Digital Lascaux

One day you’re going to write the best thing you’ve ever written, and you won’t even know it until maybe years later. You’ll just go on, blissfully producing a steady stream of increasingly mediocre drivel. 

And what’s worse, no one will read it, this masterpiece of yours, and it will disappear forever into some dusty hard drive in some server farm cavern. Never to be seen again, unless data archeologists stumble across it in a thousand years, like some digital Lascaux. 

Van Gogh died a pauper, and you are no van Gogh.

No Word for Yes

The Tatemae were a quiet, peace-loving race, descended from avian omnivore stock, migrating along the Perseus arm in flocks of swept-wing spacecraft. 

They were involved in more and bloodier wars than any other race in the galaxy.

The trouble was this: The race had no word for “Yes,” and thus by extension, no way to give an unambiguous “No.” Regardless of their individual feelings, culture custom and language forced any individual Tatemae to hem and haw and reply to any request with “Well, it might be difficult…” 

Did they come in peace? Well, they might, they might not. Too early to tell.

Would they be willing to exchange technologies? Ah, now, that was a good question.

Could they change their migration route? Hm. Might be tricky.

How about a peace agreement between their race and ours? Perhaps. Hard to say. 

Would they withdraw before we open fire? They’d give it some thought.

And cue another bloodbath.

Animate Entropy

As quantum scientists know, the world is shaped by observation and belief, and so it will end when enough of us want it to. We’ve approached that point asymptotically, a steady erosion of our will to live through famine, war, pestilence, and even just the common, petty, daily drudgery of not being dead.

That loss has weakened the foundations of the world, and allowed the demons in.

A demon is just animate entropy, with no more malice than an acid or alkaline, only driven by the need to liberate all the stuff that makes you you from its molecular bonds and the tyranny of being you.

This is why demons are banished by belief. Only the certainty that life in all its imperfections is still worth living will ensure that there will be any life left in the universe.

Klondike Again

The wagon master eased his horse to a halt at the crest, and turned to the train behind him. 

After centuries the Klondike River was once again a destination, though its visitors were running from something, not to. It was hot even in winter, and gritty asphalt got into everything, including the food. 

“Welcome,” he called to the refugees. “Welcome to the promised land. Welcome to the last indrawn breath before the mortal exhalation of a dying world. Welcome to the penultimate paragraph in Earth’s final chapter. 

“Enjoy the scenery, dinner is at seven. Hope you like grubs and algae, cos that’s what you’re getting.”