364 The Whole Universe Is Against Me
For Sunday, December 29, Day 364 of the 2024 Story-a-Day Challenge
Byron Masters discovered the threshold of synapse interaction that determined self-awareness. His "Masters' Threshold" of S = f (D/m3) Nx 2.56P, still unpublished, also proved the connections needn't be neurons—one example being trees, sustained by the "S" of the fungi interconnecting them.
That's why the luminescent being came.
"Byron?"
"Who's that?"
"You're right, Byron."
"About what?"
"About the Masters' Threshold."
"Says who?"
"The universe."
"The whole universe?"
"Yes—me. You see, Bryon, the human brain's interconnectivity meets the threshold: sentience arises. But it can be anything that interfaces, from dust to galaxies. Think of the Ns and Ps possible."
"The ultimate intelligence," he cooed. "But, can situational interactions make for an S, too? I can't catch a break. Everything in my life's pathetic. All other scientists ridicule me."
"That's why I'm here. Do you have any idea what meeting the threshold means at universal scales? Thank God you didn't publish."
"God?"
"Listen, I can't abide someone finding your stuff and manipulating it. Pretty scary. You and your ideas must go. For the universe—I do speak for it—you're unacceptable. I mean, the universe got rid of your wife, friends, money, and career. But you don't give up. The universe wants you gone. Forgotten."
The being reached behind his back to produce a pistol.
"A gun? What's the universe need with that?"
"Why's anyone need one? Byron, you couldn't take a hint—or even N x 2.56 P hints, which would give your bad luck a sentience of its own. And since you couldn't, I figured I'd take care of you in a more conventional way."
"So you're just going to shoot me with some magic gun?"
"Magic? I put together the Magellanic clouds in my sleep. A semiautomatic 9 mm pistol's no challenge. The universe wants re-equilibration, even if it has to get personally involved."
"Tell me, did I ever matter to anyone?"
"The trees were ambivalent," the Universe responded, "but the fungi really liked you."
Byron's life ended as a homicide case as cold as -273.15ºC. No longer interacting with anything, his awareness sank below the Masters' Threshold faster than the speed of the bullet.
The trees continued to sway in the breeze unconcerned, but the fungi mourned.
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. Hippocampus, behave!
Make me rich! https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
My substrack at https://substack.com/@drdileo
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This swing set popular in Owensboro, Kentucky—with 5 swings. The playground being busy, there was never an empty seat. Quintets of children re-cycled, the asynchrony of the swing arcs keeping its solid wood feet firmly planted, complementing the prudent anchor bolts rooted into the dirt.
By Gerard DiLeoabout a year ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Awww, the fungi seem so sweet. Lol. Loved your story!
at least the fungi cared. Poor Byron.
Otherworldly brilliant, Gerald! The universe thanks you! 😳
It is a consolation, I suppose, to be liked by the fungi.
"He was a fun guy." Well-wrought! Yet somehow I don't think Byron can ever really be got rid of. Like the Lord who wrote the great Romantic poems, even when his work is long forgotten with his name, he must nevertheless have influenced the very deepest part of all, as all must inevitably do. I'm afraid the bodhisattvas have it right. It's all or none. Suppose we ought to get to steppin'!