Stories

Gene

So, this is how it came to be, in the year 3010, when the human race finally and successfully was able to genetically modify the human genes to cure all disease, to create the perfect humans. Like blonde hair and blue eyes in the olden days we created perks and beings, cures to all genetic diseases, but sadly this was only for the rich. As the poor get poorer they couldn't afford the cures we created, we became eternal and immortal as they died off slowly, sure we let them have some of the fun, we cured cancer for them BUT THEY STILL COMPLAINED. We weren't going to help them anymore than that, scum they were. We held the key to all power, but this soon came out of hand. Vast cult movements circulated splitting the imperfect from the perfect breed, we didn't conversate, we didn't mate. We kept each other's distance. But this only grew stronger as by 3050 the perfect race of humans were so genetically modified to the furthest extent that we were incompatible with the imperfects, sure some of us actually like them. Liked those scum. But couldn't actually breed anymore, which is for the better, their disease-ridden flesh killing us all. So, what we did was special, since they were not meant to live and were all going to die anyway we did them a huge favour, we got out armies and slaughtered all of them, we destroyed their gene pool, the ghettos filled with the imperfects filled with dead bodies, the planets of this race were killed, countless of them fled to other systems but we shot them down. WE MURDERED AND MASSACERED FAMILIES, COUNTLESS FATHERS, MOTHERS, AND CHILDREN. ALL FOR OUR GREATER RACE. THE PERFECT RACE. THEIR SCREAMS ON THAT DAY COULD BE HEARD EVERYWHERE.

But now I sit here, staring at what I have created, I've created my immortality and for 500 years I have watched blood spill, filling seas because of our version and opinion of what is perfect, but because of this we looked at ourselves as being the pure beings, but when of this, I finally realise, that we, the perfects, were imperfect all this time, with our unethical decisions, and our dark past.

Now I feel the guilt that I have, living in this world I have created, so what I do is something simple. I cannot live like this anymore. I cannot fathom the guilt. Comprehend the insanity. I hold this gun to my head with knowledge of what I have done. For this, I am sorry.

For this, I am ungrateful.

Curse me, curse these privileged imperfect perfects.