the manufacturing defect
It was a manufacturing defect.
In the quest of our own design, we had uncovered what we
called "evolution". The survival of the fittest. The strongest, and
the fastest, both perished. But the fittest, the cunning, the ruthless, armed
with the knowledge that the world was theirs to manipulate, had found their
way. And that's how we came to be.
A journey of death.
Over thousands of years.
Over billions of deaths.
With rules to kill betrayers among ourselves. Entire
kingdoms meant to serve a few, and control the many. Rich cultures to bind us
to our associations, to attach meaning to our existence. To justify each
breath. We ruled our universes. But was that all there was for us?
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Clearly, humans were superior, but more so in their
ignorance. For they missed what was always glaring right at them. The script.
Imagine a world where you have the freedom to do everything.
That would be too chaotic. So you evolve rules to avoid destroying yourself. You
create consequences: rewards and penalties. Now you have something to do. Now
you have the resources to create. So you create comforts, and evils. You ensure
your survival. In love and in joy. In war and in sin. In pain and in blood.
Now, if you, with your almost-average intelligence, can
imagine this world, especially when I can tell you to, in the span of a few
seconds, because it makes sense, what makes you think someone other than you,
someone better, might not have thought of this?
The doubt is irrational, ludicrous even. It must be, seeing
that an idea created by a human way back in 1838, is yet to be destroyed. Ideas
can rarely be.
But it makes sense. A zillion-to-one probability that a
certain number of mutations made us who we are. The rules, the logic, the
discoveries prove it.
It all works out just right.
Except one thing.
The one incongruity.
This communication has taken a few hundred years more to
reach you, but it might as well be the last, because we made a terrible,
terrible mistake.
We forgot to add in the fourth dimension.
Maybe this is why you and I can never meet. And we probably
won't. Humans are, in effect, just a manufacturing defect.
the manufacturing defect
Written by Yash Raj Talan
