Y – whY?

Y – WhY?

 

Why is it that truth explains all 

And what we need to hear?

If truth is in the eye of the beholder

What if the teller’s belief is wrong?

 

Why is it that young children are led to believe

That fairies and jolly bearded men give us presents?

Yet, we tell them of dangers of the world

The truth of predators and prey.

 

Why is it that the consequences of our actions

Are supposed to fit the crime?

But some of those who break the law

Get rewarded for their misdeeds.

 

Why is it when promises are given

With trust to reassure us?

There are promises that are broken

Only to leave us in despair.

 

Why are there questions asked by many

For answers sought to give us peace?

Responded with thoughtless actions 

Using violence, distrust, and hate

And why, in a world that needs

So much love and care?

Do we squander away the beauty and hope

Of our future.

 

I ask you – WHY?

Posted in A to Z Blog Challenge 2024, Original Stories, Personal Stories, Writing | Tagged , , | 1 Comment

X – eXcess

X – eXcess 

Xavier Voleurhomme was a very rich man. No one knew exactly how he gained all of his riches, and many suspected it was not by legal means. They weren’t even sure if Voleurhomme was his real name. 

People did know that he had a lot of money and that he had no problem spending it. 

Xavier was born in a small town in Iowa—at least, that is what he claims. Though an American citizen, he spent much of his life living in a villa in southern France, as records that I could find show. Little information is available about his parentage. Some suggest that he was abandoned as a baby to an orphanage and adopted by a well-to-do family, which would explain some of the money he had, but proof is non-existent. 

When one has money in excess of one’s need for survival, we hope it will be used for the good of others. Investing in foundations to help the poor or for medical research would be a good use of money, as would funding colleges and science organizations to foster educational opportunities for all and ways to improve our world. Similarly, donating to worthy causes would be a good use of money. 

But Xavier was a product of the 21st-century Me-Only generation. The only thing in which he was willing to invest money was himself. 

Some of that money was spent on his luxuries. His villa was immense, as was his private airport, expensive cars, yacht, vineyard, and personal staff. He had luxury homes in multiple countries and extensive art collections. It was said that he even had a private island with its own golf course.

Xavier never had a job, as far as I could tell. When he wasn’t at his home in France, he was in another country. Being an American citizen made the United States a favored destination. Records show a lot of time spent in Washington, D.C. and the capitals of many states.

For some reason, Xavier had a talent for making himself invisible. Having your own island and jet allows you to do that. Whenever he returned from these mysterious excursions, a large sum of money was added to his bank accounts. 

Somehow, none of his bank accounts and tax records in any of the countries from which he may have earned this money were ever made public. 

Clever news reporters, like myself, and lawyers might have managed to uncover some information, but they would inexplicably remain quiet about their findings, and some disappeared. 

It seems that when large quantities of money could be found missing in his accounts, though he had no explanation, several political and judicial entities in different countries gained income almost matching the amount of the missing money. Xavier never paid any taxes, nor was he asked to. I wonder how he managed that.

Would the truth about Xavier ever be known? You might want to check out the legislation where you live—what has passed and what never reached the table. You might find a connection between Xavier’s visits and money dispersals. You could ask him directly, but have fun trying to find him. 

I started writing this to expose Xavier Voleurhomme for who he is: a robber man. However, I’m ending it trying to find a place where I can’t be found. I do have more information that I could share, but I value my life more. 

 

Be wary!

Signed, Harvey Heilbrun (not my real name)

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W – “A” Word

The writing assignment for this piece was to pick four words from a 21-word list of words that began with the letter A. With the chosen 4, I was to write a story. I chose all 21 of the words. I had 20 minutes to write. The 28 words are in italics.

This copy of my writing has been edited from the original draft. 



W – “A” Word (An All-encompassing Story)

Alan lived alone in a one-room apartment on the top floor of an 11-story building in the heart of the city. I would like to say that his life was that of an ordinary city dweller, but I’d be lying to you if I did. 

Alan was adventurous to a fault. He rarely paid attention to rules. There was a time when the elevator in his building was shut down for repairs. He could have walked up the stairs like everyone else, but that was too easy. Actually, he loved challenges. So when the elevator on the first floor of his apartment building was open, even though they had tape crisscrossed across it, Alan decided to scale the elevator shaft. It would be just like when he scaled the ice mountains in Antarctica. Luckily no one caught him doing that, so there was no need to apologize or suffer any consequences of his actions. Considering the state of the elevator and the shaft, he was lucky that he was still alive

Of course, one other person in the building knew Alan well and was privy to his quirks. That was April.

