THE collection

I descended down, the strange elevator didn’t ping for stops, didn’t make a sound. It felt like forever, standing , standing, hearing nothing, just the slight brush of air circulating, neither hot nor cold.

The stop surprised me. An immediate return to gravity. A momentary heaviness.

I entered a massive hall, lights slowly turned on as I took my first steps out. The lights came on not in sequence, rolling down the length of the hall but in a disorganized way, lighting here a spot, there a spot. Some of the lights took longer to stop blinking, some bulbs were strobing, giving their last efforts before burning out.

There was dust everywhere. I could feel it, the thick layer on the floor , making it slippery. There was also a heavy dusty, mouldy smell. Like a basement or a library.

The hall, as I slowly got enough light to see, was a vast clutter. I could see all kinds of things. Old cars, oil paintings, a grand piano, a harp, a samovar, a baroque bed, crinoline dress on a stand. A cast iron stove with a collection of skillets. More and more things jumbled together, one on top of the other, some things covered with sheets, others left to collect dust, some things were left turned on (a washing machine was curiously cycling nothing, an old Vespa scooter with the motor idling, a commodore computer stuck on some unrecognizable game). It was as if someone was hoarding stuff on an unprecedented scale and intentionally placing the objects in the least orderly way. There was no connection chronologically between things. I saw a rubber dingy next to an Egyptian sarcophagus. A hand-cranked Victrola was sitting on top a stuffed bison which had a museum plaque attached “White rhinoceros(Ceratothrium Simum), male”. I made my way through the only major path in the room, which was covered in a rubber non-slip mat. It took a long time and I passed by many things, both strange and mundane, until I reached the metal hatch at the end.

I carefully turned the release wheel, accidentally causing an old musket that was leaning on the wall to tip over.

As the hatch opened, more lights were turned on, and I could see that I just entered another hall which was also full of things. It too was a clutter of disorganized stuff, with little paths between the mess, but only one major rout winding down the hall. I followed this path down, passing more things and more things. At times, I saw objects that seemed to have no connection put together. For example, a book case, filled with books, but with a ”Keep on trucking!” bumper sticker on the side. I saw a chewing gum Dispenser with a Persian rug draped on top of it.

I don’t know how big each hall was, but I passed down eight of these massive, fully stocked halls and by that time , I was exhausted.

What to do? Should I go along, passing more and more halls, or should I start to head back? I was thirsty, and dead on my feet. I decided that since I’ve walked for at least six hours, it was time to take a break. I found a large leather L-shaped sofa that was sitting next to a huge bomb, perhaps it was a ‘Daisy Cutter’ but I’m not sure.

I plonked down and rested my feet, listening to the sounds around me. In the distance there was some kind of mechanical hammer stamping something . I could also hear an old arcade machine, a toddler’s music box, musical greeting card. The sounds came from different directions and surprisingly did not cancel each other out. I was unsure about sitting next to terrible weapon, it’s parachute draping over many things, including part of the sofa. But somehow it seemed that this bomb would be made safe, by whoever was gathering all this. I moved the parachute off of the sofa, finding an old, empty lockable diskette box under it.

It was then that I heard the footsteps.

The robot that stood in front of me looked a bit like Charlie Chaplin, only the entire scalp was replaced with a metal dome. It was shorter than me and did not speak, but it gestured me to come with it, pointing the way with the walking cane.

We walked not down the rubber matted path but through one of the smaller paths that branched away from it, going deep into the clutter, making decisive turns when our rout forked.

I followed the Charlie  Chaplin robot, until we reached another hatch which was already open. I was ushered into an old style living room, with chronologically consistent furniture. The table was furnished with fruit, cold cuts, bread, cakes, all kinds of drinks. “Eat” said the robot “the curator will be with you shorty”. I do not know why the robot did not try and talk to me before. Maybe in these situations, pretending you can’t speak saves a lot of time and work. Maybe it was just afraid to set off the daisy cutter.

″Excuse me for interrupting your meal, but I am the curator. I do not have much of a need for names, but you may call me Mario he said. He did have a Marioesesque mustache under that silvery metal dome. As I stood up to shake hands, I noticed that the metal was not completely smooth, with many fine scratch lines shining as his head turned. “Please, don’t get up on my account, finish your meal, you had a long walk. I do apologize that we did not..intercept you earlier. But I was dealing with a shipment of parchments from the Omayyad dynasty that needed careful attention. I’m sure you can appreciate that I could not have left that off. ”

“Would you mind telling me why am I here?” I asked.

“I’m sorry. This is terribly rude. I assumed that you understood what this place is and what I am. How negligent of me.” He said.

“But let me ask you, if you don’t mind, could you make a guess? Based on what you’ve seen and know..?”

“Ok. Fine, I’ll play” I said and took another bite from the sandwich, washed it down with a Cherry coke (I opened twelve bottles of different sodas. Just because I could.)

