The Hope to Last Forever: a short story by Kody Boye
In which a teen grapples with the reality of death
Wake up, the Intelligence says.
I open my eyes to find that I am once again within the Simulation, wherein I stand within the field the Intelligence has perfectly crafted to help aid my mental wellbeing. Above, there is blue sky; below, there is green grass; and all around me there is wide, open space, within which a breeze blows, and a world like this world should teem with life.
Unfortunately, there is no life here.
There is only death.
It is a reality I have faced countless times since I was admitted into the Program—since I was offered what they considered to be a Great Opportunity.
There is no denying that I am dying. Worst yet: there is nothing anyone can do about it.
As I stand here, within the wide open space, thinking about life as a whole and what it means to actually exist, I struggle to comprehend why I even decided to take part within the Program, and why I agreed to become what is essentially a test subject. But then there is a flicker of sensation around my eyes—a pain that threatens to hollow my brain and overwhelm me.
For a moment, I grimace.
Then, there is a burning sensation at my elbow, followed by a cool rush through my veins. Shortly thereafter, the pain begins to abate, and I am once more tasked with finding solace in a world that has never once bid me welcome.
To the Intelligence, I say, “Hello.”
Hello, the disembodied voice says. What would you like to see today?
I am unsure how to respond. I have been here countless times throughout my journey, and never once has there been a time when I was lost for words. I have seen London. Paris. Rome. Greece. Have climbed the tallest of buildings and swam the deepest depths of the ocean. I have even seen the reaches of space that have been touched only by machine. But here, though, and now—
I am lost.
But for what?
I take a hesitant step forward on legs that are not truly my own—that are operated only by thought and machine—and lift my eyes to the sky in search of the Intelligence I know hides behind the clouds. “Reveal yourself,” I say.
If that is your wish, it replies.
The Intelligence appears a short moment later—an apparition seemingly flickering into existence from absolutely nothing. It is a long, interconnected series of metalwork fragments, which operates like a chain holding a pendant would. Most would describe it as serpentine—with a large, red, cyclopean eye at its front. But I—I would call it for what it truly is:
The future.
It is this creation, born of the minds of man and woman and even lesser machines alike, that will raise empires, fell kingdoms, take to the stars the people who once looked up and wondered. But of all the things it can do at present, it cannot save me.
Moments pass. Medication is administered in my physical body. My brain processes the fluids passively, and as they rush through my system, rendering my painful condition tolerable if only for a moment, I am left to gaze into the eye of a being that many would consider to be the face of everything—the supreme knowledge of the planet Earth.
Five years ago, it was little more than a code replicating itself.
Now, it sits at the height of everything as the true king of men.
“Tell me something,” I say, lifting my eyes to face it. “Why is it you cannot save me?”
The cells within your body are in a constant state of replication. We have attempted to solve the question as to why this is occurring, but it will take time.
“You told me that last time,” I say.
I apologize. We can only proceed so quickly.
“Why?”
Data must be formulated. Processed. Examined. Deleted, repeated, and replicated. Think of me as a machine—
“You are a machine.”
—that must work through its primary operation.
“You’ve been saying this for three years.”
We apologize.
“I’m going to die. Aren’t I?”
The Intelligence does not respond.
I sigh. Turn my head to look behind me. See, once again, the vastness of this place, this space. Then, I say, “Even you can’t answer that, can you?”
I cannot predict the future.
“You know that’s a lie.”
I do not lie.
“Then why do you offer me false hope?”
Because there is nothing without hope.
The sky darkens, shifting in hue from blue, to purple, to gray. A light appears in the sky shortly thereafter, and from it, a number of mathematical equations begin to shoot across the horizon, much like an aurora borealis. Numbers flicker so fast, and in arrangements of so many ones and zeros, that I could never dream of keeping track of them. Above all, this is what I know:
The machine operates on binary mathematics. There is only one, or zero.
Me, and It.
Life, or death.
Something, or nothing.
Do you understand, the Intelligence asks, what I am showing you?
“I can’t claim to,” I reply.
But do you see this is the formation in which the universe was born? In which you yourself were born?
“Am I going to die?” I ask.
I do not wish to hurt you.
“Your silence is hurting me .”
The Intelligence falls silent. The mathematic equations in the sky darken until they all but disappear. The Intelligence then says: Numbers do not replicate past a certain point.
“I’m sorry?”
There is only one, and zero. They may seem endless, especially when counted repeatedly, but at some point, there are simply too many to process. You could spend an eternity trying to do so. This is where mankind fails. Life cannot hope to last forever.
“So… I am going to die.”
Someday, yes.
“When?”
Who is to say?
“You?” I ask.
The Intelligence blinks its cyclopean eye at me. Then: No. Not me.
“But—you’re the one keeping me alive.”
I am simply a vessel through which your body is allowed passage. You may be dying physically, but you are also a part within everything. You are energy. You are math. You are a binary one.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
What do you believe it means?
I frown, but say nothing.
The Intelligence blinks its cyclopean eye at me once more. Then it asks: What do you wish to see?
“The end?” I ask.
To which it replies: There is no end. There are only new beginnings.
I close my eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.
For a moment, I feel as though I will slip away.
Then I hear those words:
Wake up.
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