Anyone who met April would find her rather aloof. She was an artist. She enjoyed taking real pictures and then airbrushing them so that no one would recognize the original picture, and she could take credit for painting them. April loved taunting Alan and all his escapades, which was annoying to him. 

Anyhow, the two of them lived across the hall from each other. This gave April a clear view through the door viewer when Alan came and went—more food for the gristmill, as she would say. 

Whenever they met in the hall, they started a conversation that inevitably ended in arguing. Neither was willing to accept the other. 

That continued until the accident one day just outside their apartment. They had spotted each other from across the street. April had that little smirk on her face, you know, that look of, I just found something out about you that I’m going to share on Facebook with everyone. Alan couldn’t put up with that look and decided it was time to be aggressive. He ran across the street to confront April. 

April saw the truck before Alan did and tried to shout out a warning, but she was too late. The truck driver didn’t even stop after hitting Alan, but the rest of the traffic did.

April ran across the street to help Alan, tears streaking down her face. Alright, maybe she did have some feelings for him. He stood up when she approached his side and said, “Gotcha!” As I said, Alan was adventurous and an All-Star at faking accidents that’s how he made most of his money, scamming insurance companies. 

That was it for Alice. From that day on, she was silent whenever she passed Alan in the halls. She let him do whatever he wanted; she didn’t care what happened to him. 

She did, but not in the way she once had. Someone did whistle-blow on all his illegal activities, and he got caught. I’m not telling who.

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V – Veracity – My thoughts

V – Veracity – My thoughts

I’m a storyteller and a writer. I know that I should be truthful in all my sharings regarding details of events in my life and “non-fiction” stories that I create. The word ‘create’ means bring into existence. And if you are bringing something into existence, that implies that it didn’t exist in the first place. Therefore, the veracity of what you share is questionable. 

Does that mean that when I write and share nonfiction, I shouldn’t refer to it as something I’ve created? What other word should I use—produced, penned, recounted, remembered, authored, or simply something I wrote?

The fact is that I do “create” all of the stories and writings I share. Fictional pieces are made up, though nothing stops them from having some truth in the text. It certainly can make what I share more believable. Non-fictional pieces require me to research or use my memory as a source of information. If you know anything about me, my memory of instances in my life can significantly differ from those of people who were with me at the same experience. So, are they true? If they are not, but I think they are, am I creating something?

Even if the facts are correct, I must find a way to present that information in my voice. To do that, I must ‘create’ my storytelling or writing to fit who I am. Veracity need not be questioned. 

But let’s face it, I’ll always be a storyteller; as for writing, that’s just a vehicle in which I share some of my stories. 

As far as I’m concerned, the reader/listener is responsible for discovering the veracity of anything I share. When in doubt, look it up. 

You could ask me, as children and adults often do, “Is that true?” But be cautioned.  I won’t deny anything when directly asked. However, listen carefully to how I answer your question. It usually sounds like, “Well, if it isn’t, it should be.” 

 

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U – What is wit youse guys?

U – What is wit youse guys?

Ursula woke up and stared at Ulysses, lying there making that fake snoring sound, pretending to be asleep. Poking him, she said, “You are not fooling anyone. Get out of bed and make my coffee; it’s your turn.”

Ulysses opened one eye and mumbled, “You can make your own coffee. I made it yesterday.”

Ursula’s poke was a little bit stronger this time. “You made it yesterday morning,” she replied, “I made it last night, so it’s your turn.”

“You think you’re so smart,” Ulysses thought, but out loud, he said, “You’re right, as usual, I will make your coffee.”

Ursula got dressed and came downstairs for breakfast. On the dining room table was a cup of coffee. Well, there was a cup and granules of coffee in it, but it was missing one ingredient: hot water. 

Ever the joker, Ulysses could see the perplexed look on her face. “I’m sorry, I made your cup of coffee. Did you want it with water also?”

I would say that the day went downhill from there, but since this was how their days usually went, I would have to say things continued on level ground. But for some unknown reason, they stayed together. 

“You! You!” she grimaced, “Why do I even stay with you?” She said as she added the hot water from the tea kettle (at least Ulysses had set it up) to her cup. 

Ulysses politely made a ham and egg on muffin breakfast special, put it on a plate, and placed it in front of Ursula. “Because I cater to you’re every whim,” he said, “And you love me.”

