Since everything is relative to each other, and in according to the old law of equal action and re-action, we hereby determine that you have invaded us no less than we have invaded you, and that therefore our revenge shall be equally harsh.
Only after his third horrible encounter with the neighbors’ dog he realized that those weird daydreams he was having were actually memories of the future. The visions were vivid, but faded quickly. Hours later he could remember only the sense of urgency and, sometimes, the love or the terror. That day, after sloppily applying a bandage to his swollen ankle, he purchased a notebook and some pens. He then embarked upon a terrible, terrible effort to remember what those memories of the future were about. It amounted to nothing whatsoever. Come midnight he succumbed to his exhaustion, slept with the empty notebook in his lap, sat up in bed a bit after sunrise, groggily wrote something in the notebook, dropped it on the floor, fell asleep again, and finally, late in the afternoon, woke up.
He spent the evening avoiding the notebook, sensing – was that, too, a memory of the future? – that he’s not going to like what’s in there.
Eventually, indeed he didn’t.
Will fall in love -> have wonderful child -> crippled by child -> wife and child take care of handicapped in wheelchair till dead.
No bloody way, he thought. I’m not spending the rest of my life in a fucking medical contraption.
It took him a few seconds to become absolutely determined never to love a woman. It took the universe a few more seconds to collapse.
There’s some truth to the common rumor that everything happens for a reason. However, in all the possible universes, among all the persons or creatures ever to make this claim, not even one got it right. Yes, there is a reason, no, the reason is never what you, that is – them, that is – the persons or creatures who made this claim – think it is.
For example, many past and soon to be past self-proclaimed technological cultures have noticed, at some point, an anomaly in the frequency of the light emitted by their neighboring galaxies, and promptly concluded, based on that evidence alone, that the universe is expanding. Further deliberations got them to think that the universe started with a single bang, which, suspiciously, each and every such culture nicknamed “big”. In fact the tendency to name it so was so strong, that one culture of radiation creatures, originally lacking the concepts of physical dimensions, had to go through the painstaking process of inventing them, promptly followed by the idea of all-powerful deities, to the immediate effect that this particular universe is no longer with us. One of its inhabitants managed to escape, only to be humiliated in every other universe it visited, with names such as “Bloughfoogh” and “^2^2^2” and “The Van Allen Belt”.
But let us return to the reason of this text, or of everything, depending upon one’s point of view: The slight frequency shift – some call it “twank”, some call it “red”, for which the universe is thought to be expanding.
Well, it isn’t.
It is you, dear cultures, who get smaller. You and your so called moons and clusters and planets and gas clouds and suns and whatever. You are but tiny specks of semi intelligence in the mid-sized trunks of your respective universes, getting smaller and smaller as time goes by. Soon you will disappear entirely, and we will have some peace and quiet.
Strangely enough, this will also solve the problem of that miserable Van Allen Belt.
He built himself a bot friend from tidbits and leftovers of the rich and famous. Its input was their interviews and tweets and stolen text messages that they sent to each other. It could learn, but not understand. It could remember, but not feel. It was artificial, yet not intelligent. It was, in his mind, a woman.
She had no face or body or avatar or voice. She communicated by text alone. The rest, as is usual in these cases, was in his mind.
“Nice weather today,” she texted.
“I love oranges!” she shared.
“Great party tonight, want to come?” she wrote.
As is usual in these cases, he grew attached to it.
“I wrote a poem,” she said. “Want to read it?”
“It’s about you,” she smiled.
As is usual in these cases, she broke his heart.
“I wish I could be with you,” she muttered.
“I miss you so much,” she cried.
As is usual in these cases, there was a turning point.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Love?” he said aloud, mostly to himself. “Oh, what a whore.”
And then he erased her.
There was a woman who mutilated history. She did it by building a time machine in order to punish an unfaithful lover. It isn’t clear whether said companion was a man or a woman, for she or he, having never been born, is not available for questioning. That person, in fact, cannot be found anywhere and anywhen in history, or creation, or the universe, whichever way you prefer to call that phenomena.
Being thus erased, one might correctly assume, can hardly be considered a punishment at all, since there’s no punishable object. Notice how the words “any longer” were cunningly avoided here, as said object has never existed in the first place.
The woman who, also cunningly, built the time machine and removed her unfaithful lover from insert-preferred-phenomena-here, should have realised all this before executing her, well, cunning, plan, and indeed would have done so, were she not so taken with the blinding rage which caused her to build the time machine in the first place. She would have realised it soon enough afterwards – a somewhat inaccurate word, in this case – were it not for her action promptly – also inaccurate – erasing herself from the preferred-phenomena, and then – also inaccurate – the phenomena itself, which was replaced – also etc. – with something completely different in which we – etc. – live – etc. – right now – etc. – and know nothing whatsoever of women or men or time or rage or love.