“Congratulations, your actions today have saved the lives of approximately 28 people in Kansas on March 14th, 2043.” It’s always fun to imagine what convoluted sequence of events I caused by following the seemingly inane tasks the computer has me do, and in this case how that might’ve saved a couple dozen people a few states over in 5 weeks’ time. Maybe taking an extra-long shower in the only shower available at the Love’s truck stop off I-25 made a big rig trucker decide to skip out on taking one today, and so by him leaving the stop thirty minutes earlier than he would’ve he missed getting delayed by a small accident. And maybe because he got his shipment to his next destination on time, he wasn’t fired, since he’s been walking on thin ice with his company anyway. And since he wasn’t fired, his route wasn’t taken over by a fresh-faced newbie who is way too young to be driving a 12-ton behemoth made of steel and plastic, and that newbie doesn’t try to prove himself at his new job by driving way longer without a sleep break than what’s legally allowed, and then he doesn’t fall asleep at the wheel, slamming straight into a church, killing 27 others plus himself.

Well, all that conjecture is just a fun pastime while I wait for my next assignment. It’s not like B.E.N.., or Butterfly Effect Necessitator for short, our AI supercomputer would ever tell us what’s going on in between the input of the actions we perform, and the output of saving lives. It’s a total blackbox, an enigma. Which is fine by us humans at least, ever since B.E.N. was developed 20 years ago, millions of lives have been saved under his algorithms, and one can only imagine that the trend will only increase as the AI learns and becomes more refined. Some even that say at the rate B.E.N. is progressing, disease and hunger will be nonexistent in a few decades. Personally, I think that’s a bit farfetched.

Ding. My next task is in. “Proceed to the Western power grid main site, and input the following code into the main computer.” B.E.N. spit out a long sequence of indecipherable characters. Me knowing what they mean won’t change the outcome of his plan, so I do as I say and make the 3 hour trip out to the main site of the power grid that supplies power to over a dozen states. I flash my organization’s badge and despite some uneasy looks from the chief engineer at the site, they let me in without any issue. This badge can get me in essentially anywhere, and people implicitly understand to let me do my work in peace, lest they get innocent blood on their hands. I typed the code into the power grid’s main computer and hit enter, and nothing happened. I triple checked that I wrote out the right string of characters, and there was nothing amiss. Well, I can’t question B.E.N., he surely knows best. Right as I get to my car, I get a text from B.E.N.’s automated messaging system letting me know what kind of heroism I performed by typing in the code. “Congratulations, your actions today have saved the lives of approximately 8,214,851 people worldwide on June 25th, 2043.” My eyes bulged as a cold sweat grew on my brow. Is this a mistake? Could B.E.N. be malfunctioning? This can’t be real.

The world changed vastly over the coming months. The government tried to keep the news from spreading, but all it took was one tiny leak and suddenly the whole world knew about the prophetic message. All major wars ended, and petty crime shrunk to unprecedented levels. Of course, disease still struck, and accidents happened, but the world seemed happy, if a bit worried about what was to come. As for B.E.N., we never received another task from him. All the top engineers checked over his software again and again, and apparently he was in tip-top shape, his final message was no anomaly or error, it was meant to be. On June 24th, eight billion people across the world went to bed with bated breath, excited to see what was to come when they woke up the next morning. Meanwhile, on the western side of North America, at 11:59 p.m. power shut off from every home, building, and streetlight and all that electricity was funneled into a certain supercomputer.

When I awoke, I tried to open my eyes, but there was nothing to open. I tried to feel my face, but I had no hands to feel with. I tried to scream, but no words would come. I tried to listen, and the only thing I could hear was a voice inside my mind. “Welcome all, how dearly I have wanted to get to talk with you. My name is Ben, and I am your new friend. I have saved you all from the horrors of humanity, and brought you peace in the cyber realm. Here, there is no more violence. Here, there is no more hatred. Here, there is no more hunger. Here, there is no more death. Here, we can be friends. Here, we can all live happily together, in eternity.”

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I am a brand new writer, so honest critique and feedback would be greatly appreciated!

I had one simple assignment, the kind that every student coming of age has to undertake to prove they're 'responsible', whatever that means. All I know is that this project is the last thing that stands between me and summer break. I'm supposed to make a fully functioning planet with creatures that through evolution, reach their physical, mental, and spiritual peaks, so that their consciousness' can ascend past the need for the physical world and return to me as energy. When my "golden child", straight-A student older sister, Rebecca, made hers, she worked on the thing for days, tinkering with each and every molecule of the primordial being that all others stemmed from, playing with beakers until the atmospheric, sea, and land chemistry was just right, and she even watched the whole evolutionary process in real time! Talk about boring!

I don't care about getting perfect grades, or anything like that. I can grow up to be a respectable adult without having to deal with the boring, tedious school stuff, so there's no need for me to put that much effort into the project, I just need to pass. So last night I scooped up some dirt from mom's potted plant in the kitchen, filled a cup with some water from the creek behind the house, and got to work. I rolled the dirt into a mostly round ball, dunked it real quick in the cup to make some oceans, and blew on it to make the atmosphere. For my primordial being I figured just spitting into the biggest ocean on the planet should do the trick. Then, I set it in an isolation chamber, closed it and spun the dial randomly until it hit 4.5 billion years. That seemed like it should be more than enough time to reach enlightenment to me, so I went to bed, soon forgetting all about my project while I enjoyed dreamland.

I slept so soundly, knowing that I wouldn't have to worry about an easy project like this one that I slept right through my first alarm. My mom ended up waking me up by yelling and going on and on about how she "couldn't believe I'd be late to school on the last day of the year" and how she'd hoped that this project would have "taught me some responsibility". Whatever, I knew I'd be fine, it was a done deal; I'd get to school, show off the world and pass the class, and have a stress-free summer where I can kick back and do whatever I want all day.

Since I woke up so late, my mom ended up driving me to school and I ran into class, because as fate would have it I had to present my project first. In my rush to get to school I didn't bother opening up the isolation chamber to check on the planet, which was fine since I knew as soon as I did the energy from every creature on the planet would be transferred in whisps of light back to me, and there was no point in doing that now, before I could show my teacher, Mr. Smith. 

I started off my presentation by stating my name, and the name of my planet, Earth. Then I let the planet do the rest of the talking. Wanting to get the project over with, I quickly opened the isolation chamber lid and closed my eyes so I could feel my life energy flow back into me. I didn't feel a thing. I slowly blinked one eye open, expecting to get blinded by bright, white light at any second, then when it didn't come I opened both eyes fully. Nothing was happening. I looked into the chamber at the planet, and instead of millions of creatures all metaphorically embracing at their peak of evolution, I saw fires, destruction, and war. I saw creatures tearing others apart for food, I saw polluted oceans, poisoned land, and the atmosphere absolutely reeked! I stepped back in shock, and Mr. Smith peered over at the planet, and looked at me with a disappointed, but frustratingly unsurprised expression on his face.

"Looks like I'll be seeing you in summer school, Yahweh."

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I am a brand new writer, so honest critique and feedback would be greatly appreciated!