Ursula had no response, so she just had her coffee and ate her breakfast. 

“What do you want to do today?” Ursula asked. 

“What do you want to do?” was Ulysses’ response. 

“I always decide, it’s your turn,” she said.

“Ah, then I decide we should do nothing all day,” he announced. 

“You always do nothing. Let’s go shopping.”

“And you always go shopping,” Ulysses was quick to say. “I vote for nothing.”

“If I do nothing all day, I’ll go stir-crazy. We at least have to do something,” she said.

He suggested,  “How about we watch the ballgame? I see that the Mets are playing at 2:00.”

“Another ballgame? How many do they play in a week? It seems like every day.”

“Yeah,” Ulysses answered sarcastically, ‘that’s how the baseball season works.”

“Well, You can watch your baseball. I’m going out.”

Ursula left the breakfast dishes for Ulysses to deal with and sent some texts to her friends. She was about to head out when she turned to Ulysses and said, “Don’t forget we’re having dinner tonight with your co-worker, Uriah.”

“Right,” he responded, “and that woman from your book group, Uma. 

She added, “I’m hoping they’ll hook up. They are perfect for each other.” 

“You should know,” look at how well we turned out,” he said as she left for the day.

As the door closed, neither could hear each other say, “I hope you’ve planned a good meal. We should make a good impression on them.”

What happened that evening? Regardless of Ulysses and Ursula’s attempt at a truthful portrayal of a well-matched couple in front of Uriah and Uma, I am certain that unforeseen consequences will follow. Any guesses?

 

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T – Truth and Consequences or A Dreamer’s Hope

T – Truth and Consequences or A Dreamer’s Hope

Dreams are a reality of life, for we all dream. What we dream and who we dream about vary between individuals. 

Being a storyteller and a writer, my imagination helps me create the written and telling world I live in. My dreams can occasionally create a storyline that inspires me to write many stories I share.  

Some of the stories I share are pure fiction. Some memoir pieces share more about where I come from and what makes me who I am. And then some combine the two—descriptions from my real life, with added fictional, or as a storyteller, I might say embellished characters or events.

Sometimes, when I dream, I picture my world as I grow older. In those instances, I am myself, and some people in the dream are known to me. Other times, I am outside myself, looking down at a previous or future version of me. In some cases, questions are raised about the truth of what I’m seeing, either in the dream or when I wake up after the dream. What are the potential consequences of whatever actions I’m looking at? Do they explain anything about me that I’m not aware of?

Such was the case in a recent dream where I saw myself in situation after situation, and I couldn’t remember the name of someone I was interacting with, or I couldn’t recall how to do something familiar to me, and simple things that I knew I could do, I couldn’t. Friends and family were around me in each instance, reminding me and helping me do or recall what was needed in that particular situation. With their help, I did remember, recall, and accomplish what needed to be done.

When I awoke, that dream was vivid in my mind. Dementia entered my thoughts. How does one get to that stage in life? Is it genetic? Is it some sort of disease of the brain? Or is it something else? 

I have known several friends and family members who have had or had to deal with someone who had dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. I have not researched this, so what I’m about to suggest is speculative at best. 

What if your imagination builds up these hypothetical dreams of a reality that involve you, like the ones I’ve had? With enough different possibilities that you are living through, is there a point where you can’t distinguish between what you see in real life and all the scenarios you have lived through in your head? It certainly would be enough to confuse you in your real reality. 

If the overwhelming discrepancy between what is the truth and what is just fantasy is too great, maybe your mind just blocks them all out as a defense to stay sane. 

However, the diagnosis from others is, “You are suffering from dementia.”

If my theory holds, then research should focus on finding a way for doctors or scientists to see what your dreams are producing. If too many conflicts distort your reality, they should work on finding ways to selectively block or limit the falsehoods so that the real world becomes your only storyline. That doesn’t mean you would stop your other creativity-inspired dreams. It wouldn’t take medicines or nursing homes, and you could live the life you were meant to live, remembering the things that are important to you and should be remembered. 

If we could do that, it would make a great difference in our world. 

 

This may sound implausible. A guy can dream, can’t he?

 

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S – Signs of Our Times

S – Signs of Our Times

Sometimes the consequences of what’s true, can create problems that need further action. Trying to avoid the consequences, by making them the truth can also lead to other consequences. For example: 

Truthville was aptly named. It’s a little-known village in the heart of Long Island. You won’t find it on any map, but when you drive through the town and read the road signs, you will realize how many people you encounter on our roads must have come from there.

