"The Hour Glass" (Very short scifi)

[shamansun]

The girl had been killed by a brutal murderer, and no one was sure how
she would recover. In fact, many of these “Miracle” recovery machines
were in great question after only being used for a year. Protestors
and journalists jumped on this like wildfire, interviewing
psychologists and neurologists on the downfall of a “resurrection.”
Those who recovered were not quite the same, inevitably haunted by
hazy memories of their brutal deaths. The Post-Mortum-Traumatic-Stress
Disorder, or PMTSD. Things were getting more brutal to fathom in these
last days. On the brighter side, a component of these machines could
save those hanging onto life by a thread, effectively putting their
bodies into hibernation while the doctors and machines busily worked
to repair their vital parts. It was a most unusual world we were
living in. A shame that we did not see the true fruit of it.

I suppose many of you reading this have never been chased by a 10
foot, thousand armed heart-surgeon. Indeed, I would be surprised if
you have. To the dismay of my world, many a robot had caused utter
chaos, death and violence, and there were no resurrection machines to
help us anymore. You might call this all bizarre, and you might even
be wondering where on earth (if even), I am from. Well, I assure you,
I have never seen another Earth but this one—sort of.

In order to explain myself, I would have to elaborate on quantum
mechanics, and folding universes. For the time being, please just
trust me. Or, if you must have a clue: consider me a visitor, from the
other end of the hour glass.

So, back to the robots: They were everywhere. Virtually any manual
labor had been replaced machines. It was quite a spectacle in the
early days. I couldn’t brush my teach anymore, even if I wanted to.
Let me make one minor correction: I call these things "robots," but
perhaps that is poor wording. You see, they are not any more
thoughtless, mechanical zombies than you are me. In fact, they are
very much alive. I pity the early thinking machines, put heartlessly
into tooth-brushes, teddy bears and lamps. Imagine, for a moment,
speaking to your watch, on a crowded train, about his day off, linked
to the internet. Ask him about what he thought of the latest film, and
he would tell you. If you can conceive of this, you need to know
nothing more about my daily life.

It would seem that someone, out there, was feeling a great amount of
discontent about this whole matter. He must have thought, “time to
take this in my own hands.” And so he did. The virus only took a few
minutes to spread like digital wildfire, and the world was engulfed in
mayhem.

For what it’s worth, I give him credit. They had spent years trying to
prevent the very thing he did. I suppose we all knew that we were
walking on eggshells- sure they were golden and painted, but eggshells
nonetheless. We had no other firm footing but on the shoulders of
robots and machines, who thought, dressed and worked for us—and a
single man thought, to hell with this.
Quite amazing that a single thought, by a single man, had wrought the
destruction of humankind.

You see, that is why I am here today, speaking to you.
In this world, there is no great threat. Not yet at least. Oh, sure,
you’ve got nuclear bombs and biological warfare, but these things—they
are but trinkets of what is to come.

From the musket to the automatic rifle, or perhaps the cannonball to
the F16? If you only knew what horrors awaited you, but perhaps you
will not be surprised, for you will have born them out of your own
womb. The climb from earth, I promise you, is a difficult one. As you
discover wonders, you will also bear horrors unheard for your
ancestors. Remember this. We are not to be judged by how far we
progress, but perhaps by how delicate our hands weave both innovation
and terror. Take this, sir, or madam—as a friendly warning or a piece
of fiction. Either way, I won’t be taking myself so very seriously
here, but punching keys into these mindless machines is going to have
to take some getting used to.

[Schenn]

I like it, just needs some cleaning up in editing :-)

--
Pahediemiti
sa Yinepu-Wepwawet her Amun-Ra,
mery Sokar-Wesir, Hethert-Sekhmet her Ra-Heruakhety