The Wheel
It was a massive cog shaped wheel, and each participant was
individually assigned to a spoke. And by assigned I mean handcuffed. Then there was the jolt as an electric
current was fed into the wheel through our bonds and sent searing into our bodies. The command came slowly from
some hidden speaker within the chamber “Push… push… push”. Reluctantly I placed
my hands on my spoke and started to push.
The push command was unmistakably clear, but the speaker insisted on
searing it into our brains and continued its chant in monotone and on cadence.
After the first mind-dulling hour it was clear that this would be a game of
endurance. My mind numbed to the constant whine of the turning wheel, the
frequent screams of those who dared take their hands off their spoke, and the
relentless chorus of the speaker, “push...push…push”. I had assumed my fellow
sufferers were experiencing the same electrical shocks that had alerted us to
our task. There was only one way to be
sure, I took my hands off of the spoke and braced for the pain, hoping it would
serve as a welcome break from the monotony of pushing. The shock came as
expected but the voltage had been increased, the pain intense. It was clear
that participants were to keep their hands on the wheel at all times. By the
third hour the wheel had slowed to a crawl, I had almost stopped pushing
altogether and by the looks of it the clever boy in front of me had stopped
pushing at all. He was slung over his spoke and being carried by our shared
momentum. The notion of carrying this freeloader empowered me with a righteous
indignation that often is the necessary catalyst to any type of protest. I mustered the energy and as loudly as
possible said, “stop pushing”. No effect the others were in a trance, too
bored or tired to care. I turned to the
man pushing behind me. He seemed to have an unnatural amount of resolve and I
had a strange suspicion that he was somehow enjoying himself.
“Why are we still
pushing “?
“I think its clear
“ as he pointed to his handcuffs
I looked to the boy
in front of me, “he’s not pushing and
looks comfortable, maybe we don’t have to push?”
“Do whatever you
want then” was all he replied
I leaned back and
pulled in the opposite direction of the pushing and the wheel came to an abrupt
halt.
Everyone was now at
rest, no one had been electrocuted, heavy breathing and the chanting speaker
was all that could be heard. The motion to stop pushing had passed, most took
to leaning on their spoke, careful not to remove both their hands at any one
time. With nothing left to do I began admiring the construction of this
monstrosity. The giant cog rested at the bottom of the spiral peg and was
mounted on a large spinning platform, it looked like an industrial version of
the playground apparatus that was obviously designed to spin and cause children
to lose their lunch. Perhaps that was reason that it had been phased out of
most modern playgrounds. The reverie ended as I realized how little these
wheels had in common. One was designed for pleasure, but this ones only purpose
seemed to be the application of pain and boredom. Sure it was just an object
but it was making me miserable, we weren’t milling corn or somehow helping a
useful device to function.
I tugged on my
spoke and sent the wheel spinning backwards startling the others, they moaned
in dismay as the whiny creak of the wheel resumed. On the same cadence of the
hated speaker, I began my own chant.
“Pull…pull…pulll” using what energy I had left to issue my most
intimidating voice. The enthusiasm was well received by the man behind me. He
took to the order of pulling as fervently as he had clung to pushing. The wheel
moved easier in this direction and after a few rotations the others began to
pull in earnest as well. My excitement grew as I watched the cogwheel slowly
begin to rise in elevation. This wheel had indeed been screwed on. With each rotation it moved a few centimeters
upward, not noticeable at first, but as the centimeters became inches the
others began to take notice. The concept took shape in their heads and a
tangible air of giddy excitement permeated the chamber. The prospect of a
possible conclusion to this game fueled our adrenaline. I looked around and for the first time saw
participants smiling, there was no mistaking it as every spoke had now risen a
full foot in height. “Its working” someone said and the chambers energy increased.
“Pull…pull…pull…pull.” The chant now had
so many voices even the hated speakers “push, push, push,” only added to our
energy. The cog was nearing the top of
the spiral peg now. “Pull…pull…pull…pull…pull.” My spoke was now almost above
my head and admittedly our pulling had become less effective, but what we
lacked in leverage was more then compensated for with the lure of imminent
victory. The vents on the sides of the chamber unleashed a torrent of gas and
with it a collective groan from all of us. The game was ours, but the ultimate
victory and destruction of our enemy was to be denied. The wheel of pain would not receive it’s due
punishment today. I sucked in as much gas into my lungs as possible and
embraced the euphoria of losing consciousness.
