No Regrets

Henry Hamilton's gift

How to describe the New Greenwich life of the once time-millionaire Philippe Weis?

He was surrounded by air-headed heirs, who inherited eons as the parents passed away of old age. Most people do not time out in New Greenwich as the conversion used to be cheap. In those dreadful decades of overpriced perfumes and salty caviar, Philippe only came close to respect with one heir, the one and only Henry Hamilton. Somehow when planning for the first battle against the council, he suddenly remembered Henry Hamilton - who left New Greenwich and died in Dayton.

People rarely know the true Henry Hamilton. He was an unorthodox heir and used to own a large security company. Henry would contribute to the council's decision, questioning Philippe's rationality and his math. Henry would not treat Philippe as if he was still one of their parents' aid and instead saw him as a "magnificent wonder," proof that people can make it. Then, Henry's contribution and appearance just got rarer. His sudden substance abuse.

Henry would come to anyone's party, drunkenly preaching about how their mind were all spent, how their extravagant lives were stolen from others. Anyone else stopped him from coming to their mansion after his 80 birthday when he liquidated all his real estate and firms. Only Philippe would let him in.

And Henry did not come with his hospitality. He took one drink too much, and Philippe got Henry on to his face:

"Who gave you the right to increase the tax rate and the price on the same day?"

Phillipe just sent him a lazy side eye, stepping backward.

"You did. You voted for the last three rounds of increasing the numbers by now, as our population is reaching the cap population of a colony. You would probably vote for the fourth round, maybe. But it was not definitely only my sole responsibility."

Henry shamefully stared into the void, his voice a mix of despondence and fleeting clarity.

"Philippe, my old friend, we've seen the world change yet stay agonizingly the same. You, with your indefatigable spirit, and I, with my... dreams."

Philippe clenched his hand with restrained frustration at Henry's slippering ability to hold a conversation.
"Dreams, Henry? Or illusions?"

"The world is stagnant in this status quo of removing more and more people... I would not vote for the fourth round of genocide. It is killing people, and it is killing my dream." Henry tearfully replied

"You speak of change, yet you drown in substances, watching the world from your ivory tower." Philippe could not hold his instant scrutinized clap back.

Henry sighed, and a tired smile briefly crossed his face.
" Perhaps you're right. But you see, Philippe, my dreams are all I have. The courage to cross the borders of this segregated world, to truly challenge it, escapes me. I envy you that."

Henry's shoulder lowered, and his frame retreated back into his own shadow of the last decent time millionaire.

"I don't envy your dreams, Henry," Philippe broke the silence, his voice softer, tinged with a sadness he seldom allowed himself to show and only show for the people he respected. "Dreams without action become prisons. You are trapped in your own disillusionment and trapped on your own way of being the center of the world." Philippe, ever the pragmatist, spoke with a hint of pity. "Henry, you speak of dreams as if they are the only currency worth valuing. But what of the lives that are squandered in pursuit of change? The people who will never see another day because they would not give us the two million years we need for our two million souls."

Henry's eyes, once alight with the fervor of his convictions, dimmed slightly. He took a deep breath, the weight of Philippe's words settling heavily upon him. "I know, Philippe. I know the cost. But isn't it a greater tragedy to live in a world where we've become so ensnared in the system that we can't imagine a life beyond it? Where our actions are dictated not by what's right, but by what's expedient?"