Anya
05-13-2009, 04:11 AM
ORIGINAL STORY
Irene has asked me to read this over and fix any errors I could see.. but I really suck as stuff like that, so I am going to post this here and maybe you guys can help her out.
It's for school and she would really appreciate the help.
Ouroboros[i] (http://forums.darklordpotter.net/#_edn1)
July 27th 2116
0900h
It is another year.
I stand in my cell, squinting my eyes at the two rings raising. Black and white. Black for iron might for machines. White for paper, vulnerable, weak humans. And red background, for blood, and death.
Watching the rings, I promise myself that one day, there will be five rings again.
1638h
“Oh look, it's the retard who thinks he can make history!” Jeers follow me everywhere. It has never been easy for me since I volunteered willingly to go for the Olympics. Ever since seventy-five years ago, there had been no human who took part willingly. The reason is simple—anyone who does not win, dies.
It is no longer about glory or honor, but lives. It does not matter whether they try hard, they always die. Everything is about winning. No one cares whether you have tried your best.
The Olympic spirit is gone. Destroyed, disappeared, like the spilled blood of hundreds of sportsman the next morning on the Olympic fields.
And I am going to bring it back. I am going to win an Olympic event. No, the Olympic event.
It is an event specially created for humans against machines, and no human has ever won. For one reason or another, it's also the only event that does not allow artificial enhancement. A mind game.
July 28th 2116
1427h
Today is the day. I stand in my preparation room.
T minus 5 minutes to my event.
“So you are doing it, risking your life.” I turned and recognized the Old Man. No one knows how old he is, nor his name.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To give hope.” I reply dryly. I am disappointed. I thought he has come to support me. But he turns out to be just like the others—foolish and closed-minded.
“Hope?”
“I have nothing but my life to give. If my life can inspire hope and belief in others, in humankind, then it is worth it.” I was confused as he sighed. “What is wrong?”
“Hope. Let me tell you about it. Hope is the greatest evil of all. Worse than greed, lust, selfishness. Yet humans take it as the greatest good. Hope is what causes man like you to throw their lives away. Hope is what mankind continues tormenting themselves for. Hope is never dying.”
He finally looks me in the eye. I flinched, but convinced myself that he is merely too old to try out new things.
I scowled. “I do not understand.”
“Few do. But you should not go. ”
“It's too late.”
“There is no use. The Olympic spirit is dead.”
“I know that. That's why I'm reviving it.” I am determined, and he could see that.
“By taking part, you're being part of the thing that destroys it.”
“How so?”
“It has changed from the celebration of human spirit, to mere exploitation of the human intelligence. Why do you think the machines created this event? They seek to improve themselves, but they are built by humans. Their capabilities are defined and shaped by the human mind. No matter how they try to improve, there is still a boundary uncrossed. You are filling it up. You are letting them make use of your mind, exploring the possibilities of it. You are responsible for the death of the Olympic spirit.”
It is T minus 1 minute.
I turn my back to him, dismissing his foolish advice. Just as I push the door open, I hear a comment that chilled me to the depts of my heart.
“You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Win or lose, they never come back.”
A horn is blown, an Olympic tradition added in by the machines in mockery of the old technologies of human, just like their view on the Olympic game. I take a deep breath.
It is time.
14 32h
One. Two. Three. Four.
Footsteps click against the hard concrete. I face the crowd as silence reigned. They are all waiting for me to come out.
The minute that I step into view, there is a murmur. It slowly grows, spreading through the crowd. Then laughter followed. Cold, high, metallic laughter. It rings around the stadium, and soon many more join in. Laughter of anticipation, for another pathetic human, running to his death.
I look up at people, no, machines, around me warily. How many there are? Thousands? Millions? But I am going to make them swallow their laughter, their insults. Not only at me, but at humankind.
I enter the labyrinth. Back to the very start of the Olympics, to Greece.
It is Etcher's steps. My purpose is to find the shortest way back to the beginning. The machine competitors are a way ahead with their fast moving bodies. I have to rely on my mind. I start walking. I have to outsmart the labyrinth.
The steps twist and turn everywhere, but I managed. Always up and straight forward, never left and right. I think I am doing well, until I see the upside down stairs. The machines are climbing it with difficulty, but they hold on, one foot attached at a time. There are no railings whatsoever. There is no way a human could defy gravity and walk there. Yet... it must be the shortest way, or it would not be built to be so hard to use, right?
It is then that I realize that the stairs slow the machines down considerably. I can just imagine the other humans, standing in front of this flight of stairs, wasting minutes, hours away, trying to figure out how to cross it.
Do not try to outsmart the labyrinth, they say. I do not know the creator. But I know myself. And right now, I am actually against myself. My mind is telling me to take the other way. Shortest way for the labyrinth may not be shortest way for me.
Citius, Altius, Fortius. Swifter. Higher. Faster. The original Olympics motto. I cannot predict others' ability, but I can be better than myself.