The Truthville legislature was very forward-thinking. They realized that limiting the number of road signs as to what drivers should do meant that they would need a better police force to control all those who chose not to be forewarned by the signs and ignored them. So why not invest money in creating signs that specify what drivers already do? It was a bit of an investment, but ultimately, it saved the village a lot of money and court time. However, insurance claims did go up.

Here are some of the changes that were made: 

Signs Eliminated Signs Instituted
Yield First come. First served
Speed Limit___ Speed Unlimited
Watch for Pedestrians Watch for Vehicles
Right of Way Any Way You Want
One Way Any Way that works for you
Recommended Speed You’ll Either Make It or You Won’t
Men at Work Women, Men, and Non-Binary at Work

Once these rules were implemented, the term Freeway had a different meaning. Several people that did live in Truthville, became very frustrated by these new rules since everyone followed them. Those individuals who had been driving against the rules before this change felt like they were being singled out. So they moved to different places on Long Island where they could break the rules as they did before. You can easily recognize them. They’re the ones you usually honk at. 

With these new rules in effect, the head sign maker (before he was forced to resign) decided to add a few more signs of his own. You should note that the head sign maker was a *logophile. Here are some of the adaptations he made. Some were additions to signs that already existed, and others were new signs, usually placed at the other end of the road or on other roads:

*a lover of words and wordplay  

 

Original Addition to sign or Alternative sign
Road Closed Unless Opened
Falling Rocks May Rise after hitting the ground
Road Work Ahead Road Play Ahead (look out for kids)
Do not Pass Do Not Receive
Keep Right Except to Pass Keep Left except to Punt
No Standing Anytime No Sitting Except in Vehicle
Dead End Live Opening
No Trespassing It’s a Free Country – Go where you want
No Idling Get a Job!
HOV Speed Limit – 20 mph less than —> lane
Caution Speed Bump Caution Speed Divot (Pothole)

 

As of this writing, control of the town is under discussion. It is believed that some individuals and organizations are seeking to buy out the town and take control of it for…well…I’m not sure what. Rumor is that they deal with motor vehicles, sales, and insurance and are looking to expand upon these signs. They appear to be well-funded and politically active.

Time will tell what the consequences of this buyout will be.

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R – Rescue and Return

R – Rescue and Return

 

This continues the story Back to Selat, followed by D – Darkness, F – Fox, L – Lies, and O – Origins. If you haven’t already, you may want to read them first. This is the conclusion.

———-

Once I finally connected with Red’s Grandmother and discovered the truth about how the Wolf found Necroma’s book of spells and used it with the help of Fox to plunge the Kingdom of Selat into darkness, I continued my task to find Little Red and the whereabouts of Necroma’s book and hope that I was in time to reverse the spell. Not an easy task.

But then again, nothing had been easy so far. 

It was time to meet another friend of Red’s, Goldilocks. I thought about going to the three bear’s house but remembered that Goldilocks was persona non grata there. Then I decided to go to a little-known tavern where some girls from folktales (Red, Goldie, Clever Manka, Gretel, Briar Rose, to name a few) liked to hang out. It was called Aesop’s Tables. 

When I arrived, it was mid-afternoon, not that you would notice, as it was dark everywhere. There weren’t many customers. The tavern was dimly lit by candlelight. Luckily, I spotted Goldilocks at a corner table chatting with Gerda (for those who don’t recognize the name, she is the girl from Hans Christian Andersen’s story ‘The Snow Queen’). They were surprised to see me and invited me to sit with them. After explaining everything that had happened since my arrival in Selat, I asked them if they had any idea where I might find Red. 

Having had some bear experience, Goldie suggested we look for Red near where wolves hide things. Gerda was even more helpful. She knew exactly where that would be. Her friendship with a little robber girl gave her lots of knowledge about hidden things that had been stolen. 

It was a bit of a journey, but we made it to Wolf’s cache before the day was out. Knowing that both Wolf and Fox were elsewhere thanks to a cleverly hidden (in plain sight) message I had left for them to find, which told them where another of Necroma’s books could be found (Even I have to lie sometimes to get to what I want), the three of us entered a cave. My flashlight’s batteries, though low, still provided enough light for us to look around. 

Fox may have been clever, but Wolf certainly was not, and it wasn’t very hard to find Necroma’s book. The odd thing about the cave was that we could hear a voice calling out for help; we recognized the voice; it was Red’s, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

As my flashlight was about to go out, I used the book to see if I could reverse Wolf’s spell. I found the spell in time just before darkness overtook our position. I read these words carefully aloud.

