The End of the World As I Know It

Jack opened his laptop as if the internet anxiously awaited his wisdom. He had a habit of spending hours scrolling through social media. Several years after earning his Bachelor’s Degree in Literature from Brown University, he spent most of his time online criticizing people’s opinions and overusing the term “Kafka-esque.”

Jack had tried for years to take one of his 5 or 6-page fragments of an idea and turn it into a legitimate work of fiction, to no avail. The tab in the corner of his screen marked “writing project” sat patiently waiting, day after day. When he was feeling ambitious, he might visit the project and squeeze out a sentence or two before sitting back in his chair with the satisfaction of someone who had written a novel. For now, he lit a cigarette and scrolled on.

Between the memes, rants, and forums, Jack spotted an advertisement for an online short story contest—the subject: dystopia. The only requirements were that it include a heart-shaped locket and that it be less than 2000 words. Submissions were due in a month, so Jack sent the link for the contest to Ezra.

Ezra was a friend from college with whom Jack had collaborated on a few projects: attempts at viral videos, podcasts, and—coincidentally—dystopian fiction. The one thing that all of Jack’s projects had in common is that they seemed to fizzle out before too long. This particular competition called for a short story, which should be ideal for his limited attention span. If you split the workload among two people, he figured it should be even easier. Ezra reluctantly agreed to help write a submission. The two met in a video chat to formulate a plan.

“To get started,” Jack began. “I think we need to ask ourselves what it is that makes a book ‘dystopian’?”

“The first thing I think of is 1984. There’s also Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, Hunger Games…” Ezra answered, counting titles on his fingers.

“Yeah, but the totalitarian theme has been done. We don’t want to beat a dead horse.”

“True,” Ezra conceded. “Well, there’s also the post-apocalyptic kind—Mad Max, City of Ember, The Road—where something big went down, and people were left to pick up the pieces.”

“I’ve seen those movies, they look like my hometown.”

Ezra laughed. “Yeah, I guess Youngstown has seen better days.”

“How do people in post-apocalyptic stories even know they’re post-apocalyptic? Does somebody come and tell you that the world is ending or is over? Wouldn’t that be like shouting ‘fire’ in a crowded theater?”

Ezra paused to think for a moment. “What if the world ends too slowly to notice, and it just feels like life?”

“Well, for one thing, isn’t it strange that we were working on a project similar to this, and then suddenly got an ad about it?”

“Like Big Brother is watching?”

Jack slapped his desk and leaned forward, pointing at Ezra through the computer monitor, “Dude, we should use that! That’s some freaky future shit. Do you see what I mean?” Jack sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Sounds dystopian to me!”

“I think there might be something there. I read an article about a woman who found out she was pregnant because she kept getting ads for diapers. The website knew more about her than she did, just by following trends. That’s got to be like an invasion of privacy or something.”

"I don't think that's an invasion of privacy. For example, imagine you’re a bartender. You have a customer who always gets a Heineken. When that customer comes in for the fifteenth time, what do you do? You get them a Heineken. If you hand it to them before they ask, they feel special and give you a big tip. Though when it's a computer and not your local bartender it feels creepy. Why?"

As they discussed potential plotlines, they decided that the best course of action was to search recent newspaper articles for anything and everything that sounded even vaguely dystopian. The idea was to see all of the worst that the world could offer, and they saw it—videos of beheadings, police brutality, propaganda and outright lies from people in authority, surveillance, exploitation, etc. With each click, they opened a new window into hell, and it got to be a little bit more fun for Jack. They pressed further into the research. The conversation had fallen silent except for the tapping and clicking of fingers on keyboards.

REALISTIC END OF WORLD SCENARIO

DOOMSDAY

MOST LIKELY APOCALYPSE

REASONS FOR DYSTOPIAN SOCIETY

Each term they typed into the search engine brought up yet another list with ample content, but one title caught Jack’s attention: “10 Reasons We Know It’s Already Over.” Fiddling with the pendant on his necklace, he clicked on the article and began reading.

“There’s no shortage of potential material, is there?” Ezra noted.

“Yeah, and none of it seems to have anything to do with a heart-shaped locket,” Jack said, tapping his sternum.

“Good thing you got laid off—plenty of time for research!” Ezra joked. The video feed froze on his grinning face.

“Yeah, good thing.” Jack generally prided himself on a well-cultivated, dark sense of humor, but felt slighted by the reference to the recent loss of another part-time job. “Do you want to meet up in a few days when you’re free to keep working on it?”