Shortest is not fastest.
I run, away from the stairs. It is the right stairs this time. This is why machines can never outdo themselves. They don't need to, so they never become beyond what their creator deemed them to be.
I smile. I have finally figured out why this had been so difficult for other humans to win.
16 46h
Silence. I step out of the labyrinth.
My muscles feel like they were burning up. My bones are melting. It seems to be a life time since I saw sunlight. I collapse onto the ground.
The silence in the stadium is too deep for echo.
Eight years. Eight years of blood, toil, and sweat. Eight years of bearing insults and deaths. Eight years for this one moment. Ignoring the silence of the machines, I wept.
Then I am escorted away to embrace my fate.
19 53h
I sit in this strange room, waiting once again. I've been waiting for eight years. I can wait a little longer.
The room is comfortable, but it smells of... death, sacrifices.
I am letting my imagination run wild again. 'You don't REALLY believe the Old Man, do you?' I reassure myself. He was merely bitter.
Humans had not won that event since the machines took over so long ago. And I am going to be the first. I will be free from slavery. Free to do what I want. Free.
'Silly you. Are you really so naïve? Do you really think you're going to be free? That the machines will let you raise hope in so many? You'll disappear, be executed... no one will know you won. There was no human at the scene after all. No one that will go back alive, at any rate.” The cynical side mocks.
Win or lose, they never come back. The voice echoes in my mind.
Then heavy footsteps are heard, approaching the door. Clung, clung, clung. The steps are becoming louder and louder.
They stop at the door. Then there is the sound of the lock opening.
I am blindfolded and brought to another room.
So this is the end. I'm going to die. But I don't regret taking part and winning at all.
The blindfold is lifted. I see a human before me.
“So my time has come.”
He was bemused. “Oh, no, you have too much use to be dispose of now. I've been waiting, disciple. Someone has finally beaten my labyrinth.”
Disciple? His labyrinth? I frown.
“Who are you?”
“I, child, am the last winner of this event for the Olympics.”
Win or lose, they never come back.
I finally realize what the line meant. Not physical death.
You are responsible for the death of the Olympic spirit.
He is right.
You are not the first, nor will you be the last.
Ouroboros. The Greek serpent that swallows its own tail.
Our eyes meet, and I smile. No denial. It is useless.
“I see, master.”
The end
[i] (http://forums.darklordpotter.net/#_ednref1) ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon swallowing its own tail and forming a circle. Often represents self-reflexity or cyclicality, especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself, and other things perceived as cycles that begin anew as soon as they end
Irene has asked me to read this over and fix any errors I could see.. but I really suck as stuff like that, so I am going to post this here and maybe you guys can help her out.
It's for school and she would really appreciate the help.
Ouroboros[i] (http://forums.darklordpotter.net/#_edn1)
July 27th 2116
0900h
It is another year.
I stand in my cell, squinting my eyes at the two rings raising. Black and white. Black for iron might for machines. White for paper, vulnerable, weak humans. And red background, for blood, and death.
Watching the rings, I promise myself that one day, there will be five rings again.
1638h
“Oh look, it's the retard who thinks he can make history!” Jeers follow me everywhere. It has never been easy for me since I volunteered willingly to go for the Olympics. Ever since seventy-five years ago, there had been no human who took part willingly. The reason is simple—anyone who does not win, dies.
It is no longer about glory or honor, but lives. It does not matter whether they try hard, they always die. Everything is about winning. No one cares whether you have tried your best.
The Olympic spirit is gone. Destroyed, disappeared, like the spilled blood of hundreds of sportsman the next morning on the Olympic fields.
And I am going to bring it back. I am going to win an Olympic event. No, the Olympic event.
It is an event specially created for humans against machines, and no human has ever won. For one reason or another, it's also the only event that does not allow artificial enhancement. A mind game.
July 28th 2116
1427h
Today is the day. I stand in my preparation room.
T minus 5 minutes to my event.
“So you are doing it, risking your life.” I turned and recognized the Old Man. No one knows how old he is, nor his name.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To give hope.” I reply dryly. I am disappointed. I thought he has come to support me. But he turns out to be just like the others—foolish and closed-minded.
“Hope?”
“I have nothing but my life to give. If my life can inspire hope and belief in others, in humankind, then it is worth it.” I was confused as he sighed. “What is wrong?”
“Hope. Let me tell you about it. Hope is the greatest evil of all. Worse than greed, lust, selfishness. Yet humans take it as the greatest good. Hope is what causes man like you to throw their lives away. Hope is what mankind continues tormenting themselves for. Hope is never dying.”
He finally looks me in the eye. I flinched, but convinced myself that he is merely too old to try out new things.
I scowled. “I do not understand.”
“Few do. But you should not go. ”
“It's too late.”
“There is no use. The Olympic spirit is dead.”
“I know that. That's why I'm reviving it.” I am determined, and he could see that.
“By taking part, you're being part of the thing that destroys it.”
