomach. Matt enjoyed being played with. The cat knew that I was going, it was not surprised, and it wanted me gone. The cat would hiss at me, and would bite, and claw me, whenever it got a chance. I felt as though Matt was jealous and wanted all of Sam’s love. Strange that Matt knew me all too well…

…. Reaching back into the distant past is like riding a wave of time, yet time is so abstract, if only I could go back and change what I have done. The bird sings ever sweeter in freedom and not in its cage. I imagine that bird…. Cold, grey walls, only artificial light reflects off the heavily polished floors. If only I could escape? Regret is my weakness -- regret casts a shadow on the nearby hills as a net catches fish. Upon the hill, Jesus fed the masses with a basket of fish and bread. I too am hungry for nourishment. Beautiful Sam, so fair as to out shine the moon and that he is far fairer than she. I think of him occasionally, yet my memories are fading into obscurity. It has been two years, no, more than four, I should know. I feel like a predator caged, waiting to strike again. Will they give clemency to a predator such as me? I told Dr. Marsh, my doctor, that I wouldn’t do that again. He looks at me with a look of disbelief, Yeah right. He scribbles in his note pad. I wonder what he is writing about me? Should I rip the pad from his hands and read its meaning. I could not understand the cryptic nature of the words. Repeat offender and Danger. His glasses reflect my face it is broken and fragmented. Do I really look that old? My birthday is another month away…. Today is my birthday. Out of my savings, I have ordered a laptop computer, which arrived only yesterday. It's one of those new apple computers with the fluorescent orange casing. I turn the power on and begin typing my story into the computer. I will naturally allude to life, such a wasted life, if only I did not like sweet face youths like Sam. Will I be a hero of my memoir, or will that go to someone else -- only time will tell.

…. I remember that my mother wanted a son, a strong son, who would play sport and have the interests of a typical Australian boy, yet, I rebelled, I wouldn’t do what she wanted. Instead, I would read and listen to Flash Gordon on the wireless: this of course was before the days of television. I dreamt of travelling to distant planets or travelling back in time, yet these were mere flights of fancy. Reality was painful, not to say the least, and although I was determined not to do what was expected of me, I thought of ways of subterfuge; a way out of the doldrums of middle-class society that I was, thankful, to some extent, born in to due to the economic conditions, which prevailed in the mid to late thirties…. War suddenly blossomed and