Chapter 14 The Garden

As my struggle to reclaim my consciousness continued, fleeting moments of lucidity afforded me glimpses into my surroundings. The oppressive, cold and sterile environment of the city had morphed into a scene more akin to a vibrant, lush paradise. I was now in what seemed like a vast garden, an orchestrated symphony of nature under the constant glow of the city's light. The air was pleasantly warm, suffused with the rich, sweet scent of flowers and ripe fruits, an orchestrated Eden under the command of a foreign conductor.

In this manicured wilderness, I wasn't alone. Others like me, their bodies bare and their minds under the thrall of the city's light, roamed this artificial paradise. They moved in a mechanical rhythm, their eyes devoid of any spark, like automatons programmed to mimic life. They fed on the abundance provided by the garden, their movements devoid of the primal vitality I had observed in the wilderness.

There was an unsettling harmony to their existence. Each individual's actions were synchronised with the rest, like notes in a grand, eerie symphony. They appeared to be living, yet their existence felt hollow, their experiences seemingly void of consciousness. Their daily routines were almost robotic, with no hint of emotion, curiosity, or any of the other quintessential traits that defined us as humans.

Caught in one of my lucid intervals, I was hit with a moment of horrifying realization. The instincts that had been suppressed, the primal urges that the city's light had placed under its command, were still very much present. As if on cue, I found myself entwined in an intimate embrace with a woman. It was an act as old as humanity itself, but in the trance-like state, it was devoid of its usual connection and intimacy. We were merely two bodies fulfilling an innate biological drive, devoid of any emotional connection or mutual consent.

The act was a shocking intrusion into my gradually regaining consciousness. Yet, it also served as a poignant reminder of my predicament. Even as I continued to wrestle control from the city's light, my body was still very much under its influence. It was a bitter reality that further fueled my silent struggle. Each pulse of lucidity was a beacon of hope, a glimmering promise that I could break free from the stranglehold of the city's light.

The periods of clarity grew longer, allowing me to observe more of the intricacies of this 'Garden'. Among us, there were more than a hundred humans, an equal number of males and females, each seemingly chosen for their physical vitality. It was a population under the control of an unknown force, living, breeding, existing in a puppet-like state.

Observing the cycle of life in the Garden was a chilling experience. The women, chosen at random, would fall pregnant, their bodies transforming with the growing life within. Yet, there was no joy or anticipation as there should be. Instead, they carried on with their daily routines in the same robotic manner, their bodies merely vessels under the control of the city's light.

When the time for birth arrived, it was a sterile, clinical process, devoid of the emotional roller-coaster associated with bringing new life into the world. In the midst of their birthing agony, the women's faces remained blank, the act of giving birth seeming as mechanical as their daily chores. It was a poignant contrast to the beautiful, primal process of birth, robbing it of its wonder and reducing it to a mere production line.

The most disturbing part of this life cycle, however, was the removal of the newborns. The tall, alien figures would appear from the depths of the city, their imposing silhouettes casting long shadows over the Garden. They would take the infants, their large hands eerily gentle as they cradled the tiny, wailing bodies. The mothers, under the thrall of the city's light, showed no resistance, no maternal instincts to protect their offspring. The infants were taken away, disappearing into the city, their cries fading away into the glow of the city's light.

Time seemed to warp and distort in the Garden. Days merged into nights, seasons changed, but the glow of the city's light remained constant, a relentless sentinel. The Garden's occupants continued their programmed lives, their existence a stark contrast to the vibrant wilderness I had journeyed through. Locked within my mind, I continued my struggle against the light, my sense of self persistently clawing its way to the surface. Each moment of awareness was a small victory, a step closer to breaking free from the city's light.