It happened without a bang nor a whisper. There were no visitations in dreams

nor premonition of leaves in a teacup. Suddenly we were the last humans on earth.

& those with the wounded hearts simply floated away in their sleep.

Conquering the many obstacles of grief & the myriads of defeats.

& those with a golden ticket floated away with knowing smiles,

& some fustian parting words on a sly.

 

 
THEN:

A few weeks later the inventors came back for the rest of us. We thought this was our salvation. But it turned out it was only a cleanup job. As it happened they were the ones who lucked out on their lottery tickets since we were the scraps that they had won. Unbeknownst to us leftovers- the authorities of mankind have branded each one of us as a surplus, an expendable, an unwanted twin: the unclaimed, the unloved, the unskilled- in short the vomit of society.

Then the horns blasted, blinding our sights and hearing. Back then- we all thought that we were going to heaven. I mean: white light, weak knees, apocalypse- all the signs were there. We all longed to go where the others went. But how were we to know that the game had been rigged from the start?  A giant white light came crashing down from above, and consumed all of the remaining living things. Transporting us to our new destination, our new home.

 

 

NOW:

 We transmit images from our memories for the entertainment of the inventors. There’s minimal fee to subscribe. And those who want the 'good stuff’ have to subscribe to premium service.  Everyday subscribers would rummage through our personal porn. Shelves after shelves of human history extracted against our will. The best part is when somebody would forget to turn us off. When nobody is watching we would sift through our memory banks, and unearth some hidden gems that somehow got past the attention of the viewers.

These could be simple things such as a day I spent in the park, playing frisbee with my three year old daughter. For #003 it could be the day he got his first car.  #124 likes to reminisce a lot about the times when she was the toast of Hollywood.

 

Images of our human lives would come flashing back into our not so human bodies & for a brief moment we would be happy, I dare say in ecstacy-  in a way that exceeds the bounds of every human happiness . The irony of this cataclysmic event is not lost on any of the machines.

One day, one of the hybrid machines would simply stop working, and no amount of fumbling and tinkering of its insides can jumpstart the thing back to life. When this happens a low level inventor would be summoned to replace the dead machine with a new one.

Where they take the dead bodies nobody knows. What happens to the memories is anybody’s guess. But at the back of our heads (a little joke); we like to think that there’s some other place out there, some place better than this where our souls can rest.

Some believe that if we’re good machines and provide great entertainment that we would be rewarded with a second chance at redemption. Though our bodies have changed; some still cling to their notion of humanity- and their version of hope, faith, salvation and the grand design.

Personally, I’m satisfied where I am now.  & if I had to do everything again.  I would do everything not quite the same. I would quit smoking, listen to more Sonic Youth &  maybe learn to play an instrument. & I would definitely never get talked twice into that awful gig of collecting livestock sperm samples.           

I mean it.

 

 

Screen flashe:s a beautiful young woman in a wedding dress arm & arm with her groom. They are treading down some steps. She throws her lilac bouquet into the air…. Static. Static… Static….Static.