The Unknown

England, 1940. I hate politicians, I hate rioters, I hate stories that tell you how to live life: where the misfit gets the girl, the nerd comes out on top, and the underdog wins. This, however is not just a story. Most people think of themselves as individuals, that there's no one on the planet like them. This thought motivates them to get out of bed, go to work, and walk around like nothing's wrong. The truth is that we’re not individuals, everyone on this planet is like us and this thought motivates us to stay in bed, not go to work, and acknowledge that everything is wrong. At birth The Ticket is printed and stored away. The Ticket. The government sends out The Ticket on your 7th birthday in which is transcribed your life in what you are destined to do: where you will work, who you will love, where you will die, who you are. It is this guidance that gives meaning, hope, directions on exactly how to live. The Ticket. 

My name is Oliver. I don't quite know what I am yet. I've tried smoking a pipe, flipping coins, I've even had a brief hat phase. But nothing stuck. Like everyone else on my 7th birthday I was issued with The Ticket. Occupation: Unknown. Love Interest: Unknown. Death: Unknown. Name: Oliver. My name is Oliver and I am unknown. I don’t exist. I know what it’s like to be lost and alone and invisible. No guidance through life, no meaning, no hope, no directions on how to live. Instead I wonder these shady streets wearing my many hats. I have worn many hats in my short time. At the age of 15 I was a chimney sweeper however due to an incident involving Mrs Hudson’s cat and a burning furnace, that hat was placed back on the shelf. At 17 I was a shoeshiner working on my pedestal on the corner of Seventh and Ninth Avenue however after leaving a container of polish open and accidentally poisoning Mrs Hudson’s cat, my hat was put back on the shelf. The hat remained untouched for some time until a few years ago on my 21st birthday in which I became an employee of Mr Papadopoulos’ Telephone Operating Company. 

Mr Papadopoulos’ Telephone Operating Company assigns workers with a light. My light was named Hannah. I would get up at the same time every day. I would eat breakfast at the same time every day. And go to work at the same time every day. I was insignificant. For three years I would sit at this desk and phone a woman named Hannah. Hannah was a light and she spent most of her time questioning her existence. I have never seen Hannah and likewise Hannah has never seen me and in fact the only concept Hannah has of me is from her telephone: a little square light. I realised this; that to Hannah I was nothing more than a small square light on her telephone with a yellowish tinge that often flickers as the trains pass. Not only to Hannah but to the entirety of the Telephone Operating Company, I was a little square light. I’ve wasted my life,  all those precious seconds, all those fleeting moments, I have settled to avoid taking risks, and finding who I truly wanted to be, I never wanted to be a little square light but now that I was one, I was comfortable being a light.

However the more I thought about it the more I hated it. The solace I took in regularity and routine  slowly became my greatest fear. I hated waking up at the same time everyday.  I hated eating breakfast at the same time everyday. And I hated going to work at the same time everyday.  For three years I would sit at this desk and phone a woman named Hannah, Hannah was a light and she spent most of her time questioning her existence. Hannah had never seen me, but more importantly I had never seen Hannah, in fact the only concept I had of Hannah is from my telephone: a little square light. I realised; that Hannah was nothing more than a small square light on my telephone with a yellowish tinge that often flickers as the trains pass. Not only Hannah but the entirety of the Telephone Operating Company, they were all little square lights. It doesn’t take an incredible person to not be a light, just an insignificant one.

 It was this morning, on December 7 1940, I woke up at the same time as every other day. I ate breakfast at the same time as every other day. And I went to work at the same time as every other day. However this was not every other day. I sat at the desk and stared at the little square light on my telephone. It was gone. Hannah had talked about leaving for some time now, I knew it was only a matter of time until she was hung up. With the fading of my little square light on my telephone I placed my hat back on the shelf for the last time. Occupation: Telephone Operator. Love Interest: Hannah. Death: Hung Up. Name: Oliver. My name is Oliver and I am known.