The depth of short stories and micro-fiction 2

Algorithm of Ancestry: A Self-Driving Search for Home

Newton adjusted the rearview mirror, a practiced hand smoothing down the crisp fabric of his tailored shirt. He ran a hand through his dark, neatly combed hair, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering from his cologne. After another long day of negotiations and spreadsheets, he was finally ready to unwind. He slid into his sleek, self-driving car, a testament to his hard work and ingenuity. "Take me home," he commanded, his voice a low rumble in the quiet cabin.

The car's synthesized voice responded, "Calculating...birth home located."

Newton's brow furrowed. "Birth...home?" He'd never thought about the concept of a birth home. He'd known the fire station where he'd been left as a baby, a tiny bundle wrapped in a faded blue blanket, as his beginning. But a birth home? It sparked a forgotten curiosity, a dormant ache he'd buried deep within himself.

The car began to move, a silent, gliding whisper through the city streets. Newton watched the familiar cityscape morph into unfamiliar neighbourhoods. The sleek buildings and bustling avenues gave way to quaint, tree-lined streets and modest homes. A sense of unease began to ripple through him. He'd always been content with his life – his successful business, his comfortable apartment, his solitude. But this... this revelation, this journey to a place he didn't know, felt like a disruption, an old, forgotten wound being carefully, meticulously, probed.

He'd never known his parents. They were a nameless, faceless void in his history. He'd grown up in a foster home, bouncing between families and schools, learning to be independent and resourceful. He'd built his success on a foundation of resilience, of proving that he could thrive despite the absence of familial love and guidance.

As the car continued its journey, Newton found himself lost in memories. The sting of loneliness that had clung to him in his childhood, the yearning for a family he never had, the constant need to excel, to prove his worth. He remembered the other orphans, the whispers and stares, the feeling of being different. He'd learned to build walls around his heart, protecting himself from the vulnerability that came with wanting something he couldn't have.

The car finally slowed to a stop in front of a small, weather-beaten house. Paint peeled from its wooden siding, and the garden was overgrown with weeds. It looked like a relic from a forgotten era, a stark contrast to the modern, polished world Newton inhabited. He stared at the house, a wave of confusion and trepidation washing over him.

He stepped out of the car, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heated cabin. He approached the house cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the quiet street. The silence was profound, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the distant hum of traffic.

Hesitantly, he reached for the rusty doorknob. It turned with a groan, and he pushed the door open, stepping into a dimly lit living room. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of moonlight filtering through a grimy window. The furniture was old and worn, covered in faded floral patterns. It was a snapshot in time, a time long before his existence.

A sudden, sharp pang resonated in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite place. It wasn't pain, exactly, but a longing, a flicker of something long dormant. He moved through the house, each room holding a silent story, a whisper of a life he never knew.

In a small, cluttered bedroom, he found a faded photograph tucked inside a worn book. It was a picture of a young man and woman, their faces etched with a kind of youthful joy that mirrored a longing he'd never acknowledged. They looked familiar, like shadows of emotions he'd been suppressing.

Tears welled up in Newton's eyes. He'd spent his life building walls, but in this moment, the walls crumbled. He finally understood. The parents who'd abandoned him weren't monsters. They were young, scared, perhaps overwhelmed. They were simply people, with their own story, their own reasons.

The car beeped softly outside, a reminder of his presence in this strange, familiar environment. He knew he couldn't stay, that this house was a ghost of a past he couldn't fully grasp. But he also knew that he was no longer alone. He had a history, a lineage, however fragmented. He understood, for the first time, the source of his resilience, his drive to succeed. It was born from a love he'd never known, a love that had, in its own peculiar way, shaped who he was.

He left the house, the photograph clutched in his hand, a tangible link to the past. The self-driving car waited patiently, ready to transport him back to his life. As he stepped inside, he knew that the journey had just begun. He had found a piece of his puzzle, and now, he could start to understand the intricate, beautiful, and sometimes painful design of his life. The future held both unknowns and possibilities, and for the first time, Newton felt truly ready to embrace them.