Sam Wild's First Novel

It was the day before the big release and Jerome knew there was no chance he would be first in line. He wasn’t worried. It was made clear by the developers that nobody would be left out as long as they were in line no later than the day before the release, regardless of how far back in line they were.

Jerome casually got up from his seat and waited for the bus to come to a complete stop. Once it did, the doors opened with a loud slam and he walked off. He stood and stared at the line-up of people that started at the store’s front entrance.

He walked over to a girl sitting on a comfortable looking folding chair. She was first in line. The closer he got to the girl, the louder the murmuring from those sitting behind her became. He glanced over at some of those people’s faces and saw expressions of murderous rage.

“I just wanted to ask her a question,” he said. “I’m not trying to cut in line.”

The people in line continued staring at him contemptuously.

“You better believe you’re not cutting in line,” somebody said, “because if you did, we’d kill you.”

Jerome ignored the threat and walked over to the girl on the chair. He asked her when she arrived.

“A month ago,” she replied.

Astounded, he asked why she came so early.

“This is historical,” she said, “and I wanted to make sure I’d be the first person to get one so I could be a part of history.”

Jerome asked how she was able to maintain her place in line for so long.

“My parents, my brothers and some friends helped me,” she said. “They brought me food and water every day.”

“Did they ever take your place in line to give you a break?” Jerome asked.

She shook her head.

“The store made it a rule that you had to stay in line at all times, or else you lost your spot. They said it was a way to make things fair for everybody. They have people checking the line all the time, making sure nobody leaves. There are even cops constantly roaming along the line to make sure nobody cuts.”

As if on cue, a police car crawled beside the line, and the officer seated on the passenger side glared at Jerome suspiciously.

“So you’ve been sleeping here for a month?” he asked.

She said yes.

“How were you able to go to the bathroom if you couldn’t leave the line?”

“My mom brought me a bucket, and one of my brothers comes to empty it every night.”

Jerome couldn’t imagine using a bucket for a day, let alone a month, but considering the circumstances, considering what the girl and everybody behind her was waiting for, he completely understood.

He thanked the girl and started walking alongside the line, passing person after person, all of whom were slumped back in comfortable looking folding chairs. Most of them were staring at their phones with glazed eyes. Their faces were haggard. All of them had buckets resting nearby. Yet despite their uncomfortable conditions Jerome envied their positions.

The line curved around the block, but Jerome still could not see the end of it as it curved around another block followed by another and another. He did notice however that the conditions of those waiting in the line shifted the further alongside it he walked. No longer were people seated in the kind of comfortable looking chairs he saw near the front. Instead, most people were just sitting on the ground. And while some sat on blankets, the majority just sat on the pavement. However, just like those in front, the vast majority of the people were staring at their phones with the same glazed eyes.

Jerome approached somebody in line, a much older man. Nobody in line behind the man seemed to mind as he got closer to him, let alone voice an objection.

He asked the man how long he had been waiting.

“A week,” the man replied. “I wanted to come earlier, so I could be one of the first people to get one, but I only get five days of vacation per year from my job. I don’t know how those people in the front were able to take so much time off work.”

“I actually talked to the girl at the front of the line,” Jerome said, “and she told me she got there a month ago.”

“Lucky girl,” the man said.

“What do you do about bathroom breaks?” Jerome asked.

“Over there, in that corner,” the man said, “people just kind of designated that spot as a bathroom. It’s not pretty, but it serves its purpose, and everybody respects your place in line when you use it.”

Jerome looked at the corner, and didn’t dare step toward it, as the sound of buzzing flies told him all he needed to know.

Jerome thanked the man for his time and continued walking, hoping he’d reach the back of the line soon. He was getting tired from all of the walking, but knew he had no choice. There was no way he was going to miss out on getting a first edition copy of the first novel ever written by A.I.

Six months had passed since the company that created the A.I. responsible for the novel made headlines around the world, declaring the novel was finally finished and ready for release. Fanning the flames of the public’s eagerness, three months later, the developers of the A.I. announced limited copies of the first edition of the book would only be released in one bookstore in one city in the developers’ home country, which also happened to be Jerome’s home country. And considering there were only a handful of bookstores left in the entire country, and one of the most famous ones was located in his city, he liked his chances.