Ezra agreed. Jack scrolled his mouse up to the corner of the screen to close it out. Ezra’s face was still frozen in that grin, mocking Jack for his employment status. *click* All that remained on the computer was a list of reasons suggesting that everything he knew and was taught to believe was a lie. He felt a sinking feeling in his chest.

Jack lit a cigarette and continued reading. The article made several claims, some of which seemed far-fetched, but most of which were quite compelling on the surface. He cracked open an energy drink and spent the rest of the night jumping from article to article searching to see if there was enough proof for the list’s claims.

***

A few days later, Jack and Ezra reconvened to discuss the story. Pursed lips replaced Ezra’s smile as he studied Jack’s appearance through the fuzzy video stream. His eyes looked sunken beneath dark rings. Despite being hundreds of miles away, Ezra could smell the cigarettes and body odor. The wall behind Jack was coated with printouts connected by red yarn.

“Looks like you’ve been productive.” Ezra began.

“Looks like you’ve been wasting your time.” Jack chided, with an unsettling grin.

“What do you mean?” Ezra asked, wondering whether he'd missed the joke.

“I mean everything you did this week—you get up when the alarm goes off, kiss your wife on the cheek, go to your little job, get your paycheck, come home, and do the same thing the next day. Why? We were onto something the other night. I’ve been researching since you went to bed, and it’s all a stupid lie. Everything.”

“What do you mean ‘everything?’ What’s ‘everything?”

“I really resisted this fact at first, but it’s obvious, really. This is all a simulation. Our world is not what our brains are telling us it is. There’s proof.”

Ezra scoffed. “You can’t really believe this nonsense.”

“Nonsense? It’s physics! Are you a mathematician?”

“First off, physicists do physics and mathematicians do math. Second, how do you ‘prove’ something that is obviously wrong?” Ezra waved his hand and made a sort of grasping gesture. “Is this real? Feels real.”

“I won’t do it justice if I try to describe it. I had to watch this documentary and talk it out on the forums to really understand it. I’ll send you some links.”

“A-plus sourcing on your part, man. Why would someone build the simulation? What end would it serve?”

“What do you mean ‘what end?’ There’s no end, it’s over. We lost. We’re just bodies dreaming about boring lives.”

Ezra sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re just looking for a reason to stop trying.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t you think this is a little ridiculous? We started off talking about a short story contest and now we’re talking about the world not being real. You need some sleep.”

“Are you even listening? Just look at the video I—”

“No. I hear you. You’re not listening—change the subject, make an excuse, blame it on someone else, do what you always do. No wonder you’re sitting there alone with no job.”

“Well, maybe if you'd tried a little harder on some of the other shit we've worked on, I might not be stuck—"

“Oh, It’s never your fault. You know what? You think you’re so edgy but you never take any real risks, because god forbid you might have to admit you're not as smart as you think you are."

“Dude, where is all of this coming from? Just look at the video and—”

Ezra chuckled. “I don’t have time for this shit, anymore. You seriously need to grow up.”

The screen went blank. Jack’s vision blurred with rage. His hands were shaking.

Who the hell is he to tell me what I’m thinking?

He stood up and kicked his way through the aluminum cans and trash coating the floor. Out to his truck, he opened the toolbox and grabbed the crowbar.

It’s NOT real!

With a swing of the crowbar, off came the driver's side mirror. Next was his mailbox by the door. With a crash, unopened envelopes scattered across the ground. Back in his room, he faced the laptop, brandishing his crowbar.

It’s NOT REAL!

With a crunch, the mangled monitor flew off the desk. Plastic fragments sprayed across the room.

It isn’t working.

He pried his bookshelf off the wall. When that failed too, he applied a hammer.

That didn’t work either.

No matter how many holes he put in the wall, they still kept him a prisoner, still hiding the truth. His clothing was drenched in sweat.

A high-pitched ringing filled his ears. Caffeine, adrenaline, and dehydration converged upon him, and his vision went blank. His fatigued body hit the floor with a thud, muted by the debris lining his floor.

***

Jack heard a faint ticking sound. He opened his eyes. The room where he’d spent the last few days no longer resembled his home. The computer his mother gave him in college, once full of hope for the future, sat defeated. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the heart-shaped locket. His grandmother gave it to him when he graduated, not long before she passed on. Turning it over in his hand, he felt the soft tic-tic-tic and ran his thumb over the engraved inscription.

May the road rise up to meet you! Love, Grandma

Jack opened up the locket to observe the clock. For a moment, Jack thought he saw the hand click backwards. He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and looked again. This time the second hand on the clock was spinning dutifully along its course, as usual.

Jack stood up and opened the door. The flood of light blinded him at first, but as he brought a hand up to his eyes to shade them, the world came into focus. Jack took a deep breath and stepped outside.