top of page

Threshold, a human dystopia.

Writer's picture: Gary WizartGary Wizart

Updated: Jan 12


In a world where the law demanded life end at 33, death had become a routine transaction. Industrial giants controlled the process, offering anonymous and painless euthanasia to keep the population in check. There was no rebellion, no protest—just quiet acceptance of the inevitable.


A single light shone in the dimness, illuminating the silhouette of a man sitting in shadow. “Patient 29010100159, please proceed through the corridor,” a voice called. Without a word, the man rose, following a nurse whose steps seemed to glide through the darkness.


A humanoid robot stands with hands clasped, while a bald figure approaches from a dark corridor. Neon lights and a digital timer display in the background.
©Gary Wizart. All rights reserved.

They moved silently through the sterile corridor, the air thick with unspoken finality. The man sat down as the nurse turned on a console in front of him.


A timer flickered to life on the monitor, cold and indifferent. His eyes wandered to the ceiling, as if hoping to find solace there, but the nurse was already leaving. The door closed with a soft click. The timer began its slow countdown.


Robot giving injection to person in futuristic setting. Pink and blue colors dominate. Screens display data. Timer shows 00:10:00.
©Gary Wizart. All rights reserved.

Alone now, the weight of his fate sank in. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he sobbed quietly, his voice swallowed by the room’s emptiness. In the corner of his eye, a red cable running along the corridor's floor caught his attention, its glowing outline tracing the shape of a door he hadn’t noticed before.


He hesitated, uncertain. Could it be an exit? An escape? He took a deep breath, his chest tightening with fear and hope tangled together. Then, with a final glance at the timer, he closed his eyes and crossed the threshold.


On the other side, there was nothing. Infinite blackness surrounded him, and the silence was deafening. A beam of light suddenly shot from above, blinding him, distorting his face as if his skull were about to crack under the pressure. His mind spun, and then—nothing.


When he regained consciousness, he found himself naked in the center of a vast, familiar living room. The hum of static filled the air as a television flickered on, broadcasting scenes from his life—moments of joy, sorrow, and all the mundane days in between.



A person sits on a couch, tearful, watching a purple TV displaying "00:08:10" in a dark room, creating a somber mood.
©Gary Wizart. All rights reserved.


He watched in silence, captivated by the pieces of his past flashing before him, until the screen went black once more.


Then, the timer reappeared: 00:00:10.


The countdown had resumed.


“Patient 29010160, please proceed through the corridor.”

Recent Posts

See All

コメント


bottom of page