“How so?”
“It has changed from the celebration of human spirit, to mere exploitation of the human intelligence. Why do you think the machines created this event? They seek to improve themselves, but they are built by humans. Their capabilities are defined and shaped by the human mind. No matter how they try to improve, there is still a boundary uncrossed. You are filling it up. You are letting them make use of your mind, exploring the possibilities of it. You are responsible for the death of the Olympic spirit.”
It is T minus 1 minute.
I turn my back to him, dismissing his foolish advice. Just as I push the door open, I hear a comment that chilled me to the depts of my heart.
“You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Win or lose, they never come back.”
A horn is blown, an Olympic tradition added in by the machines in mockery of the old technologies of human, just like their view on the Olympic game. I take a deep breath.
It is time.
14 32h
One. Two. Three. Four.
Footsteps click against the hard concrete. I face the crowd as silence reigned. They are all waiting for me to come out.
The minute that I step into view, there is a murmur. It slowly grows, spreading through the crowd. Then laughter followed. Cold, high, metallic laughter. It rings around the stadium, and soon many more join in. Laughter of anticipation, for another pathetic human, running to his death.
I look up at people, no, machines, around me warily. How many there are? Thousands? Millions? But I am going to make them swallow their laughter, their insults. Not only at me, but at humankind.
I enter the labyrinth. Back to the very start of the Olympics, to Greece.
It is Etcher's steps. My purpose is to find the shortest way back to the beginning. The machine competitors are a way ahead with their fast moving bodies. I have to rely on my mind. I start walking. I have to outsmart the labyrinth.
The steps twist and turn everywhere, but I managed. Always up and straight forward, never left and right. I think I am doing well, until I see the upside down stairs. The machines are climbing it with difficulty, but they hold on, one foot attached at a time. There are no railings whatsoever. There is no way a human could defy gravity and walk there. Yet... it must be the shortest way, or it would not be built to be so hard to use, right?
It is then that I realize that the stairs slow the machines down considerably. I can just imagine the other humans, standing in front of this flight of stairs, wasting minutes, hours away, trying to figure out how to cross it.
Do not try to outsmart the labyrinth, they say. I do not know the creator. But I know myself. And right now, I am actually against myself. My mind is telling me to take the other way. Shortest way for the labyrinth may not be shortest way for me.
Citius, Altius, Fortius. Swifter. Higher. Faster. The original Olympics motto. I cannot predict others' ability, but I can be better than myself.
Shortest is not fastest.
I run, away from the stairs. It is the right stairs this time. This is why machines can never outdo themselves. They don't need to, so they never become beyond what their creator deemed them to be.
I smile. I have finally figured out why this had been so difficult for other humans to win.
16 46h
Silence. I step out of the labyrinth.
My muscles feel like they were burning up. My bones are melting. It seems to be a life time since I saw sunlight. I collapse onto the ground.
The silence in the stadium is too deep for echo.
Eight years. Eight years of blood, toil, and sweat. Eight years of bearing insults and deaths. Eight years for this one moment. Ignoring the silence of the machines, I wept.
Then I am escorted away to embrace my fate.
19 53h
I sit in this strange room, waiting once again. I've been waiting for eight years. I can wait a little longer.
The room is comfortable, but it smells of... death, sacrifices.
I am letting my imagination run wild again. 'You don't REALLY believe the Old Man, do you?' I reassure myself. He was merely bitter.
Humans had not won that event since the machines took over so long ago. And I am going to be the first. I will be free from slavery. Free to do what I want. Free.
'Silly you. Are you really so naïve? Do you really think you're going to be free? That the machines will let you raise hope in so many? You'll disappear, be executed... no one will know you won. There was no human at the scene after all. No one that will go back alive, at any rate.” The cynical side mocks.
Win or lose, they never come back. The voice echoes in my mind.
Then heavy footsteps are heard, approaching the door. Clung, clung, clung. The steps are becoming louder and louder.
They stop at the door. Then there is the sound of the lock opening.
I am blindfolded and brought to another room.
So this is the end. I'm going to die. But I don't regret taking part and winning at all.
The blindfold is lifted. I see a human before me.
“So my time has come.”
He was bemused. “Oh, no, you have too much use to be dispose of now. I've been waiting, disciple. Someone has finally beaten my labyrinth.”
Disciple? His labyrinth? I frown.
“Who are you?”
“I, child, am the last winner of this event for the Olympics.”
Win or lose, they never come back.
I finally realize what the line meant. Not physical death.
You are responsible for the death of the Olympic spirit.
He is right.
You are not the first, nor will you be the last.
Ouroboros. The Greek serpent that swallows its own tail.
Our eyes meet, and I smile. No denial. It is useless.
“I see, master.”
The end
[i] (http://forums.darklordpotter.net/#_ednref1) ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon swallowing its own tail and forming a circle. Often represents self-reflexity or cyclicality, especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself, and other things perceived as cycles that begin anew as soon as they end