A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others.

Evil requires the sanction of the victim.

It only stands to reason that where there's sacrifice, there's someone collecting the sacrificial offerings. Where there's service, there is someone being served. The man who speaks to you of sacrifice is speaking of slaves and masters, and intends to be the master.

Ayn Rand

time

Here I stand in the middle of chaos. Surrounded by symbols of a life spent trudging patterns into the earth. I have traveled miles within a square no bigger than twenty feet and I have seen kingdoms rise and fall in the palm of my hand. My own kingdom is now going to fall, not in the palm of my hand but because of it. I am going to die and soon you will too. As you read this, realize I had no intention of bringing about the end of man. I, like many others before me, simply was looking for answers. Generations of living beings had the same questions and doubts. But now, there is no doubt. I am truly sorry for any pain I have and will cause you. Please do not hate me for what I have done, I only did what I thought I was supposed to do.

I stare at a clock hanging on an insignificant wall. I don’t remember ever changing the batteries after all these years, but yet the hands still turn. It does not so much keep time now, but count down to the end of it. It is funny how time actually has different speeds. For some, it goes by too fast and for others, time has a way of taking, well, time. I tend to find myself in the latter group. I seem to be waiting longer and longer, for time to end. I have seen to it, that my time will end before anyone else’s, with a slim hope someone will ask the right question. That is why I leave this letter. I hope you will be able come up with a question that will make things right again. By now you must be wondering what all this babbling is about. Ramblings about questions, answers and end of the world type stuff. I am going to share my story with you. Please read carefully. Somehow, maybe you will see where I went wrong, and know how to fix things.

I will not bore you with stories of beatings or abandonment. My childhood was rough and in turn I buried myself in books. I went through many phases of interest in literature. From my fascination with the Byronesque characters in the romantic period to Stoker’s wonderful subterfuge of British rule in his masterpiece Dracula. Though I must say the work that changed my direction in life was Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Throughout my life I have found myself enthralled with the many different characters in this wonderful masterpiece. The layers of meaning and symbolism in the quest in fact guided me to what became my profession. I decided to go about my own quest. I dove headfirst into studying science and storing everything I could in my mind. I spent years in school, studying varying fields and subject matters. I applauded the gains that computers afforded us in the study of science and chose them as my tool of focus. Unlike in Chaucer’s story, there were no others on my quest with me. I was alone. Others would have only gotten in my way.

Studying, planning and eventually building enveloped my life. I, was enough for me and all I needed. In the room I now stand in, I gathered information and planned to build what was to be the final tool in my goal in life. As I stare at it now, I question my motives. Have I wasted everything for my dream? I heard a comedian once say “don’t bother following your dream. Just ask it where it is going and meet up with it there later.” I chose to build my dream and not take any chances with it.

I stare now at the world’s most powerful computer. Now operational, it has access to every bit of information in the world. It cannot be matched in processing power or ability. It is self powered and will continue gathering information until eternity. Now the computer, you see was not my goal. My goal was to find an answer. An answer to the one single most important question ever uttered. You should have already guessed the question I asked. You have asked it yourself more times than you can count. The answer I received only provoked me to ask another. Maybe I was too greedy, or just too naïve. Suffice to say the answer I received to my second question has led me to write this letter. I can only hope you can ask another question. One that might avert this horrible outcome and fix the damage I have done. To do this you must know what my second question was and the distressing answer I received.

I asked ”What does this mean for all of mankind?”, and the answer was.

“the end”

debris of remorse

Debris of remorse

I can barely make out my hands as I feel out into the darkness. The skin on my fingers grips closely to the brittle bones that lie underneath. Beyond my cracked hooks I make out few shapes. They seem to be moving away from me, or am I moving away from them? I call out only to hear a din of sound escape my pursed lips. I am indeed moving away from the now distant shapes. I hear myself walking before I even realize that I am moving backwards, indeed dragging one foot in back of the other. It’s a low drone of a shuffle, and rather grating on my tired ears. I look down to see worn shoes encasing my feet. There lies a thin coat of earth on them, but I can’t seem to make out what exactly I am walking on. Is it a road of some kind, and just how long have I been walking? I tell myself to stop, but yet my legs keep acting the marionette and propel my feet into motion. I am indeed upon my own design. No unseen hand is at play here.