He eagerly listened to the announcement, and felt like he had won the lottery when it was confirmed the bookstore where the novel’s first edition would be released was indeed the famous one in his city, just a short bus ride away from his home.

Every day since the announcement of where the book would be released, news around the world focused exclusively on the A.I. written novel. Everything else going on in the world at the time might as well have not been happening because nobody was paying any attention to it. All they cared about was the pending release of the book. Yet despite constant news coverage, there were no details about the novel whatsoever, no page count, no plot details, nothing. Not even the title had been revealed. The only piece of information made public was the A.I.’s pseudonym: Sam Wild.

When Jerome finally made it to the end of the line, he was exhausted. He said hello to the woman standing in front of him, but the response he received was in a language he couldn’t understand. He assumed the woman was from a country far away from his own. He had no doubt many people standing or sitting in line had come from far away countries.

A group of three young men, about the same age as Jerome, arrived and took their place in line right behind him and greeted him in his native tongue. He was happy they had arrived because while he knew there was no way he would be first in line, he didn’t want to be last either.

More and more people came, and before he knew it, the line-up behind Jerome had grown so long he could no longer see the end of it. He sat on the pavement and leaned back against the wall of an abandoned building. The three young men behind him followed suit, as did seemingly everybody else behind them.

One of the young men behind Jerome introduced himself.

“I’m Yusef,” he said.

“Jerome.”

“These are my friends Van and Shawn.”

Jerome nodded at the other two young men, who amicably nodded back.

“Where are you from?” Yusef asked.

“Here,” Jerome replied.

“Here as in this country, or here as in this city?”

“This city,” Jerome replied.

“Lucky guy,” Van said.

Jerome asked where Yusef and his friends were from. Yusef told him they were from the same country as Jerome, but from different cities, and had met during their respective journeys to the line-up.

Nightfall came slowly as dusk seemed to last forever. Jerome had brought some food, and started eating. Yusef, Van and Shawn ate the food they had brought as well.

A police car crawled by.

“Do you think the car goes along the entire line, or just the back of it?” Yusef said.

“When I first got to the line,” Jerome said, “I actually talked to the girl who was first, and I saw a cop car pass by, so I guess the entire line.”

As soon as the police car turned the corner, Shawn shouted, “What the hell is your problem?”

Van, Yusef and Jerome all turned toward Shawn and saw a man and a woman leaning against him. The woman was holding a small knife against Shawn’s neck, while the man held a pistol against his side. The muzzle was barely noticeable in the dark, but noticeable enough to be unmistakeable.

Jerome glanced at the people in front and behind them in line. Nobody seemed to see, or seemed to want to see what was going on.

“What do you want?” Shawn said. “I only have a few bucks. It’s yours. Take it.”

“We don’t care about your money,” the woman said. “We want to cut in front of you.”

“You do know that as long as you’re in line by tonight, you’re going to get a copy of the book, right?” Jerome said.

“You really believe that?” the man holding the gun said. “Have you seen how long this line goes? We’ve walked to the end of it and it goes all the way to the river.”

Jerome glanced at the faces of Van, Yusef and even Shawn, who despite his palpable fear at having a knife and a gun pressed against his body, showed the same obliviousness at the mention of the river as his friends. But he knew how far the river was, and he couldn’t believe that’s where the end of the line had reached.

“They had to anticipate this many people though,” Van said.

“Listen,” the man holding the gun said. “You can cling to all of the hope you want, but my wife and I aren’t. We’re getting a copy of that book. So you guys have a simple choice: quietly let us sit in front of you until we move on, or we hurt your friend and force all of you to leave the line and take him to a hospital.”

“Yes, okay,” Yusef said, “go ahead. We won’t say anything. Just let him go.”

The couple only sat in front of Jerome, Yusuf, Shawn and Van for a few moments before they got up, approached another couple sitting in line about fifteen spots ahead, and repeated the same threatening process.

After the couple was out of sight, the young men discussed the possibility of sleeping. Nobody seemed too keen on the idea, particularly Shawn, who was still shaken up.