 

Strength of voice through darkness calls

Create a path that breaks through walls

Within the dark, with all your might

Return to us what’s naturally right

Let night be night, and day be day

With this command, do as I say.

I had one more thing to say, but those words were to be thought about, not said aloud, which I did.

Immediately, the light grew stronger, both outside the cave and inside. My flashlight even found new strength and shined. We found Red tied up in a corner, and we freed her. Whatever the spell that had made her invisible to us seemed to have been broken, too.

Leaving the cave, all appeared to be back to how it should be. We could see the sun rise over the trees. Sounds of birds and other animals flooded the forest. And as we traveled back to the caretaker, the feeling of warmth and kindness exuded from all we passed.

The caretaker, the mystic, Jack, and Red’s grandmother were all waiting for us on our return. 

I asked about the wolf and fox and what would happen to them. I was told it was an internal matter and that both would be dealt with. I asked no more. Necroma’s book was given to the caretaker. I have no knowledge of what was done with it either. 

With much thanks and a fond farewell from the inhabitants of Selat, I was led back to the portal to my world. 

It’s been a few weeks since this occurred, and since I have not heard from Selat about their lives, I assume all is well.

I did notice, however, that it has become very difficult to find books or story collections with tales about foxes or wolves in our world. Is that a consequence of their actions on Selat? Truth be told, it just might be. 

And that’s my story. You believe me, don’t you? Would I lie to you?

 

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Q – Quiet

Q – Quiet

Quincy sat on the hard chair. There was a single light over his head, a table in front of him, with his interrogator glaring at him from the other side.

“Where were you, exactly, this morning when Queenie disappeared!” Detective Quade shouted. 

Quincy remained silent. It was not that he didn’t know the answer; he was pretty sure where the culprit was, but pleading the fifth was the equivalent of admitting guilt, and besides, this was much more fun. He liked the deal he had. Queenie was his best bud. 

“OH, the silent type, are you?” exclaimed Quade. “Being quiet won’t help your cause, you know.” 

Again, Quincy remained silent.

“We could book you right now for trespassing. You know you were seen entering Queenie’s flat.”

Why shouldn’t he have been seen? Everyone knew that he often delivered food to the Quillers. They even gave him the key to the apartment in case they weren’t home. Still, he remained quiet. 

You could see the redness beginning to flush Detective Quade’s face. Quade got up and began nervously pacing the room in front of Quincy. 

Trying to calm his voice, Quade said, “Listen, pal. If you give me some answers, I can keep anything you say to me here out of your file.” 

“May I have a drink of water?” Quincy asked rather glibly. 

Quade was quick to jump on that. “Oh, so you can talk. Sure, you can have some water when you give me the answers to the questions I ask.”

Quincy just sat back, closed his eyes, and made no sound or indication that he planned to say anything, which frustrated the detective even more. 

Violence was out of the question. Even the threat of violence would bring lawsuits down on the department, which could cost the detective his job. Quade was on shaky ground but he needed to know what happened. The Quillers were very rich and influential people. If Queenie wasn’t found or something happened to her, there would be hell to pay. Queenie was just a child. 

Police were stationed at the Quiller’s house, hoping the criminals would call and ask for money for Queenie’s release. But as of yet, no call had come in. 

“This is your last chance,” Quade said, “If I don’t get some answers about your whereabouts and anything you know about this Queenie kidnapping, I’m going to book you for obstruction of justice.”

Quincy was getting tired of all of this foolishness. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a solitary metal device, and handed it to the detective. 

“What is this?” the detective shouted, “Some sort of vaping pipe?”

Deciding not to remain quiet anymore but unwilling to give away too much of what he suspected, Quincy said, “Why don’t you just take it to the Quiller’s house and use it? Just don’t tell them I gave it to you.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?”

Quincy returned to quiet mode, shut his eyes again, leaned back on his chair, placed his hands behind his head, and smiled. 

Quade just threw his hands up, went to the door, told the assistant guarding it to keep an eye on the prisoner and then left. 

About an hour later, Quade returned looking none too pleased. He told the guard to release the prison…Quincy.

The detective threw the device back to Quincy, who caught it deftly. “Here’s your stupid dog whistle back. Why on God’s earth didn’t you tell me that the bloody dog was hiding in the laundry room?”

