• Styles Yugen

Shouganai

I live in a digital world. Everything is simulated; from the smallest blade of grass to the mightest mountain, it’s all fake. Even those magnificent sunsets that people remember for the rest of their lives are fake in this world--those sunsets that set the sky ablaze.

How can I tell? It’s easy. Any child looking up could figure out something isn’t quite right, but given that anyone will disagree with anyone just for the sake of disagreeing, it’s never that simple. The sky is deep blue during the day and black, studded with stars at night. But every time the sun nears the horizon, great lines streak across the sky. The greatest scientists have never been able to tell where they come from, just that they are. None of our technology, our best and most cutting edge, has ever detected them. The sunset’s escarpments are only evident to the human eye.

One could think them a natural phenomena at first, shooting stars perhaps. But then they multiply as the sun sinks lower and lower, the sky turning darker shades of crimson. Not only do they come from the sun, they arc from the horizons north and south to create a great grid. It’s perfectly even to the eye, a uniformly spaced cyan grid in the sky.

Philosophers have argued since the beginning of history. Some say they’re a sign of god. Others merely a side effect of the human condition. Modern philosophy decided--with the advent of the microprocessor and digital advance--that we live in a simulation. A flawed one, at that. For what designer would design a world so lovingly, so painstakingly, just to leave a glaring mistake?

We live in a digital world. A world where the designer fucked up the last step. We’re just a forgotten art project, or a science experiment, or even a teenager in a garage messing around with their dad’s old computer parts.

Some people can’t take it; others live as they can, making the most of their lives; but the majority drift through their lives, struggling to find reason in their existence. There are many cults, believing what they will, harking reason behind it all, but we can never know the reason why this world exists.


Me? All I know is the sky turns lightish gold first, with the far horizon darkening step by step until it’s dark violet. Then come the reds and crimsons, and finally the cyan lines holding it all together. It’s beautiful, and that’s all I care.


Styles Yugen, signing off.


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Science Fiction and the pursuit of escapism, 2020.