“We have to sleep,” Van said, “it’s the only way to make the books arrive faster.”

An agreement was made between the young men that they would sleep in shifts, as a means to vigilantly maintain their place in line.

Jerome volunteered to keep watch first. Yusuf, Shawn and Van went to sleep.

After about an hour a police car passed by, flashing a light on every person it passed. The light was so bright it forced Jerome to turn away and caused Yusef’s eyelids to flutter before they opened.

“Where were they earlier?” Yusef said.

“How did you sleep?” Jerome asked.

“Not well,” Yusef replied. “Anyway, it’s my turn to keep watch. Go get some sleep.”

Jerome nodded his head, leaned back against the wall, buried his face in his forearms, and willed himself to sleep.

* * *

Awakened by a rough shaking of his arm, Jerome raised his head.

“Look,” Van said, “I bet the books are in those armoured trucks.”

There was no world leader, no beauty queen, no movie star, and no hero inside of the trucks, just books written by a computer, guarded by a dozen gun toting cops on wide bodied motorcycles. Nonetheless, just like everybody else, Jerome shouted and clapped as the caravan of armoured trucks passed by.

“Do you think there will be enough books?” Van said.

“They made it pretty clear in the announcement there would be enough for everybody in line,” Shawn said.

“The couple who pressed a knife and gun against your side didn’t seem to think so,” Yusef said.”

“I wonder if the cops caught them,” Van said.

“I doubt it,” Yusef said. “What do you think, Jerome?”

Without looking away from the caravan, Jerome said he hoped there would be enough books.

An hour passed, and the line had not moved. After an eternity at sea, the people in line could finally see land, yet they remained on the ship, tired, hungry, and thirsty.

The people in line started shouting at each other, accusing one another of cutting and stealing their spots. Their words grew angrier and angrier. Small scuffles broke out in parts of the line ahead and those scuffles soon turned to violent brawls as the restlessness of the people had reached its boiling point.

Jerome started to panic. And after looking at the faces of his new friends, he was convinced they felt the same. That panic turned to terror when somebody tossed a bottle that nearly struck Van’s head. It narrowly missed, but exploded against the same wall all of the young men used as a pillow just hours earlier.

“Why are they fighting?” Shawn said. “We’re almost there.”

Right when it seemed like chaos would take over, the line-up started to move. The fighting immediately ceased. It was as if the rage and the violence had never happened. People started to cheer and clap, just as they did when the caravan of trucks first arrived.

After an hour of measured shuffling, Jerome could finally see the entrance of the book store, but when it was Jerome, Van, Shawn and Yusef’s turn to walk in, the line had abruptly halted after the store’s front door slammed shut.

“What the hell?” Yusef said.

“Are there are no more books left?” Shawn said.

Before Jerome, or Van or Yusef could reply, Shawn’s words were already being repeated throughout the line behind them, except they were not uttered as a question but a definitive statement. And that statement was followed by furious shouts throughout the line.

Van started to swear, loudly, while Jerome started to panic, quietly. Jerome looked behind him at the people in line. Their furious shouts turned to violent shoves. The people, denied a tangible source to blame, turned on themselves. Vicious blows were exchanged. One person punched another, sending them to the pavement, only to be punched themselves by somebody else who sent them to the pavement, and that’s how it went, further and further down the line like an infection of rage.

“We should have done what that couple did last night,” Shawn said.

“They could have killed you,” Yusef said.

“At least they already have a copy of the book.”

“How do you know?” Jerome said.

Van shook his head and said, “He’s not wrong.”

“He wasn’t saying that when they were holding a gun and knife to his back,” Yusef replied. “And he wasn’t saying that after, when he was shaking like a bitch.”

“Well I’m saying it now,” Shawn replied.

“Then you’re an idiot now,” Yusef said.

Shawn turned to Yusef. His eyes were filled with the same anger Jerome saw in the eyes of those behind them in line.

Jerome knew what was coming, but before he could do anything, Shawn had already thrown a punch. It was a reckless haymaker that missed Yusef’s head by at least a foot. Jerome wondered if the miss was on purpose. Yusef, clearly not interested in finding out, charged at Shawn, cocked his clenched fist back, and was about to throw a punch of his own, but his punch, like countless other punches about to be thrown throughout the line, abruptly stopped as everybody turned their attention toward the bookstore’s reopening door.

