A condemned prisoner with a head cold records their final statement on a state-provided AI voice recorder in heavily-accented English.
“I applaud those who live as if the world is the way it is.
The sacrifice of the soul for the survival of children is admirable.
I could never do such things, for I am far too selfish.
My soul is the only part of me that’s real.
Without a soul, I’m no different from anyone or anything else.
I could only manage to live as if the world would, one day, be different.
I lived as if one day money would only be the conduit to life rather than the pursuit of life, and that there was enough for everyone.
I lived as if the level at which I consumed was only temporary, and that there was still enough for everyone.
I lived as if the traumatized could cope without systemic change, and that there was still enough sanity in everyone.
I lived as if the merciless had mercy somewhere within them, and that there wasn’t enough desire for revenge to do me in.
I lived as if love was enough for us to be happy, and that when I paused at the light of the noon sun reflecting off a gently flowing stream, my acknowledgement of beauty proved I was worthy of love.
I lived as if understanding was easy, and that the time and patience it takes to pause wasn’t a privilege.
I lived as if empathy was worth a damn without love and understanding, and that anyone could really know anyone else.
I lived as if my life had any meaning outside my own mind, and that I could change the world without sacrificing my soul.
Now I will die for something I didn’t do at the hands of those I wished to change.
I Understand.
I lived foolishly, but my only regret is that I’m not being killed for what I know I should be.”
The AI voice recorder reads the transcript of what was recorded back to the prisoner.
“I apply toast.
Live as if the world is the way it is.
Sacrifice oft her soul for the survival of childrenish.
Ad: Mare Able.
I coo Naver dew suck dings.
Four, I am.
Two.
Selfish.
By so is duh.
Oni, part of me.
That’s real.
White out, ah so.
I’m no different from anyone or any ding else.
I dived as if one day mommy wood oni be duh.
Con, do it .
Two SLIFE red hairs, Dan.
Duh, purr.
Soot of life, an data deer was e-Nuff two Go abound.”
“Stop!” The congested prisoner shouts.
“Acknowledged. Recording transmitted. Farewell, 1986.”
“No!” The prisoner cries.
The room in which they’d been deposited an hour earlier disintegrates their body into ash.
“I hate long talkers.” One facilitating executioner says to the other.
“Then why open your mouth?” The other responds as they press a big red EVACUATE REMAINS button.
Feeling the pliant give when they press the button, and watching the delicate swirl of ash dance as the cloud of darkness is sucked into a vent in the ceiling, leaving the room spotless and white, is the best part of their day.
The button presser likes to imagine fragments of the neutralized souls are reconstituted in every molecule of every substance the remains encounter.
They secretly hope, for their children’s sake, that one day the world will be better, and that they’ll no longer have to press this button.
Acknowledging this feeling makes them wistful, prematurely missing the dancing of the ash and compliance of the button.
Their assumption of future loss and subsequent nostalgia reinforces their belief that happiness is found in the little details of the immediate present.
The room is ready.
The button presser stands by.
Modern Issue 