A foul breath comes upon my face with such a force that I begin to stagger. I rub my eyes in the hopes of gaining a little clarity only to groan at the feeling of my sandpaper skin clawing against my face. I search my attire for a cloth or some loose fabric to shield me from the fetid wind, but my clothes seem foreign to me. I close my body unto itself hoping to gain resistance and crumple to the ground beneath my feet. My back begins to arch and my legs begin to drive my feet out behind my now broken down body. I continue to head backwards with the unrelenting wind assisting my body’s choice in direction. Like a feral hound I continue my mission to my unknown destination.

As the tempest abates it is quickly replaced by a bitter cold rain. The darkness around me begins to lift as I struggle to return upright and the rather unremarkable ground that supports my steps comes into focus. How I wish that would be the last sight my eyes gathered. Soon jagged banks of unfathomable types of decaying beasts became evident surrounding my path. I soon realize that these spoiled mounds crowned with muted black crows form the barriers of my path. The intertwined beasts feed off of each other in a mosaic of snarling maws and excremented limbs. I looked back at the earth below in hopes that the surrounding nightmare would retreat from not only my presence but mind as well.

Soon the ground beneath me begins to smooth and flatten. I look up to see no more foul sights or walls, only a large golden sphere with two figures on either side. One figure has attached a rope and seems to be pulling, while on the other side the other is straining to push. I look closer only to determine neither figure is in motion and has been deprived of sight. As I move past their struggle the ground around me begins to break away. I call out for help but no answer is returned. The world falls away on either side of my now thinning path, revealing colossal waves of clawing bodies. At the crest of each wave horrible shapes reach out only to be pulled under as it breaks in on itself.

I have seen too much to begin to comprehend my situation. Why must I continue upon this path? And when will this horrid journey end? Wait! A hand places itself on my shoulder, and then again on the other. I ask aloud if this is the end of my journey, only to have silence as an answer. The guiding hands begin to turn me around and as the world turns beneath me a large Iron Gate comes into my sight. I still cannot see the two figures as they have remained behind me as I turned, but now they are pushing me towards the unopened gate. I feel my body being pressed against the cold rungs of the barrier as it slowly allows me to choke through its rusted breaches.

Once on the other side, large stadium comes into view with three disjointed circles overlapping its center. In the middle of each circle lies an unspeakable horror. Indeed it seems my journey has not ended, only generated yet another affliction to my senses. Each scene drives me away hoping the next is not as repulsive. In one spectacle two men stab at each other ferociously only to have the inflicted wounds appear on their very own bodies. In another, a man stands facing a woman and child. As he begins to cut and mutilate his body, scars begin to form on the bodies of his innocent onlookers. Lastly I come to see a barren man kneeling on burning coals. Where his eyes once settled, there only remains empty darkness.

Hurriedly I leave the stadium, only to be surrounded by figures in black. I cannot breathe as the frayed ends of their shrouds cover my nose and mouth, nor can I see as their numbers have overwhelmed my vision. They begin to speak softly to me. Some speak of pleasures and wealth, others of desires and passions. I hear counsel on how to leave this horrid place and even how to rule it. As I continue their voices get louder and angrier, until my ears begin to bleed. I push and tear at them to get through until an opening appears before me.

I run until I come to the base of a large mountain. Its body is ragged and heavily covered in the falling snow. At the very top I see a figure seated on a grand throne. Whoever it is, they must be the reason I went through this entire malady. I struggle against the cold to climb the discharged earth. The snow begins to fall harder and is deceiving my vision. I can no longer see the top, yet I keep clawing my way upward. At last I reach the crest of the jagged mass. A heavy haze embraces my tired form as I walk towards the grand throne. Peering through the veil of white, the face of the seated figure begins to take form. I step back in dread as the figure accepts my appearance. I now see who sits upon the throne of this vile dominion. I cover my face in horror at the sight of my own eyes staring back at me.

rawwwrrr

A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.
Friedrich Nietzsche

A species is called the "living dead" when it has dropped to few enough individuals such that there is not enough genetic diversity to build up the population again.

we are all but species of the dead...