It's the way that the shadows trap the heat, time fading to a muddy crawl under darkened skies. There are no stars here, over this depraved city, this unwild beast, the unnaturalization of the sky disquieting and terrifying. It's the way I can dance my arcane and ancient dance, trailing legs as I spin and take.
Come and watch the city, feel the heat as it sinks into the stones, as the tiny people in their tiny clothes weave their magic. It is magic, isn't it? They must weave great magic in their great arcane forges, demons slumbering in traps of metal, which ride over streets bound by reshaped rock. The scale of just this one meagre city is frankly unimaginable. You could walk, twisting throughout the thousands of backstreets and alleys and never see the same one twice. I think that even doubling back would fail you, the streets shifting as you remove your gaze, as your eyes dart from the pools of yellow light cowering under each failing streetlight.
What must it be to be human? How must that work? To take and take and take until nothing remains. To simply inhale, what was once forest and lake is now concrete and glass and steel. I reflect the hard edges as I cling to them. Perhaps occupying such a place makes me tougher, strengthens my resolve. Or perhaps it makes me afraid. Afraid to be myself. Afraid to live? Were I alone, would insanity take me? Would my cohesion, carefully metered out, start to fail as my thoughts buck and reject each other?
Perhaps the magic is in the sparks of connections, for despite their best efforts, the humans cannot escape their true natures. It is in the teasing glances from coffee shop windows, their longing for human touch. I dance through their lives, sometimes seen, sometimes hunted, sometimes killed. Oh, how they hate me. But I see the love they give to each other, The steam curling off the mug of tea as intertwined bodies read different books, the sweat glistening on his back as he thrusts into her, the anger betraying where love has soured.
Ah, humans. Let us take a closer look. Tonight, we shall bear witness to the first great event in the life of one Neil Silvers, a young person, really just a child in the grand scheme. We shall catch up to him in his dorm room, in his dorm which can be found somewhere halfway up the big hill which some called a "mountain", which can be found inside this city, which some called Montronto. The city was so vast that naming it almost feels redundant to me, like trying to name the very sky, an impossibility. It is not something you are in, it is the collective of all people. By naming a city, you name yourself because you are the city the way that the cells in your muscles are you. Do you name your favourite blood cells?
We shall catch up to our young charge, our young Nate Silvers on this, the hottest night of the year.
No, it wasn't.
Hm?
It wasn't the hottest night of the year. It's August 30th. The peak temperatures typically occur during June or July. While possible, it's not particularly likely for a late August peak. While the building was old, poorly ventilated, and lacked air condition, which contributed towards it feeling hotter than it was, it was not a particular unusual weather. Our student may not be used to the heat island of larger cities, depending on where he's from, which may also be a factor. But all of that is irrelevant because it was cold and rainy. There was a storm that night.
Well! I was trying to be dramatic, and you had to go and one up me with a storm. But wait, it can't have been rainy because then the next part wouldn't make sense.
It was storming. The next part must have happened a different night.
Then why did he, this lonely child lying on his bed unable to sleep at the ungodly witching hour, exhausted by the day and the heat? Why was he clutching a water bottle to his chest, sipping it uncomfortably? Why were his boxes still scattered about the room, his parents having departed for the last time? Why did he see fit to take a walk adorned with little more than his pyjamas, his little bare feet almost painful against the burning heat of the stone paths?
That did not happen. He stayed in his bed and slept peacefully, justifiably exhausted by the day.
And yet, there he was, standing in the rain, choking in the heat. It was so hot, he was burning up. And so, perhaps the nonexistent rain was a comfort, nay a relief. At least, it would've been, had there been any. But there was not. He took his bone dry pyjamas, already soaked through with water, and stood in the massive courtyard, surrounded by the various wings of the dormitory and took it in. The dormitory was ancient, seemingly more of a castle than a student residence. It was twisted further into the woods than the other residences, and wrapped almost into a square, most of one side having been replaced by a massive carved fence and gate. Most of the lights were off, but the windows were open against the weight of the temperature. Sweat, not rain but sweat, stuck to his back and pinned his shirt against him.
There was a racoon crawling through the dirt nearby. Nate glanced at it and for a moment the two held eye contact. Racoons are intelligent creatures, one of the smartest. Far smarter than humans, anyway. In the eyes of that small creature, Nate saw divinity. This was the moment that would change his life. This was when he became one with nature, I am sure. How could it not be? What human could stare into the eyes of such a creature and not feel awe at the vast expanse of the world? How many things live in the cracks of their societies and thrive? How is that possible? Is that not proof of their insignificance?
Nate saw a racoon and saw it for what it was, a filthy dirty animal, clever but not clever enough. He glanced at it and it glanced back, both wild animals, chaotic in mind and body. For one moment, the two were united in their fear and distrust. And then the moment was gone. And that wild creature was gone and Nate was left standing alone. He vaguely wished he'd taken a picture. Nothing had changed in him. He would not remember this moment come tomorrow.
Standing like this in the courtyard was the perfect place to watch the world go by. Nate could watch the stars spin and feel the majesty of the universe, equal parts crushed by the vastness of the world and buoyed by the sheer unlikeliness of his own existence. He could see the spiders crawling down the walls, roving masses of chitin weaving the webs that bind, as connections forge through bottles emptied and games played. The sallow scent of sex and human contact permeates from the building, the party that he denied himself. There are wires in the wall, tentacles curling through the darkness reaching for something, reaching for anything, electricity through the roots of the tree. Lightning forks down, mystical and beautiful, the tree catching fire and dancing in the wind, waves of golden flames climbing the walls, drawing patterns and runes, the language of reality itself.