A woman stepped out of the store.

“Are there still books left?” Van said.

The woman at the door smiled and nodded.

Relief was restored. Fists were lowered. Hands were unclenched. Fingers were relaxed. Smiles started to spread. Jerome saw the same people who kicked, shoved and punched those lying on the ground before them helping them back up. He saw them patting their victims on the back, and in the case of many, sharing a laugh with them, as if the victims immediately forgot they were ever victims at all.

As soon as Jerome walked into the store he saw a stack of books and a big sign that said each person was limited to a single book each. He immediately grabbed one and marvelled at the historical object. The cover was jet black with the title written in silver, and underneath the title the A.I.’s pseudonym, Sam Wild, was also written in silver. There was also a sticker on the cover saying the copy was autographed. He opened the book and on the first page he saw a ten digit bar code on the bottom right corner. He turned and saw Yusef, Shawn and Van holding their copies of the novel.

“Check your autographs,” Shawn said.

All of the young men read out the ten digit bar codes. They were all different, confirming that each one was unique.

“What do you think the title means?” Van said.

“I don’t know,” Yusef said, “but I can’t wait to find out.”

Led by Jerome, all of the young men approached another long line of people waiting to purchase the books they had all waited so long to get. When it was finally his turn, Jerome handed the book to the exhausted looking employee who without looking up took the book and scanned the bar code on the back of it. Jerome reminded himself to check if the bar code on the back of the book was the same as the autograph on the front.

Jerome gasped at the high cost of the book, and realized that up until that moment he had not once thought about how much he was going to have to pay for it.

After leaving the store, goodbyes were exchanged between Jerome and Yusef, Van and Shawn. Jerome walked to his bus stop, but not before looking back at the long line of people still waiting to enter the store and get their own copy of the historical book.

As soon as Jerome got home, he started reading, and didn’t stop until he finished the book a few minutes before three o’clock in the morning. The story was incredible. It was unlike anything he had ever read, seen or even heard about. He couldn’t wait until the next morning to hear what everybody else who was lucky enough to get a copy thought of it.

* * *

As soon as he woke up, Jerome turned on his computer, and just as he had hoped, his love of the book was unanimously shared by everybody else who got a copy. From decorated academics to regular people, the book was hailed as an instant classic. Some trusted critics said it was the greatest book ever written. One critic said that Sam Wild did not have the insight of just one author, but all authors, and did not capture the spirit of one person, but all of humanity.

By the early afternoon, the universal acclaim of the book had become so overwhelming that people started circulating jokes online about it. Jerome’s favourite joke came from a blogger who said the book’s reviews had become so glowing he had to wear sunglasses just to continue reading them.

Later that day, the CEO of the company that created Sam Wild called a press conference. Jerome, who had not left his computer since he had woken up, as he didn’t want to miss anything about what he believed to be the story of the century, watched attentively as the CEO, with a wide smile, thanked everybody for their gracious compliments of the book her creation had created. She then followed up that statement by thanking the brilliant team who aided her in creating Sam Wild in the first place. She then thanked Sam Wild itself. And she concluded her press conference by saying that as a result of the incredible success of Sam Wild’s first novel her company was going to proceed with a historical rollout of other A.I. created art that would take place over the next twelve months.

The CEO stated the first part of the rollout would be a publicly performed symphony composed by an as yet to be named A.I. system. The second part would be an art exhibition consisting of dozens of A.I. created paintings and sculptures. And the final part would be the release of the first film ever written and directed by A.I.

The applause following the CEOs statement was thunderous. Even Jerome, sitting alone in his home, staring at his computer screen, couldn’t help but clap at the announcement of what was to come. He couldn’t wait to hear, see, touch and watch what the various A.I. systems had in store, and judging from the deafening applause and immediate wave of online celebration, neither could the rest of the world.

Published by the Spadina Literary Review in October of 2018.

You can read the original version of the story here:

https://spadinaliteraryreviewarchive.com/SR27-Fic-03.html