It all started with a writing exercise really.
Mrs. Dalloway had assigned her 10th grade English class to write a short story imitating the great authors of science fiction. As the rest of the class selected the different topics on the board, Jordan began to panic. He was not going to fail 10th-grade English again. Where would his idea come from though? Jordan despised fiction, he preferred autobiographies, or even the science textbooks. After all, his father was a scientist himself, and his mother, well, his mother had not been killed by aliens or sentient robots, she had died of cancer, a very real disease.
So, after class, Jordan stayed behind, stacking his books and pencils inside his bag as if it was a complex game of Tetris. Once the last student left the room, Jordan hesitantly approached Mrs. Dalloway’s desk:
“Yes Mr. Peters,” said his teacher without even taking her eyes off the stack of papers she was grading.
“Ma’am” Jordan began “I was wondering if you could…uh… help me with my story.”
Mrs. Dalloway momentarily took her eyes off the marked test.
“This is an individual assignment boy; you need to learn to figure things out on your own.”
She returned to her scribbles, the paper had more red on it now than it had white.
“Yes, I know Mrs. Dalloway but…” Jordan thought for a moment. He might’ve failed 10th grade English once, but he used to be the star of the Rhetoric Club. “Hmmm, you’re right, I will solve it on my own, and if I fail, I’ll just take your class again. I see it as a win-win.”
Mrs. Dalloway stopped marking the blushing paper, she knew what he was doing, and she knew he was right. Jordan had never been the best writer, and if she failed him this time, she would have to endure another year of his nonsense.
“Yes, quite a win win.” Mrs. Dalloway said after a second. “However, it is my duty to help my students, so, here” she handed him a glowing square. It was one of those new dictionaries that the research engine had come out with, almost like a tutor.
“This” continued Mrs. Dalloway “should help you brainstorm”
“Isn’t that cheating Mrs. Dalloway?” Jordan couldn’t care less about cheating, he just wanted to humiliate his teacher.
“It’s not, as long as you don’t use it to proofread. The school allows me to give it as a resource for kids with… difficulties” It was her turn to humiliate him.
Jordan grabbed the square off her hand.
“Oh, and Jordan? Don’t forget to memorize that T.S. Elliot poem, unless you need… assistance with that as well?”
Jordan cursed under his breath and with a quick goodbye headed home. He turned on the device as soon as he got to his room.
‘HELLO SCHOOLUSER #34’ read the screen.
‘HOW CAN I BE OF ASSISTANCE?’
Jordan intuitively, as with most technology, pressed on the glowing square and said:
“I want an idea for a fictional story that seems real,” Jordan said, as if he was talking to one of his friends.
‘IM SORRY. COULD YOU DEFINE ‘SEEMS?’’ said the small bot on his hand.
Jordan sighed.
“I want a story that seems credible enough that is like Star Trek, or Star Wars, or Armageddon!”
‘VERY WELL. I CAN HELP YOU WRITE A STORY. HOW FICTIONAL DO YOU WANT THE STORY TO BE ON PERCENTAGE?”
“I want it to please my teacher, but I want it to seem credible, so it is cool.”
“IM SORRY I DON’T UNDERSTAND. DEFINE “SEEM,” DEFINE “CREDIBLE,” DEFINE “COOL.”
Jordan was getting frustrated.
“UGH, just show me the most read sci fi stories.”
The AI finally did as told, and showed a list of different short stories.
“Do a quick scan, which theme is easier to write?”
‘HERE ARE THE RESULTS FOR EASIEST THEME:
“ALIEN LIFE.”
“Nah, half of the class if going for a cheesy ET story.”
“TIME TRAVEL.”
“Too complicated.”
“END OF THE WORLD. AKA ARMAGEDDON.”
“Now we’re talking.”
“AI”
“YES, SCHOOLUSER #34?”
“Draft a story that seems real and retells the end of the world.”
“IM SORRY, DEFINE ‘SEEMS’?”
“Just tell me about the end of the world” said Jordan, exasperated. Who knew writing was such hard work?
“YOUR STORY WILL BE DONE IN 12 HOURS.”
With that, he left the AI to do its thing, and played some video games.
In the morning, Jordan woke up with only a few minutes to spare. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the AI had indeed finished and printed his story overnight. The once blue square had no light in it.
Battery probably died, he thought.
With that he went down to eat breakfast, and saw his father reviewing his latest article to be published in the world-famous science news site. His research was on taxonomy and how it affected the taxing system in America.
Once both were at the table, both men, both writers, shared a few glances at each other, still grieving for their loss. Jordan spilled some juice, his dad cleaned it, and they both parted ways, papers in hand.
Mr. Peters went to work that day hoping to turn in the final copy of his study to the editor. Since he had proofread it thousands of times before, he simply dropped the paper on the editor’s desk and continued to his office.
Mr. Mason, the editor for Science Tomorrow arrived at the office thirty minutes late––the barista had gotten his order wrong again, and the whole milk had sprung an allergic reaction. When he got to his office he saw the research paper resting on his desk and began to edit it.
A couple of mistakes here and there, but there was no time to waste, he needed to publish this pressing research, America depended on it––hell––the world depended on it.
That same night, the readers of Science Tomorrow, including Senator Collins sat down expecting to enjoy an article about taxonomy and possibly the tax system, only to find in the front page, in bold letters: “THE WORLD ENDS THIS WAY.” As Collins finished his brief yet convincing reading, he called his assistant Margaret and scheduled an appointment with his good friend, the Vice President, first thing in the morning.
The next morning, Mrs. Dalloway missed the incorporated alarm in her coffee maker, in fact every woman in the neighborhood did, because the central government decided to cut power after a brief yet productive meeting with Senator Collins and Vice President Mitchel.
By two, the article had been published and printed everywhere.
By 3:43, Russia had disposed of all their nuclear bombs, by throwing them to space, and China had given the day off to all of its workers.
By four, the market had crashed, and people had begun breaking into department stores.
At 5:30 the nuclear bombs formerly floating on space began falling down, first in random, unaffected areas of the ocean, and then on cities: Milan, Guam, Hanoi, and Buenos Aires.
At 7:55 Jordan witnessed how the New Order terrorist group murdered his father, who had written such a prophetic article of the world’s end.
By nine there was not much left, Jordan had found refuge in the school’s old tornado house and was trying not to lose his mind as the gasses and chemicals infiltrated his brain. The only thing he could fathom in his mind was T.S. Elliot’s famous lines:
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang, but with a whimper
By Sofia Beltran, 2023.
The SciFi Spire 