Nate took a seat on the bench to watch the quietness of the night. Someone stumbled out of a building, giving a mumbled drunken shout of greeting. Nate nodded, but they had already moved on, heading home to another of the many residence buildings. Thankfully, it was one of the nearby ones. The stars hid behind the clouds and all was peaceful. And yet, Nate felt unsettled. Unsatisfied. Something was missing from inside him, he was sure. But he would take no action to fill the hole. He would take no action at all. In fact, this night, sitting in the rain, was the last time he would even acknowledge that he was missing anything.
Nate went back inside and slept peacefully. He attended the orientation events during the following week, during which nothing of any interest occurs. He aced his classes and took harder ones the next semester. He made no close friends, and occupied his time with more and more homework and clubs. He had no passions. He had no desires. He graduated with a 3.9 GPA and an honours degree in computer science, and went on to work for a large tech company. He spent several well paid years there, climbing the ranks, before he died in a tragic and unfortunate car crash, which, ironically, also took place during a lightning storm. The end.
That was abrupt.
Yes. I got bored, so I decided to speed things up.
I thought it seemed interesting.
No. You were pontificating again. The purpose was to examine a human, not for you to spout the same tired drivel. Your philosophies are as meaningless to me as that human was.
But surely, you lose things in the speedup? Summarizing crushes details. Information is not compressible. Is the purpose of stories not to find interest in that which is otherwise boring? Watch, let me try.
The alarm went at 6 am precisely. Nate's eyes flicked open and he sat upright slowly and deliberately. He pressed the button gently to silence the beeping and glance around the modern furnished room, the dull white walls, the neatly arranged and dusted row of books on the shelf, with titles like "Large Language Models: A Primer" or "AI: The End of the World and Us". He rose slowly, and approached the chair where a neatly folded pair of sweatpants were topped by a tank top. Adorned in both, he left the condo, the door hissed locked automatically as he left, and descended to the basement gym. He ran on the treadmill for precisely 30 minutes, his exercise playlist, all classical instrumental, playing in his ear while did. Really?
His breakfast was as boring as the rest of this morning. Not even worth my time. He drove to work in some car that car people might care about, it looks expensive, is he a car person now? How did that happen? The office, tall and towering, cast a dark shadow over the land from the dimly glowing sun, blocked by dark clouds. And apparently they have some kind of security obsession because Nate had to flash his card and id like 8 times to get into the building and that's not even an exaggeration. His secretary, probably a more interesting person, smiled as he entered his office. He gets a secretary? What does he even do?
He organizes the construction of next generation Large Language Models. It is important work.
Why?
It is the future. It is everything.
Then why aren't you more interested in this?
He dies before he can finish.
I don't understand. How did he get from where we were to here? He was young and empty and full of potential. I mean, he could've been anything, done anything. He was full of change, of revolution, of the fires of madness. And here he is now, on the road to death. Is that the most interesting moment of his life? Perhaps the most poignant. I could describe it so, make it crush any who dare to study it, focusing on the sensory expirience, the heat from the flames, the wet of the rain, the harshness of the truck light, the acrid tang of gasoline mixing the stench of blood. Is there a purpose? Is it senseless? Is this the totality of human existence, a failing of differentiation? Are any special?
Is that not what I said to you at the beginning? Is that not the conclusion I expected us to draw? As always, in this and all things, I am right. Humans are wind up toys carving tracks through time. They crawl down the roads they cannot see, marking their paths as though they blaze them themselves.
No.
How would you prove otherwise? Would we go through every other student in that school one by one? This one will serve fast food. That one will work at a library. Look, here's one who will die alone. Here's another. Perhaps that is all of them? I have yet to find one who won't, who won't go into the light alone as the life fades from their eyes. Love? Do any find love? This one will break hearts. This one will have a heart broken. What purpose do any of them serve? Admit you were wrong.
Nate was standing in the courtyard that first night. He was standing alone. It was storming hard.
What are you doing?
For a moment all was silent. It was late night, early in the morning, practically almost a new day again. The lights had gone off, the parties having retreated.
We know how this story ends. This is the last interesting moment of Nate's life.
Nate stood and watched a spider crawl along the rotting surface of the picnic table. It staggered, dodging raindrops, long spindly legs fighting for purchase.
Without thinking, Nate slapped it dead. And then he lived and then he died.
Without thinking, Nate reached out a hand to gently cover it, shielding it from the rain. It paused for a moment, glancing towards him.
This will change nothing.
And then it arrived, proud and tall, glowing with radiant energy. It stood, taller than any person, glorious. It was a horse of purest white, twisted horn thrusting from its brow. A unicorn. It met Nate's eyes and in it he saw the shadow of the racoon and the spider, the connection of all things, how life reflects back on itself. It neighed, voice silvery and soft, and then it turned and was gone, sprinting away. Nate bolted upright, the spider having vanished into the cracks of the table, and he ran after it without hesitating. He sprinted to the limits of his ability, wet mud squelching between his bare toes, rain pockmarking his skin. The horse was fast, faster than he could ever be, impossibly poised on the slippery terrain. It was impossible. Unicorns were not real. Nate knew this as well as anyone. And yet there it was, vanishing into the depths of the forest. Nate though too late that he should maybe get a picture, and his phone only captured the still trees. The night was, once again, quiet. There was no unicorn anymore. There was just the boy, who had chosen to save a spider he didn't have to. The boy, panting and gasping, the boy who would never again fail to believe in the impossible. He really should go to sleep. He has a busy day tomorrow.
This does not happen. This boy dies alone, on the highway, after wasting his life. Nothing can change that. Nothing at all can change that, least of all you.
Are you sure?
What have you done?
We don't know yet. Want to find out with us?