Short Stories/Orginal

Contempt for content

My universe is fully aware of the multiverse and our population has the cabability to gaze at any lifetime of ours as we please. In the confinements of iron walls, I study you; me. I am surrounded by lights of blue technolgy far beyond the comprehension of most. Even I can't put it into words. A sterling blue pierces the room. the array of possibilities in front of me respond to the flickers of lights on my gloves. I click through.

Universe #183, not a favorite but nonetheless, interesting. A world where I am a poor orphan, helpless and afraid. I can see my swollen lips mumbling for offerings. After Russia gave the command to nuke the United States in 1943, nuclear warfare broke out across the globe and it left poor Earth diseased. Cancer ran rampid through every animal and person, the crops withered and died where it once flourished, and Darwin's theory was in play; survival of the fittest of all. How sad I looked. I was far younger than I am now, 9 and three quarters. I would die of lung cancer at 13.

Universe #53, I lived on a large, yet small island in Europe. The land was blessed with fig trees, tall grasses and tumbling hills across the landscape. A volcano stood close by to the small home I lived in. I took care of my grandmother by washing her feet with rags filled of waters and herbs meant to keep the body healthy. My mother would call for me outside to help her pick the fruits and vegatables before it hit high noon. I picked tomatos, peppers, parsley and mint by the garden near my home. I had nothing to strive for more than what I knew; I was happy with family and home. I walked around with such a smile that even I caught myself sometimes smiling back. Simplicity, naivity, it made me so envious. I would die at 76 by my family's side; always with the same smile till rest.

I can't forget it, my favorite, Universe #1217. I left my family behind in 2032 and traveled to a distant land to live with a man I fell in love with. I lived in the long grasses, I walked on dirt paths to local shops at dusk, I gazed at friends of the moon in my happy lonesome. I worked as a flourist in town and walked home, around 4.4 kilometers, to our home. It was concealed away behind grassy hills and humbly stood in the midsts of nature. Every night, around 11 PM, I would jump into bed with my husband. He'd whisper promises of eternity and blooming love into my ear and I would fall further for every little word. I die at 85, he dies at 78, and in my years without him I sit on my rocking chair, dreaming of our reunion.

When I realize the reality was never mine, the room feels suffocating and bright. It's dim asides from the flashing colors of greenery and clashing of our bodies displayed on my screen. My universe was destined to sit and ponder about the many others. Our's is all lost. There is no home planet, no nature to relish in, no real difference of tongue and culture. We sit on this space station studying the what-if's of a life we can never feel. I wish I had something to fight and thrive for as all the other's do. But instead, I just examine and ponder of more.