The Taste of Viridian
Who wants to live forever? That's the old question, isn't it? Having discovered the answer, I can tell you it's neither as bad as the lamenting philosophers might say, nor as good as the feel-good-look-good-make-gooders might think. How is it then, you might ask? Well, first off, let me explain how I got there.
Earth was dying. The nuclear war that politicians had been dreading had finally come to pass. A team of scientists had created a solution. Or at least, they had reached for the nearest fabrication, mixed in an ounce of genius, a pinch of truth and a gallon of propaganda and put it up on display for all to see.
This team had used the latest bleeding edge technology to create 1,000 “Goldstar Chambers”. These were heavy metal chambers which had a built in reality distorter. Through the use of Lenot Particles (crazy things capable of flouting quantum science discovered by a french scientist named Pierre Lenot.), these chambers were able to be bigger on the inside than on the outside. They could also be modified to the user's nearly every whim. Also, and this is the craziest part, the Lenot Particles slowed down time inside the chambers. Inside those chambers, the people were immortal. But there were only 1,000. It would seem like you could just fit the world inside them, but they could only fit one person before being activated, after which the chamber sealed. The scientists must have gotten tired of humanity's bickering and thought that less people would be a fresh start. Cruel idiots. But I digress. 1,000 chambers. 7 billion people. You do the math. Anyway, the governments chose the 1,000 to go. My closest friend was among them. Decked out in full blown radiation suits, many came to say goodbye to their chosen loved ones. Granted, my friend wasn't exactly a loved one, but he was all I had. Just as I waved at him, he jumped out of the box.
“What are you doing, Harold?”
“What does it look like i'm doing? I go in there, I'm trapped. Forever. And I can't talk to another living being again. I know this is the end, but I want to go down with the rest of humanity instead of abandoning them to live in a metal box. I would be a traitor to the human race if I did that. But that's just me. You've always wanted a life on your own, to live in your own perfect world. Trade?”
We both said nothing. I gave a brief nod and a sorrowful look of farewell. He sent back a glance of stoicism and optimism that gave me hope. I stepped into the box. It sealed. I was alone. In a prison of paradise.
The first year was dull, but essential, as I figured out how to use the home I was now in. I figured out how to use the indoor space expander, which could increase to the size of an earthlike planet, to my shock and awe. I also learned how to use the food and water systems. Through controlled hard light, one could believe one was eating, but the real nourishment came from the nutrition pills. A small elemental forge created an infinite supply of water and pills. The hard light system also took some getting used to, but essentially I could create any sort of thing I wanted. It was an illusion, but a tangible one, nonetheless.
On December 25th (according to my watch), I decided to practice by creating the feeling of home on Christmas. My box became 1 acre, enough for a house and some snowy forest. I had a christmas tree and holiday treats. As I sat down on the couch, I realized suddenly how lonely I was. Tears ran down my face. I walked over to the piano and played and sang “Joy to the World”, then “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”. I felt a little better.
After the first year, things got more enjoyable. I had accepted my strange new life and decided to do all the things I had no time for in the real world. I became fluent in French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, Swahili, Chinese, Japanese and Elvish. I learned how to play instruments and sing many different styles of music. Self teaching, I even created theories of physics that exceeded those of Einstein and Hawking. Gradually, however, I realized that no matter what studies I devoted myself, I had no one to share my ecstasy and knowledge with. Still, I pressed on, devoting myself to mastering the arts of peace and the arts of war. By the end of the second year, I was probably the most knowledgeable human on the planet, but in a void, that title bears no meaning. Before you ask, yes, I had tried to create other beings within my world. I had some success in creating a hard light cat, which behaved very much like the real thing. I named him Methuselah, in honor of my current status. It seemed, however, whenever I tried to create human illusions, they seemed mere puppets. Extensions of my will. It would seem that semblance and vitality of life does not imply the complexity of true being. But that's something for the religious scholars to figure out. A few months later, a novelty entered my life that enriched it deeply. I began to develop synesthesia. For those who don't know, synesthesia is a mixing of the senses, in such a way that one perceives sight as smell, for example, or hearing as vision. I was able to taste colors.
Immediately, I began to experiment with art. I found many flavors that I enjoyed, and some that were repulsive. Red was spicy and rich. Blue was salty and bitter, like coffee. Purple was deep and heady. Probably the most enjoyable however, is the taste of viridian. It has a moist quality, like the smell of the ground after rain, and yet it almost also has a lingering sweetness. For the next few years, I finally began to enjoy what I called life again. My new senses had awakened a desire and will that I had not felt in years. Whether this ability was a gift from an unknown power or a strange side effect of my containment, I'll never know. I simply lived.
Decades flew by. Methuselah and I kept each other company. As my age grew harder and harder to track, I simply celebrated a birthday whenever I felt I needed a celebration. Decades became millenia. Finally, after what I estimated to be roughly 7,500 years, I decided my life had lived its full course. I would break out of my enclosure, and look upon the real world one last time. I set to work breaking the seal on the cube that had been my home for the many long years. Methuselah meowed at me inquisitvely.
“I'm sorry, old friend. We've been close, but all things must come to a conclusion. I only regret that you won't get to see where I come from. You'll vanish when this box is opened. What happens to the soul of an illusion, if it has one? I suppose nothing. But perhaps not. I imagine you'll be the first to find out. So we go, each to his own adventure,” I said decisively. I gathered my theories and discoveries, figuring that if anyone out there was alive to discover my grave, they would benefit from my long years of research. I went back to the edge and broke the last chip off the seal. Methuselah vanished in a cloud of particles.
{Editor's note: The following is compiled from various text and eyewitness reports on the final fate of the man who is the subject of this story}
He stretched his arms into the open air. As he looked around, he saw a world of lush vitality, revived from the tragic past. He smiled, and as he did so, time caught up to his once timeless form. Scattering his books and writings at the base of a nearby tree, he used up his last effort of strength to lie down at the foot of the tree.
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