Quincy finally felt safe spilling the beans. “One, I didn’t know exactly where she would be; she’s only a puppy; I only suspected she was sleeping somewhere in the house. Secondly, if I ended up being the one that embarrassed the Quillers, they would probably stop letting me feed and play with the dog. I really get along well with Queenie, not to mention what good tippers the Quillers are. A guy’s got to live, you know.”

“You’re just lucky I didn’t fink you out,” Quade said, “When I showed this whistle to one of the cops stationed by their phone, he knew exactly what it was and blew into it. The dog came out running in seconds. I took the whistle back quickly before the Quillers could see it. When they asked how we found Queenie, it was my turn to be quiet. You’re not the only one that can play these games. I mean, detectives don’t like to be embarrassed either.”

And that was it. I got released, the Quillers got their dog back, and I even got Queenie a special treat from our store. Other than me, the detective, and the policeman who blew the whistle on this caper, no one was the wiser. 

 

 

 

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P – Predestined or not?

P – Predestined or not?

Karma—What you sow is what you reap. It dictates that you are in control of your actions. Do good, and you get good in return. Be bad or evil, and bad things will happen to you. Just look around you. Do those good people you look up to receive any goodness in return? How about those you know are deceivers and do bad things for their selfish needs? Do they all get their comeuppance?  Some do, and some don’t. So, what does that tell you about karma?

Or do you believe in fate? Everything is predestined. Your life has been planned out from the day you are born until the day you die. You may think you control your life, but your good or bad decisions have already been programmed into your DNA.

The third philosophical concept is that we are born with free will. Every decision we make throughout our lives is of our choosing. Whether it turns out good or bad, whether there are repercussions or rewards, all reflect our choices and other people’s free will. 

If we could see into the future, might this be what transpires:

————-

Harold was well-versed in all of those karma, predestiny free will theories. He laughed at the amount of writing and discussions that existed, espousing one theory over another. He loved tinkering with each one. 

Harold worked for the Federal Android company, O.H.G.O.D. Inc. Very few people ever heard of it, and if they knew what the letters stood for, they would be even more skeptical. (FYI—it stands for Official Harbinger Giving Out Destiny.) 

The year was 2124. Harold’s job was very simple. He was in charge of the species’ history and maintaining the prescribed knowledge base. O.H.G.O.D.’s origins date back to the 21st century. 

Modern medical technology created artificial organs and transplants that helped prolong life as far back as the 20th century. The first artificial device was an artificial heart valve implant, which occurred in 1960. Artificial hip joints, knee replacements, skin regeneration, hearts, ears, bones, etc., followed. 

In the late 21st century, well after the artificial brain and nervous systems had been developed, a group of entrepreneurs got together to discuss the fate of our world. With more than half of the population on Earth consisting mainly of artificial parts, they decided that it was time to create an organization that maintained the history of our species dedicated to ensuring the survival of human and non-artificial life. O.H.G.O.D. was formed. 

O.H.G.O.D was originally run by only humonormals (people with no artificial parts) and tasked with making sure history was remembered and learned from. As time went on and fewer and fewer “humonormals” existed, O.H.G.O.D began infusing more “artispecials” (those with artificial parts, especially artificial brains) into their company. 

By 2110, if any humonormals existed, they could not be found. By then, O.H.G.O.D. was completely run by what people in the 20th century might have called androids.

Harold’s job allowed him to input information into any Android brain in the WORSHIP (Worldwide Origins Registery Securing Information Platform) database. None of the “people” he was inputting that information into were aware of it. 

And that is where tinkering with karma vs. free will vs. pre-destiny all came into play. 

The truth was whatever Harold felt like putting into the head of that particular individual. He basically determined what everyone’s life would be like and what philosophy they bought into. All of the people of the world believed that their version of reality was the truth. And Harold wasn’t the only one with that control. Even he had to sleep sometimes, though he could control how much sleep was necessary with his artificial Circadian rhythm. Everyone in his position loved to tinker, especially when it came to making decisions about life. 

To those like Harold, this was a simulation game. 

And consequences…that was not Harold’s problem, as his supervisor never knew what Harold and the others were doing. It helped that their supervisors were in the WORSHIP database, which they had access to. 

————-

Back to reality, here in 2024, What are your thoughts? Is the scenario I laid out about our values and the decisions we make a feasible future? 

Personally, I don’t really care what you think, for in my humble opinion, it has all been predestined from the start. 

 

Posted in A to Z Blog Challenge 2024, Original Stories, Writing | Tagged , | Leave a comment