“Well...you are a curator. So this is some gallery or museum. Your job is to handle , preserve and display the items in your collection”

“Precisely. Well done. You have it. This is The Great Collection. It is a repository of all things human. I was chartered to collect it, among my other duties, in this establishment. My oldest item is a scratched antelope shoulder blade from 2.3million years ago. The human race has done much since then. ”

“Yes. I can see that . all kinds of things, I noticed the Daisy Cutter a while back. ”

“Well.. you were not sitting next to a daisy cutter bomb. I make no judgement about the things people make. Good or bad..but that was not a daisy cutter. It was a fragmentation bomb developed by India, if you must know. By the way , it was the prototype, they never manufactured or used it.”

“So.. A replica?”

“A reproduction, to be exact. We occasionally can’t get our hands on the real item. ”

“Why would you want to have something like that?”

“It’s not about what I want. It is just something that needs to be displayed. that’s all”

“I see....I just...emm..wonder...”

“What?”

“Well, excuse me for saying, but there doesn’t seem to be any order to this collection. You just take things and..”

″..and dump them?. Is that what you wanted to say?”

“Well....yes...sorry to..”

“No. No...it’s quite all right. And it’s true. There is almost no order here, in this collection. But... I guess I didn’t fill in the blanks for you...you see...being the curator of this collection is really a side thing, a gig if you will. What I’m really in charge of is curating planet earth. ”

“Planet earth...you mean..?”

“yes. Planet earth, the whole thing; Africa, Scandinavia, typhoons, everything. And with all that responsibility I can hardly

be expected to get a collection together AND organize it AND curate the planet. I’m just swamped. Keep in mind that we constantly get new items... But now it’s going to be better.”

“Better? ”

“Yes. Better. Well, as a matter of speaking. I realize that there will be those that will have issue with..ehm...anyway..that’s part of why you’re here.”

“Me?”

“Yep. You. You are currently working on a writing prompt about the end of the world , are you not?”

“Eh..yes..yes..so?!”

“Well. My charter as curator is that I’m supposed to ensure that all exhibits here and on earth be kept as well as can be.”

“And?!”

“Well...the moment humanity got to writing so frivolously about the end of the world, pretty much spells out that the end of the world is coming. Sad to say..” He said and smiled sadly.

“What makes you think that there is an actual connection between the end of the world and silly writing prompts?” I asked, getting nervous.

“Look. It’s a lot of math. Very complicated and technical. You’ll just have to trust my professional experience. I’ve only been at it for a few billion years, you know. It’s very sad...but every collection is ultimately doomed. Sooner or later things get lost. We already lost a lot..which is why...”

“Which is why you’re going to stop that from happening?” I suggested.

“Yes..well..yes and no.you see, I’ve turned on a stasis generator just before you came down.”

“A stasis generator?”

“Yes. You know...it puts everything in such an inert state that the topside would be presentable as an exhibit for about three trillion years. ”

“So..everything topside..back..is frozen?”

“No! Never! Freezing is terribly destructive as a preservation method. It’s not frozen. Not even cold. You could go over and walk around. See cars, people walking, planes in the sky, hotdog stands... Everything. But nothing is changing. Nothing is moving in any noticeable way. This is down to sub-atomic level. Everything is still. Safe from destruction, safe from disaster. Even the supernova of a sun will not disturb this exhibit. It’s the first time this sort if thing has been tried actually.”he said proudly.

“But aren’t you supposed to preserve the earth? The people?! You said..”

“I said that I am chartered to preserve everything, true. Well, things can’t get more preserved than this.. I see that you are confused...upset..I’m sorry to be bringing you such bad news...but this really is the best I can do.” He says sympathetically.

“But everyone...”

“Is safe! Perfectly safe. They felt nothing..well...which brings us back to why you’re here...” He says. “By the way, how’s the food? You stopped eating. I’d hate to think I was the reason to interrupt your meal. I’m actually sorry this is all I had to put out for you. ” he says and gestures at the table. I don’t feel hungry at all. I put the sandwich down.

“Not interested? Well..can’t be helped , I guess. I totally understand what you’re going through. But it should be enough, what you had. It should be more than enough..”

“What?”

“Well.. the food and drink...all of it, was not just for your refreshment. I had to get you to take the sedative. A bit disingenuous, but that's how things need to go”

By this time, I feel that it’s becoming very hard to stay standing. It could be just the exhaustion from all that walking but it isn’t. I fall down, my cheek resting on the table, next to a jar of mustard that I did not close.

“What do you need from me?” I say.

“Well, the collection is not limited to man-made objects. In a different section, that you haven’t reached, I keep specimens of people. ”

“Eh...?” I manage to blurt out. I can’t say anything more.

“Can’t speak? Well..good. But let me explain a few things. You were about to ask why put people in exhibits, and why not just let you stay outside , in the stasis field?...well...let’s say that where you’re going is a different exhibition. You see..You are representative of a very specific group. Your writing is not so good, I read some of it. A few passable articles, but not more. Passable. So you represent middling writer-hobbyists that do apocalyptic writing prompts. A hack.. clear sign of the decline and decadence of human civilization. There are quite a few good writers in the same writing site, who answered the prompt. But..well..I already got a specimen for good writers ”

He says more, but I’m getting very drowsy, can’t understand any of it. It’s getting dark and they are dragging me somewhere...